Sad Hot Blonde has a leg up on Miss Esposito and hard little nipples just begging for my mouth, but I don’t do girls with baggage. That’s my brother Lucky’s thing. Besides, our older brother Priest is getting married—technically,remarried to his kick-ass wife Luna—which is why we’re here. I’m the best man and on my best behavior. Not going to fuck this up, or my sister-in-law will never forgive me.
I try not to steal a look at Sad Hot Blonde as I charge the whiskey and rum punch to the anniversary couple’s room. Try and fail. We make eye contact, and my dick twitches to life. Damn. That shirt is doing nothing to hide all those curves.
Nope. Not doing it, Saint. Luna will cut off your dick.
She looks away first, which is for the best.
Johnny told me Sad Hot Blonde had some bad luck when I relieved him for his break, and fuck it, I’m in a good mood, so I gave her the martini on the house. Not that sheknowsit’s on the house. I asked for her room number so that the entire bar doesn’t think it’s free drink night here at the latest addition to the Andriani empire. We aren’t in the business of losing money. We like it way too fucking much.
My brothers and I aren’t the sole owners of the Club Bailey Beach Resort, but we’ve recently invested enough money in it that we have a super majority. That means we call the shots.
I make my rounds, shaking and pouring and, yeah, sliding an occasional glance in Sad Hot Blonde’s direction. She’s barely touched her cocktail. I’ve got a few minutes until Johnny comes back from his break, and I find myself heading her way again, unable to resist.
“Hey.” I smile. “Lemon drop not up to Johnny’s level?”
She smiles back, and damn it, she’s gorgeous. For an English teacher in an ugly-ass shirt, that is.
“Not at all. It’s great, thank you. But I’m a lightweight, and I think I better get some dinner before someone has to peel me off this barstool.”
Her eyes are green with hints of cinnamon and gold I can only see because I’m standing close—too fucking close—leaning in to hear her over the new song that just hit the speakers. Damn it, why do they have to be green? Green-eyed chicks are my unicorn. Her nipples are still hard, which I shouldn’t be noticing.
Madonna, since when am I a gentleman?
“Would you like a menu?” I ask her. “Or do you prefer a private table?”
I don’t even know if we have a private table for one available. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll find this woman a table. I’ve got staff at my disposal. Being an Andriani comes with a hell of a lot of shit, but here in St. Thomas where our enemies aren’t all that plentiful, it mostly comes with power, money, and a billion-dollar view.
She thinks about it, biting her lower lip.
Fuck.
I want to feed my dick between those lips and have her suck me dry.
But I don’t say that. Because damn it, Iama gentleman.Best behavior. Best man.
“A private table would be lovely,” she says.
Now I’m really fucked, because I have to find her the table. And because who sayslovelyin an actual sentence?
I wink at her like I’ve got the world in my back pocket. Which, I pretty much do these days. Now that our biggest rival, the Revello family, has joined our ranks thanks to Priest and Luna’s marriage—and not without bloodshed—the Andrianis are sitting pretty.
“Gotcha,” I tell Sad Hot Blonde. “Hang tight. I’ll be back.”
Thank fuck it’s time for Johnny’s break to be over. I nod to the anniversary couple and high-five Johnny on my way. Good man. I’m going to miss him when I’m in the city again. Hell, I’m going to miss this whole place. The vibe, the ocean, the sand, the sun. If I weren’t Priest’s consigliere, I might plunk my ass right here and manage this hotel. I can think of worse fates than waking up every day to this view.
But I can’t abandon Priest like that. We have a hell of a lot on the line back home.
I head to Kayla, our dining room manager, next.
“Mr. Andriani,” she greets me, giving me a professional megawatt smile. “How are you this evening?”
“Excellent, and you?”
“Fabulous. What can I do for you?”
“I need a table for a friend in the next five minutes.”
Sad Hot Blonde isn’t my friend, but Kayla doesn’t need to know that. Shedoesneed a table, though, and I’m going to get her one.
