“Asshole,” I mutter.
My hands shake as I pour the Sprite. The blonde laughs at something he says, tossing her perfect hair, and I want to march over there to remind her that she’s not the only woman he’s had his hands on this week. The thought makes me feel pathetic.
What am I, sixteen?
I need to get over this. Whatever I thought I saw in him seven years ago was fantasy. We have chemistry. That’s it. And chemistry isn’t worth the knife twisting in my chest every time I see him.
Time to focus on reality. Austin’s medical bills. Building something better for us. Maybe even art school someday.
I grab my drink and head backstage, spine straight and chin up. I might be drowning in feelings I shouldn’t have, but I’ll die before I let him see it.
Goosebumps race down my arms as I turn away. Iknowhe’s watching. I can feel those amber eyes burning into my back.
I turn back and meet his gaze head-on. Twenty feet of space stretches between us, but I can feel the pull like a physical thing.His eyes are dark, unreadable. For a second, the blonde beside him might as well not exist. Then she slides her hand up his chest, and whatever spell that held us breaks.
I turn away again, my pulse racing.
My skin feels too tight, like I might crawl out of it. Whatever that look meant, I can’t let it mess with my head.
I push through the backstage door and don’t look back.
He made his choice. I’ll make mine.
14
ALESSIO
The woman hangingon my arm is starting to make my skin crawl.
I picked her up at some bar last night. Tall, blonde, expensive-looking. She had the kind of confidence that usually gets a woman into my bed within an hour. But mafia business called, and I had to bail before I could seal the deal.
So I texted her to meet me at my club tonight. She wasn’t thrilled about spending time in a strip club, but when I made it clear this was the only way she’d get a shot at my bed, she agreed. Now she’s here, clinging to me like I’m her meal ticket.
“The music is really overwhelming,” she whines, pressing her artificially enhanced tits against my arm. “Can’t we go somewhere quieter?”
I take a long pull of my scotch, savoring the burn. “It’s a strip club, Amy. The music’s supposed to be loud.”
“It’s Amber,” she snaps.
Right. Amber. I genuinely don’t give a shit what her name is, but I’ve been celibate for two weeks, and my dick is starting to stage a revolt. She’s got the kind of enthusiasm that usually translates to wild, uninhibited sex, and that’s just what I need right now.
“Sorry, baby.” The smile I give her feels forced as hell.
She relaxes slightly, going back to rubbing herself against me like a cat in heat while I signal Katrina for another round. Amber’s already demolished two of whatever fruity cocktail Katrina whipped up for her. We don’t normally serve anything that comes with little umbrellas, but Katrina’s good at improvising.
I’m drinking more than usual tonight, too, which should probably concern me. Normally, I’m sharp and focused when I’m here, keeping an eye on everything, making sure the business runs smooth. Tonight, I feel like I’m trying to drown something that keeps floating back to the surface.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Amber shifts closer, and I fight the urge to pull away. She’s hot and willing, exactly my usual type, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I can’t figure out what my problem is.
“Don’t you have an office here?” she purrs, running a manicured nail down my chest. “I’d love to see it.”
My stomach turns at the suggestion. My office. Where I kissed Nina two days ago and nearly lost my mind doing it. Where her taste still lingers in my memory like the world’s most addictive drug.
The idea of taking Amber back there, of bending her over my desk where Nina’s hands touched the wood, makes my stomachturn. It would be like desecrating something sacred, which is fucked up because it was just a kiss. A really, really good kiss that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about.
“Not right now,” I say, hearing the edge in my voice. “I need to keep an eye on things.”
