Fantasizing about her lips on mine? Of her being so wrapped up in me, we can’t tell where I end and she begins? Of her being big and round with my child, and of her nestling my infant son against her chest?
This isn’t just sexual attraction I’m feeling. This is more… More potent. More dangerous.
I need to return her to Caruso’s house and never see her again.
But when she turns to me and smiles, I know I won’t be doing any of that.
Her smile fades as she studies me. “Are you okay?”
“He is fine,” Bianca says in Italian and flashes me a knowing look from across the table. “Aren’t you,re leone?”
“Re leone?” Gina hikes her brows. “I guess Lion King fits,” she says to me in English with a smirk.
“You think I’m a lion?”
“King of the jungle? Top of the food chain?”
I lean over and wipe some foam from her cappuccino off the corner of her mouth with my thumb. “You forgot apex predator.”
I can see her pulse jump at my touch, and I linger just a moment longer than appropriate—not that my touching herat allis appropriate. I may not be in a relationship with Rosa, but for all intents and purposes, I’m unavailable.
I pull back my hand, breaking contact with Gina, but there’s no way in hell I can stop myself from bringing my thumb to my mouth and licking off the foam. Her breathing is shallow and fast as she watches me.
I’m not sure if she realizes the signs of her lust: the dilation of her pupils, the slight shiver, the wetting of her lips, the tightening of her nipples under that blasted white shirt.
You can have her.You can make it work, the devil on my shoulder whispers.
Men in our world often have mistresses. But the thought of disrespecting Gina in that way is a bucket of ice water on my raging libido.
I’m not that kind of man. I wouldn’t disrespect my wife that way, and I’d never disrespect, devalue, or insult Gina by making her my mistress, even if she’d have me and was willing to play that role.
“We need to leave,” I say harshly.
She flinches slightly and blinks, as if coming out of a fog. The toxic fog that’s me.
“Of course,” she says politely, and it feels like a mile-high wall has slammed up between us.
Turning from me, she smiles at Bernard and Bianca, the latter is giving me a death glare. “Thank you so much for the delicious pastries, cappuccino, and the wonderful conversation.”
The nicety isn’t forced or perfunctory; it’s completely authentic. I don’t think there is a fake bone in Gina’s body.
I stand and offer her my hand, which she ignores and rises gracefully herself. Gritting my teeth, I pull out money and handit to Bernard. The same amount I always give them whenever I stop in, which is multiple times a week.
And like every other time, they try to refuse while I insist. I always win.
Gina is stiff when I place my hand on her lower back to guide her toward the door. She doesn’t jerk away from me, though, and lets me check that it’s safe before leading her out and opening her car door.
She grabs the door and slams it shut before I can close it for her. Sighing, knowing I fucked up, I go to my side of the car and get in. She stares straight ahead, her chin up—proud and defiant—and shoulders set.
When I start the car, she whips her head to me with narrowed eyes. “Did you just give them your dirty money to launder through their business?”
I have to fight the smile that wants to bloom on my face. I love that she’s challenging me. “That money is entirely clean. It comes from my hotel, which has completely legal dealings. I have several legal businesses.”
“Oh.” A bit of her fire fades. “So why did you give them so much cash?”
“They’re older and can’t work as hard or as fast as they used to, so their volume of business is less. They love what they do, as does the community, so I like to help them out.”
Her dark brown eyes shine. “That’s…that’s very kind of you.”
