The mocking way he said Kyle made my eyes roll.
“I’m sorry, but he doesn’t know you like I do. I know you better than your own mother,” he said.
“That I can’t argue with. Everybody knows me better than my own mother.”
He looked through the windshield for a second before he pulled over. Then he leaned forward and bent his head so close next to mine our cheeks almost touched.
I gasped, and my heart careened. What the hell was he doing?
“There’re paps outside. You comfortable with this?” he asked.
Oh. Okay. “Uh…” I swallowed, unable to think of anything but the wetness between my legs. I could smell his cologne, and I wanted to lace my hands around his neck and taste the lips breathing on my ears.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUUUCK.
He moved his head closer, blocking her face from the cameras, his scruff scratching my face in the most pleasant way. “It’s okay. Go with the valet inside the garage. There’s a backdoor there. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Can’t you just come with me?”
“I’ll let them take my picture so they won’t take yours.” He got out of the car and threw the keys to the valet.
I ducked, and in a flash, a young boy was in the driver’s seat, and the car was dashing away.
“Are you okay, Miss?” the valet asked.
“Yeah.” I chuckled. Escaping paparazzi in speeding cars wasn’t new to me, but I hadn’t been out to dinner with Mike for almost a year. It felt a little weird and strangely exciting.
The valet led me through a tiny door in the garage and into a narrow hallway. Mike was waiting by the backdoor as promised. He took my hand and helped me up the stairs. We were escorted to a booth in the back corner of the club, away from the eyes, yet close enough to watch the show.
When I took off my coat, Mike’s gaze sparkled with a sharp glint as it fell on my figure, and then a frown darkened his eyes.
“What’s wrong? Am I overdressed?” I smoothed my red dress. “It’s your fault you didn’t tell me where we were going.”
“You’re not overdressed.” He turned and gave the hostess his jacket. His gray sweater and dark dress pants fit him well. With a body like his, everything fit well.
I slid in the booth. “Do you hate red now? As far as I remember, it’s your favorite color. Did that change?”
He rubbed at his forehead. “Nope.” Then he looked at me. “It’s amazing. You look…” He chuckled as he took a seat. The hostess handed each of us a menu and left.
“Oh, please don’t say I look like my mother. I’ll shoot myself in the head right now.”
He shook his head, reading the menu. “You don’t look like her at all.”
Sure.She’s a thousand times prettier and everybody loves her.“Good thing or bad thing?” I took a deep breath, expecting the worst.
He glanced up from the menu, his brows furrowed. “Definitely a good thing.” Then he bent his head instantly.
The sincerity in his voice and the sparkle of his eyes satisfied me. But what was that when I asked if I looked like Andrea? And why couldn’t he hold my gaze?
What are you hiding from me, Gennaro?
Scene19
Mike
A fucking red dress. Of all the outfits in the world, Maggie chose to wear a fucking snug, red dress tonight. Mike didn’t need to see her in the color that drove him insane while it hugged her curves like a second skin. Not today. Not after he’d come so close to spilling his heart out a few hours ago. Not when he was doing everything in his might to hide his true feelings from her. Not when he was failing brilliantly at it.
And what was that shit about Andrea? If Andrea was hot, Maggie was…
