Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with soft feelings. Any I had are long gone.
Sex is where it's at, and I'm not planning to do anything but look and flirt.
Harmless.
I lean back in the rich leather that is dark wine color. Old school, probably timeless, and utterly my fucking father.
This room is the only one that reflects his personality. It is big enough that he can have a few cronies in here to smoke cigars, talk crimes and money, and who they are going to destroy next or take over.
But Dad usually uses this for other purposes when he needs to, and he has found it handy to have a Manhattan townhouse that can host myriad people who might want somewhere to stay in New York.
I do know Lyndall has eyed this place, but she is a kid, and she is with Dad, probably arguing about going back to school until the end of the semester.
Scratch that. They are probably arguing over her staying at his place during the break.
She hates it. So does he, but he forces her anyway.
When I have time, Lyndall often stays with me during those breaks.
And guilt aside for not having more time in my life, I have her over as often as I can.
It pisses me the fuck off that this man, who people fall over themselves to impress—someone I once fell over myself to impress—can sail through life ignoring those who should be important.
He would fucking oust me for doing half the shit I do.
He would definitely cut me off in every way if he knew I was dabbling in Lola Mancini waters.
He won't even mention her father.
I'm betting he fucking danced the day he heard Mancini had killed himself.
I pick up my scotch and sip it, flipping to the next screen on my computer that is on my lap.
The only reason I even keep things quiet and away from Lyndall is that if Dad found out I was in contact with Lola, had protected her over the years, and was doing the same now, he would make sure I never saw Lyndall again.
The fucker would use her as a pawn and make her life so miserable I would die a little inside. Maybe a whole lot.
Fuck.
I look at my phone, which hasn't lit up after my last text to Lola before she left the bar.
There are a few houses around here that have swimming pools, but I was hoping and praying she would come here.
There was a chance she wouldn't. A chance she would pick another house or even chicken out.
But here she is...
I'm in the shadows, looking through the window, and my body is reacting just as if I were right next to her.
"Real caveman there," I mutter. "Call HR and report yourself, Enzo."
By the grand scheme of things, what I do and have done is so G-rated, so tiny it shouldn't make me tremble and hold my breath. It shouldn't make my dick hard and my temperature rise. And it shouldn't make every second I watch her so full of anticipation.
Because sure, she might run any second, but I shouldn't be on the metaphorical edge of my fucking seat.
She swims back and forth, looking around every few seconds.
And I follow her from side to side, wanting to be right there with her.
