by Howes, Ann
“You like it? Not too much?” I stand when Cass finishes my hair and do a somewhat graceful three-sixty for him. It’s the first time I’m bruise-free and look decently pretty since Dean hit then strangled me a lifetime ago.
“Your eyes look super sexy. I’m going to have to bring my bat to keep them away.” Rory holds out his arm for me to take. “Ready?”
“Yep.” I sigh. “Let’s do it.”
In the limo, he pops the cork on a bottle of champagne and pours two glasses. “Here’s to hot-looking women and may they not all be taken.” We clink and soon his quick humor has me, if not exactly laughing, at least smiling as we ride up the steep hills of California Street.
The driver pulls under the awning of the Fairmont Hotel and opens the door for us to exit. Inside, the main lobby is unlike any other. Lavishly dominated by the huge marble pillars and floors, reminiscent of a palace from the Italian Renaissance.
I hope a little of its flair will rub off on me. We take the elevator to the top of the tower and I hold on to Rory’s arm when we enter the Crown Room.
Instantly I’m in awe of the view and city lights. And more than a little intimidated by the display of opulence. These people are the elite of San Francisco and the newly rich of Silicon Valley. The women look spectacular in their gowns and jewels, and the men crisp and handsome. I’m about to hyperventilate, grateful Cass convinced me to wear one of her dresses as nothing in my closet would be suitable. I don’t even own an evening gown.
Rory senses my distress and reassures me with a wink. “They’re just people. Try to picture them without their Spanx and toupees.”
With his hand on the small of my back, he escorts me into the room, straight towards the bar.
Good man.
After Rory gives him our order, the dude, who looks like a surfer doubling as a barman, hands me a glass of champagne and Rory a Scotch with ice. We click glasses again and I sip as my gaze sweeps around, hoping to spot someone else I know. So far, not a single one.
“How come you couldn’t find another date for tonight?” I ask.
He chuckles. “If I had, how am I supposed to meet anyone? I’ve dated every available female in San Francisco. My family’s bleating like sheep it’s time I settled down and made babies.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m all for making them. It’s the baby part that scares me. Did I tell you how sexy you look? These old farts can’t take their eyes off you.”
My face gets hot and I bite my lip. “You’re exaggerating, but you’re sweet.”
A broad grin spreads across his face. “Nothing sweet about me. If I left you alone for a second they’d descend on you like hungry piranhas on a juicy lamb chop.”
A giggle escapes me. “I’m a lamb chop now?”
“Finally,” he says on a snort. “I got you to laugh. C’mon, let’s find a table and make nice.” He holds out his arm, and I hook mine through his as we meander through the crowd, stopping to say hello to important-looking people, most of whose names I can’t remember. They all seem very friendly and pleasant and extremely rich.
One particularly over-imbibed gentleman with a comb-over is a little too pleasant, and swoops in close. Focusing on avoiding bourbon breath, I miss the sudden change in air pressure and misread the crackling vibe that raises goosebumps on my skin. I sidestep out of his way, and onto someone’s foot.
Crud.
I turn to apologize, happy for a reason to avoid more bourbon breath, except my knees lock as I stare straight at a very attractive Adams apple situated in a handsome neck that looks way to familiar.
Holy fizz pops.
It can’t be.
My eyes follow that neck to a hard jaw darkened by five o’clock shadow and then up that beautiful, straight nose and into those icy blue eyes.
Even if I had it in me to smile, I couldn’t. The shock to my system’s frozen the muscles in my face and my poor abused heart stills.
“Shelley.” Gianni’s stare impales me, and regardless of the champagne I’ve consumed, my mouth goes paper-dry at his voice.
But that’s not all.
Because in my peripheral vision a hand reaches out and attaches itself to his arm. A female hand and I instinctively know it’s her. I know it without even looking, but when my eyes do slide over and take in the body-hugging, black-beaded dress and the bulging cleavage, I want to die.
I want to scratch out her eyes and yank on that pretty black hair until she’s bald, then shove every last strand down that elegant throat hoping she chokes. If that doesn’t kill her, I want to take that gorgeous pearl necklace and twist it until it does.
But of course, I do none of this.
Instead, I cling a little harder to Rory, suck it up like a good mafia daughter, and thank my lucky stars I didn’t bring Ziggy. I have no desire to spend the rest of the night, or my life, in jail. Then, by some massive force of will, I ignore the slicing thing in my gut and meet his gaze.
He looks leaner but nonetheless gorgeous. The dark circles beneath his eyes add a touch of danger, making him look more sinister, yet somehow hotter.
How fucked am I?
No trace of a smile touches that clenched jaw as his gaze roves over my face then down my body, setting it on fire. My nipples harden and, curse Cass’s damn dress, they poke through the thin fabric.
“Gianni.” My voice cracks when our eyes meet again. For a moment time slows and everything seems unfocused. Except for him. Over the noise of the party, I hear the whoosh, whoosh of my heart wildly pumping blood to my brain.
I’m fortunate that Rory, God bless him, still has his wits and assesses the situation. He rescues me by stepping in and extending his hand to Gina. “Rory Jones,” he says, throwing her a bright, irresistible smile.
Gianni breaks eye contact, although before he does, I read something in them. I swear it’s relief as his jaw clenches, then relaxes as he takes Rory’s hand and introduces himself and Gina in a clipped voice.
Good God.
The man is relieved.
That I’m here with Rory.
So he can be free to be with her? Probably thinks I’m going to go all stalker on his ass.
Well, fuck him.
He’s wrong.
Noop, noop, noop.
Absolutely fucking NOPE!
In spite of the hollow pit in my stomach and tightening band around my chest, I ignore it and plant a fake smile on my face. Albeit a small one. I steal a glance at Gina and by the look on her face, she’s feeling the same. Her black gaze darts between the men before meeting my own. Only difference is no smile on hers, fake or otherwise.
Okay.
I’m done.
I can’t be near them. I clear my throat. Even so, my voice comes out a little scratchy. “Excuse us. Good to see you, Gianni.”
Rory takes his cue and curls his fingers on the round of my shoulder, guiding me through the throng of people. Neither of us speak until we’re some distance away.
“Dude,” he drags out. “That was intense.”
I gulp a mouthful of champagne, then another and nod.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I take another gulp and shake in the negative.
“Easy, lamb chop, you’re gonna give yourself the burps.”
I ignore his warning and down the last bit then, as predicted, issue a silent burp behind my hand. “That was uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” He snorts and shakes his head. “Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to describe it. Who is he, your ex?” he asks, looking over his shoulder, his brow furrowing.
“Hardly an ex. More like an old family friend.”
He shoots me a glance full of skepticism. “Calling bullshit on that.”
“Okay.” I yield and roll my eyes. “I slept with him once.”
“Once?” Those eyebrows shoot up. “You mean that dude almost eviscerated me because you slept with him once?”
I shrug.
“Hmm. Okay, wel
l whatever,” he says folding his arms across his chest, straining that tailored tux. Fortunately for me, he lets it go because at that moment he spots someone a few tables away. “C’mon, I want you to meet someone. Get your mind off…well, you know.”
With both hands on the back of my shoulders, he spins and pushes me toward them. I manage to snag another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Rory,” the man says, patting him on the upper arm. “How are you and who is this lovely lady?”
I’m introduced to some Silicon Valley something or other, and manage a fake grin, not really paying attention. While they chit-chat about the latest software update of some new gizmo I’ve yet to acquaint myself with, my eyes rove the room. Like a magnet, they’re drawn to the far side, to a certain Sicilian badass.
He’s facing my direction, with his head cocked slightly, listening to Gina talking in his ear. As if sensing my look, he lifts his gaze and locks on me like a guided missile, hot and ready to fire. Even at this distance, and with dozens of people between us, I feel the electricity. When after what seems a long time, Rory touches my shoulder, I realize I’ve been gawking and break eye contact.
Why did the jerk have to be here and why do my eyes keep finding him? This is not helping.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask.
“I said, I hope you’re not too bored?”
Bored?
Ha! Highly unlikely; tormented and crushed, perhaps.
“Shelley, it’s obvious you two have unresolved issues. You want me to play interference with the black-eyed vixen?”
“Umm…”
“I wouldn’t mind, she’s kinda hot.”
Fuck.
“Thanks for pointing that out.” I know he means well, but really?
“Ah shit.” He closes his eyes. “Shelley, that was…stupid. Sorry.”
“It’s okay, because it won’t come to that so no worries. I’m gonna spritz up and get a refill.” I say, tapping a nail against my empty flute. “Want one?”
“Scotch please.” He lays a peck on my cheek and winks at me. “It’s gonna be fine. You’ll see.”
Pff.
Doubt it.
Without further ado, I find the ladies’ room, keeping the fake smile on my face in case anyone should be watching. I pull in a deep breath before pushing a stall door open. Blinking hard, fighting tears, I dab the corners of my eyes with toilet paper. Won’t do to have mascara smudged and all over my face.
When I exit the stall I say a prayer, but God’s not listening.
Again.
If he was, Gina wouldn’t be standing in front of the mirror, refreshing her makeup.
“Hello,” I say, even though my inner mafia bitch wants to follow through on my earlier fantasy and rip all that pretty, shiny black hair out.
She gives a little huff and a tiny shake of her head, then continues to focus on outlining her perfect lips.
Yep. God hates me.
So.
I ignore her while I wash my hands, touch up my lipstick, and check my rear for any unwanted stragglers. As I turn to leave, I catch her watching my reflection.
It’s not like I’m looking for it, and lord knows I wasn’t expecting it, but when I see it, it shifts everything. The pain in her expression—quick and sharp like moonlight glinting off a knife’s blade before it’s gone—is a reality that floors me. She’s in love with him too!
As soon as the door closes behind me, my breath catches in my throat.
Shit.
How many women are in love with the asshole? She must know, or at least suspect in that way that women intuit, that we slept together. Except, she’s the one with him tonight and it didn’t take him long to go back to her either.
I guess that means you win, Gina.
“What can I get you?” the barman-slash-surfer-dude asks, flirting with his eyes. I hardly notice, due to the broken glass swirling in my stomach and laser beams burning holes in my back. Somehow, I refrain from looking over my shoulder. Don’t particularly care whose laser beams they are. Gianni can go fuck himself and Gina…well Gina can help for all I care.
Except I do.
I really, really do.
Dammit.
Drinks in hand, I weave my way back through the ever-growing crowd to Rory, who’s still in conversation with the Silicon Valley whatever, just as the band strikes up.
When he sees me, he stops, slides his arm around my shoulders and whispers in my ear.
“That didn’t go well.”
“Noop.”
“You ready for some dancing?”
“Not really.”
“Oh, come on. Let’s get some payback, make that fucker jealous. Besides, it’s hard to cry when you’re focusing on keeping up.”
“I’m being a bad date, aren’t I?”
“Not if you dance with me.”
“Okay,” I whisper. What harm can it do. Better than moping around. Only hope my shoes don’t let me down.
Rory places our drinks on a table and guides me to the dance floor along with several other couples already moving to an uptempo instrumental number. He’s playful and a strong lead, making up funny lyrics to the melody as we go. He has a good voice (because in his other life he sings in a band) and within moments we’re swirling around and I’m no longer fake smiling. Gianni and his collection of broken hearts almost gone from my mind. As the number reaches its climax, he pulls me close, then with a flourish, twirls me under and we end on a dip. The couples around us smile and clap. Why can’t I be attracted to someone normal like him? He’s not only funny but a fun date too.
We’re still laughing as we’re about to leave the dance floor, when a dark, brooding shadow in the form Gianni steps in front of me, looking indeed like he wants to eviscerate Rory.
“Do you mind.” It’s not a question.
“Yes, he does, go away,” I quip.
“It’s fine, Shelley,” Rory answers. “Go ahead.”
I turn to stare. “What? No…”
Before Rory can respond, Gianni’s arm slips around my waist and steals me away. I struggle, but not too hard I must admit, since my shoes are not of the kind made to struggle in.
So I relent, weak-ass that I am.
Immediately his presence envelops me and that glass in my gut turns to butterfly swarms. As the music starts, he laces our fingers together, his free hand moves over my lower back caressing my skin.
“You look lovely,” he says, breath warm against my ear, sending shivers through me. Then the asshole runs his nose slowly up my neck, scenting me and pulling me closer until I’m against his hard thighs and hips. It’s possessive, primal and, dammit…hot.
“And you smell even lovelier.”
I so want to lose myself in him and it takes everything to pull my head back to meet his gaze. He doesn’t get this from me when he’s with another woman.
But, fucking hell, why is he so damn beautiful in that lazy-ass-without-even-trying way he is, making it impossible to resist.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“You forced me to dance with you, but that doesn’t mean I have to talk to you.”
“Suppose not, but that just means I’ll keep you on the dance floor and I’ll keep asking until you tell me.”
Well, that’s not going to work.
So, I relent again.
“I want a clean break.”
His arm around my waist tightens, making me miss my step. “A clean break?” He steadies me, but his brow creases until his Y appears. “From me?”
“Who else, Gianni?”
“Why?”
“You know my reasons. I don’t need to repeat myself.”
You couldn’t call it silence, because of the music, but it may as well have been and it goes on for a while as his eyes burn into mine.
Finally, he speaks. “You’re being an idiot, De Luca. You can’t see what’s in front of your face.”
He’s got me there. When it comes to men, him in
particular, I am an idiot. And I don’t trust myself.
I attempt to pull away, move back to Rory where it’s safe, but he shakes his head. “You’re not going anywhere and this will go much better if you relax.”
“I don’t want to relax.”
“You owe me this dance. You know…for saving your life.”
Fine.
I roll my eyes and give in because I can’t seem to help myself. Much easier than fighting, and if truth be known, I don’t want to go.
His fingers move across my skin, tantalizing warmth penetrating as the champagne kicks in, or maybe it’s him that’s so intoxicating. I become boneless and melt against him as we sway to the music and finally I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder, inhaling his smell.
The steel band across my back tightens, pressing me even closer. “You’re killing me, Shelley.” The husky way he says my name sends thrills through my body. The last time he said that to me…well, was in his kitchen after he gave me an orgasm. “Don’t you know what you do to me?” It’s then I notice the hard column in his pants pressing against my lower belly.
Everything inside me spasms and a tiny whimper escapes my lips.
I need to see his face, look into his eyes, but as I lift my head, something beyond his shoulder catches my attention.
Gina.
Alone and standing off to the side of the dance floor watching us. How could I forget? The set of her mouth and the shimmer in her eyes says everything.
I may hate her, but hurting people isn’t my thing and I definitely don’t poach other people’s dates. I stiffen and shove against his chest.
“Stop,” he commands.
“Shut up.”
“Shelley, stop…”
“Gina, remember?”
“What about her?”
“God, you’re an asshole.”
“Listen to me. I told you there’s nothing between us.”
“Like I’m going to believe anything you say. You’ve already admitted you’ve slept with her. Don’t deny it now.”
“I’m not denying it. I did, once. A long time ago and not since you’ve been around. She finds buildings I might be interested in buying, Shelley. That’s all.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Now who’s the idiot? Or maybe you’re just that callous.”
