Page 18 of The Merciless King

My eyes slide over his wide shoulders and the way he holds himself with a confidence few men have.

Who is he?

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone to pay for his drink, then rests on the edge of the barstool. The bartender slides a top shelf whisky across the wooden bar, and I watch as he lifts it to his lips.

My heart is pounding as they part and he sips the liquid gold.

How the heck did he just make the simple act of drinking so erotic?

“Gianna?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry.” I look back at Mia, blinking.

“Have you been? To Dubai?” she asks.

“No. Never. Is it nice?” I ask, and my eyes drift back to the man.

Who. Is. Staring. At. Me.

I lift my wine and try to swallow it with grace and confidence. I don’t. I gulp, and it falls down my throat painfully.

I cough.

He watches me without reaction, sipping his whisky again and then placing it on the bar. Never looking away.

I drag my eyes back to Mia.

“It’s man-made. You just wouldn’t believe this place. Honestly, you have to go, Gianna. Even Connor was blown away and he’s used to luxury. I can give you the information if you’d like.”

“Dubai.” I nod, trying to pretend I’m fully into the conversation.

“I want to go to Greece next. Or Morocco. I need to get Connor away from work. That’s the challenge.” She chats away as I smile, then I risk a glance back at the handsome man.

He’s talking to a woman who has walked over to him.

Taken.

Figures.

Not that it matters. He’s probably a prominent New York businessman and if he’s as intelligent as he looks, he wouldn’t get involved with the daughter of a mobster.

Then again, we only need to know each other for a few hours. Not a lifetime. I’m under no illusion that the fairy tale Mia is living is one I could achieve.

I glance away, forgetting him.

“Greece is incredible. If you love cats, you will be in heaven.”

“I do love cats. Connor is a dog person. So we are at an impasse.” She laughs and I envy her carefree life.

If only getting a cat or dog with my wonderful husband was my greatest concern. I know she’s grieving, but I am feeling rather green around the collar. That doesn’t mean I’m not happy for her. I am.

It can be both.

Someone approaching our table catches my attention.

I almost gasp when I see the man from the bar standing beside us...looking at Mia.

“Mia. Mia Mancini?” his deep timbre voice asks and I almost moan.

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