Page 8 of The Deal

My reluctance to answer has him drawing back again. “You don’t know your own name?”

I frown. “Of course, I do.”

“Then what is it?”

“I’d rather not say.”

This has him cocking an eyebrow. “First, you don’t want me to kiss you, and now, you don’t want me to know your name. Should I be concerned about this?”

“Not unless you’re one of those whiny men who get their feelings butt hurt over trivial things.”

“I can assure you I don’t, but I’m about to stick my cockdeep inside you, and I thought it would be ungentlemanly of me not to at least ask.”

This time, I laugh, but before I get a chance to respond, the elevator abruptly stops, and the doors open.

He clears his throat and retreats a step before reaching for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. I can’t remember the last time someone held my hand this way. Like kissing, I find it too intimate, but I like it enough not to pull away.

He leads us down a long corridor, pausing by a door and staring at it briefly before continuing until we reach another one at the far end. He shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out the plastic card he used in the elevator, swiping it over the black box on the wall.

I should be alarmed that I’m being whisked away to his room, but for some reason, I’m not. I’d hoped the overpriced drink I bought earlier would help take the edge off my shitty day, but unfortunately, it didn’t. Maybe an orgasm or two from this mysterious, handsome stranger might do the trick.

I don’t know anything about this man, and frankly, I don’t want to, but I get the feeling I’m in for the ride of my life.

Chapter 4

Alexander

Less than an hour ago, I sat there captivated by a beautiful woman I didn’t know, and now here I am … guiding her into one of my penthouse suites.

I usually like to vet the women I bed, or at the very least, have my security close by just in case something unexpected happens. Do I think this woman is a threat to me? No. But again, you can never be too sure. I was raised to be suspicious of everyone.

There was no lead-up to this moment or an agreement, and barely a word was spoken between the two of us. I just informed her that I was going to stick my dick in her, and that was it. It was not the smoothest move on my part, but she didn’t seem to object. She’s here, isn’t she?

When I hoisted her over my shoulder downstairs, my aim was to get her to safety. There was no ulterior motive on my part. But once I had her confined in the service elevator at the rear of the bar, it was the perfect opportunity to extend my time with her. I wasn’t ready to let her go.

After all, she’d been harassed and disrespected inmybar. As the owner, isn’t it my responsibility to make thingsright? It seems like a legitimate reason, so I will run with that.

When she didn’t object to me taking her somewhere to get cleaned up, I had initially planned to take her to my penthouse apartment next door. There are four situated on the top floor of my hotel. Two are for paying guests, and the one next door to this one is mine.

It’s where I bring my dates because I never take anyone back to my actual home. It’s hassle-free and easier that way. I rarely go back for seconds because I’m not looking for anything more than a good time, and I don’t deal well with clingy females.

This apartment is the largest and most opulent of the four. It’s where my father stays when he is in town—nothing but the best for Giovanni Mancini.

I may no longer respect the man, and a massive part of me resents everything he stands for, but he is still my father, so I treat him accordingly. The importance of family is deeply rooted in the Italian culture.

Once we enter, she pauses just inside the doorway. I find myself watching her again as her eyes slowly move around her surroundings, taking in all the grandeur. My penthouse is more simplistic and decorated very differently from this one.

Other than her wandering eyes, I get no reaction or comment. Is it shallow of me to presume by the cheap quality of her clothing, the worn black sneakers that have seen better days, and the combination of staples and sticky tape she’s used to repair the handle on her bag that she doesn’t come from money?

The fact that she has to scrounge in the bottom of her bag for loose change to buy a drink only backs up that theory.

Does that bother me? Not in the slightest. I did,however, anticipate this place would garner some reaction from her, but I was wrong.

I didn’t bring her here to flaunt my wealth; that’s not how I roll. I brought her here for reasons I can’t explain. It’s something I’ll endeavour to unpack later.

My staff changes the sheets in my apartment after every use, and the place is cleaned daily, even when I don’t stay here. So she would find no evidence of the other women I’ve previously invited back there. But when I paused outside the door a moment ago, something stopped me from taking her inside.

It seemed like an injustice. Like I was tainting her somehow by placing her in the same basket. Although I have no plans to see her again after tonight, this one feels different from all the others. Or maybe I’ve built this up in my head to be more than it is.

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