Page 50 of The Deal

Chloe tilts her head back, resting it on my shoulder, and a faint moan falls from her lips as I pepper kisses along her jawline. She wants me as badly as I do her, I can tell. That kiss in the shower the other morning proved it.

She’s fighting whatever this is between us, but I’m not backing down. I’m a man who knows what he wants, and I’m not afraid to pursue it … or, in this case,her. The push-and-pull we’ve had these past few weeks will only make the payoff that much sweeter in the end. She’s like the ultimate prize.

“We can’t leave. They haven’t cut the cake yet,” she breathes.

“They won’t even notice we’re gone.”

“But I want some cake,” she confesses.

Of course, she fucking does.

I bury my face in the crook of her neck, my lips curving up against her skin. “Ifamore mio dolcewants cake, then cake she will have.”

I hesitate before reluctantly releasing her and reaching for her hand. I thread her delicate fingers through mine, unwilling to let go. Since we arrived, I haven’t touched her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t trust myself. All bets are off now.

My initial reaction to her as she descended the stairs back at the house still has me spooked, but when we reenter the function room, my head is held high. Maybe those fuckers that have been lusting over my woman all night will get the message loud and clear.

She is more than my plus-one.

When we reach the table, I reluctantly release her hand and pull out her chair. I want her to sit on my lap, but public displays of affection are frowned upon in my world.

Italian families are like an unbreakable web—everyone’s connected, someway, somehow. I can’t let this get back to my father. If he catches wind of it, he’ll be on the first flight here, convinced that there’s a chance I’m considering settling down and giving him the one thing he wants most: a grandson. The Mancini heir. His heir. And that’s a risk I can’t afford to take.

I’d never knowingly bring a child into this world for those reasons alone.

Once seated, I pull out my phone and search for Antonio’s number.

Me: Chloe wants cake.

Antonio: I’ll make sure she gets a piece once it’s cut.

Me:You don’t understand; Chloe wants cake right now.

Antonio: I mean no disrespect to you or Chloe, boss, but we haven’t sung Happy Birthday yet, so she’ll have to wait a little longer.

I grind my back teeth together as I type my response.

Me: Antonio … my balls are bluer than cousin Vinny’s shirt, and she’s refusing to leave until she gets cake.

Once I press send, I look across the room, watching him read my reply. When he throws back his head and laughs, my annoyance grows.

Antonio: She’ll get cake soon, I promise.

Me: She’ll get cake now, or you will be looking for another job tomorrow!!!!

Antonio: After everything we’ve been through together … all the years … you’d fire me over a piece of cake?

Me: Damn straight, I would.

Antonio: Dude, you have it bad.

Me: Just get me the fucking cake, pronto.

Antonio: My wife is going to kill me when she sees a piece missing. Do you know how much she paid for that monstrosity?

Me: Don’t know, don’t care. And better her than me, she may show you some mercy … me, on the other hand …

Antonio: This coming from the man who threatened to kill Chloe’s dad with a gun that didn’t even contain bullets.

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