Page 33 of Burning Beauty

"What does that mean?" She picked up her tequila and downed the rest.

"It means," he leaned an elbow on the table and shifted his body closer to hers, "that I was deemed too violent for my homeland. They sent me here to play out my own brand of business in a new land. A place where I can stamp the name of DeLuca on all of my competition as I wipe them out."

"Oh," she said quietly. His wasn't a warm and fuzzy story, or even a tragedy of circumstances, like hers. He was a terrible sociopathic human and he'd been sent away from his homeland so he could conquer territory and people.

It had been easy for her to forget what he was, with his gentlemanly manners and his quiet methodical approach to things. "And... and... how is it going? Your American business venture."

He seemed amused by her choice of words. "It has been lucrative, bellisima. You wish to see my bank records?"

She shook her head and took another gulp of water. She looked down when her plate was removed and replaced with a silver dish containing a single scoop of rich dark chocolate ice cream with a white chocolate ribbon on top. Rich people. She rolled her eyes. This tiny scoop was just going to send her searching for the bucket later on. Ice cream, especially chocolate, would always be in danger near Maria.

"It's not like you keep all your money in the bank anyway." She dug into her ice cream and nearly died on the spot. She sighed happily and wolfed the rest down, determined to find the source of this deliciousness and kill it when no one was around to share. Around a mouth full of ice cream, she asked, "Don't you have to launder money or something? Hide your illegal business money."

"Indeed," he drawled, continuing to look amused while staring at her mouth as she took each bite of ice cream. She hoped he enjoyed the show as much as she was enjoying her treat, because if he didn't start eating, she was coming after his next. "Do you know how money laundering works, sweet Maria?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. Sweet Maria? Bellisima? This guy was moving fast with the endearments and she wasn't impressed. In fact, she was going to come up with one for him. Maybe... Niccolo "kidnapper of women" DeLuca. Or Nic "murders puppies" DeLuca. Something old school mafia that'll sum up his sinister visage and attitude.

"Sure," she replied. "You open a restaurant or a laundromat or something and then run the cash through the business to legitimize it. Am I right?"

He chuckled. "Something like that."

She mournfully placed her spoon next to her empty dish and stared longingly at his ice cream, still untouched in front of him. "So, do you own a bunch of laundromats, Nic? Because I have to say, laundromats just aren't that sexy. You should've gone in for tattoo shops or massage parlours. Something tough and mysterious to go with your bad guy image."

He shook his head at her and then did the first thing he'd done so far to warm her toward him, he picked up his ice cream, stood, walked around to her side of the table and set it down in front of her. She gazed at it for a second, then picked up her spoon and fell on it, deciding to devour as much as she could before he wised up and changed his mind.

Nic pulled a chair up next to hers and sat facing her, so his thigh touched her knee while his gaze caressed her face, watching intently each time the spoon made another trip into her mouth.

"You simplify the process of business too much. It is no longer as easy as hiding money in laundromats and funnelling it through a bank. Businessmen like myself must now think bigger, wider, more global."

"Offshore bank accounts," she supplied.

"Yes, those are part of it."

"What else?" she asked, licking her lips and glancing at him. The scorching look he was giving her was enough to make her heart patter like crazy. There was nothing cool or dismissive about the man now, he was all sex while he watched her. A predator sizing up its next meal and deciding when to attack.

He leaned an arm across the back of her chair, trapping her curls against the wood as he shifted toward her, speaking in her ear and sending a tingle sizzling down her spine. "I think I will keep that to myself for now."

She turned to look at him, aware that she was putting her lips within inches of his. Satisfaction and fear mixed together inside her as he dropped his gaze to her lips. Something was happening between them, an emotional attraction that was mixing with the heady physical attraction that had been present from the first moment they met.

"Why won't you tell me?" she asked huskily. "Are you afraid I'll go to the police if you tell me too much about your illegal business?"

Without looking down, he took the spoon from her fingers, dipped it in the melting ice cream and brought it to her lips. She took the spoon in her mouth and licked the dark chocolate ice cream. She never understood the concept of sex and food before. She didn't like being sticky and would never allow chocolate sauce or whipped cream in her bedroom. But as his mouth descended slowly to hers, tasting the chocolate residue on her lips, his tongue swiping inside her mouth, she decided she might allow this brand of ice cream in her bed if it came with this kind of a kiss.

She felt it right down to her toes, every part of her body igniting with an internal fire. He lifted the spoon again. She opened her mouth, but this time he put it in his own mouth, wrapping his tongue around the metal of the spoon and licking away the chocolate.

Maria's body felt hot all over and her breath came out in little gasps as he slowly, effectively seduced her. She knew, if she were to touch herself, slide her fingers into her own panties, she would find herself swollen, wet and ready. She couldn't even pretend she didn't want him, despite how hard she was fighting the inevitable.

"No, that's not the reason I don't wish to discuss business with you," he said, his voice a husky deep drawl. She'd almost forgotten she asked him the question. "I won't tell you because I don't want you to look at me any different than you do right now. And if you get a glimpse of the devil of Costa Nostra, you will despise me. You will try to run from me."

Devil of Costa Nostra. Apparently, he already came with a nickname.

His words were so much like being doused by a bucket of ice water that she actually gasped out loud. She had no doubt that he was right. He was always honest with her. She had been momentarily seduced into forgetting who she was dealing with. Their flirtatious banter was a far cry from reality. The reality, of who he was and how he made his living, got in his way.

"May I be excused?" she whispered, her body stiff as she waited for him to deny her.

"You may," he replied easily, sitting back in his chair.

He watched as she jumped to her feet, shoved her chair back and headed for the door.

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