Page 41 of Perfect Match
“Wow, you’re one of those—” I giggle and hitch one shoulder as his light kisses tickle below my ear. “—an exhibitionist,” I end with a gasp.
“Let’s just say I have no issues being naked in front of other people.” His voice drops an octave as he continues, “I suspect you might not either.”
My mouth turns up into a wide smile. “Maybe,” I reply quizzically. I’ve missed his teasing banter and his sexy damn mouth, which is now kissing and nipping a path from my collarbone across my shoulder. A shiver skitters up my spine.
“But tonight I was thinking we could visit the French Boudoir.”
My brow rises. “Where is the French Boudoir?”
“Upstairs. It’s a private playroom, so no showing off your gorgeous body to anybody but me tonight.” He grins, then threads another string of kisses back to my neck.
“It won’t be as special as what I’d planned for you in Paris, but I promise it will have the important elements: you, me, and a few little surprises.” His deep-timbered voice is turning my insides to goo. Knowing that he’s thought to make up for having to cancel Paris with a French-inspired evening already has me unraveling.
Curling my fingers into the lapels of his black dress shirt, I bring his face up to mine. “Gio, please take me to your boudoir now.”
“Bien sur,Mademoiselle,” he replies.
“You speak French too?”
Is there no end to this guy’s talents?
He laughs. “Only a little. I was just trying to get you in the mood.”
“Oh, I’m in the mood. Don’t you worry about that.”
He steps back and places his hands on my waist to lift me off the barstool, then threads his fingers through mine. It reminds me of our nights in Florence, walking hand in hand.
“My drink!” I say, tugging Gio to a stop before running back to grab it off the bar and gulping down the remaining sweet liquid. It’s too delicious to waste.
Tony is standing on the other side of the wooden counter, grinning at me, and I give him a wave before rejoining Gio.
He leads me up an extravagant staircase on the left to a mezzanine level and through another smaller bar area. Gio told me this place was exclusive, but what he failed to mention was the five-star opulence you wouldn’t normally associate with a club. Three lavish chandeliers hang from the high ceiling in this area, bouncing light off the gold fittings at the bar and the diamonds dripping from the group of women standing there sipping cocktails. And I’m sure I recognize the guy lounging on one of many sumptuous leather sofas, a glamorous redhead draped along his side. A sequin-clad waitress places an ice bucket with a bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal flutes on the white marble table in front of them.
I try not to stare at the couple, but I must be when Gio leans closer and says, “This is the VIP bar, and there’s usually a celebrity or two here on busy nights.”
This club is by far the fanciest I’ve ever been in, and I’m excited to see what awaits me in the French Boudoir.
We walk toward a woman at a high desk stationed in front of a dimly lit hallway.
“Hi, Jules. Do you have my room ready?” Gio asks.
“Yes, Gio. And the items you requested are on the console table,” she replies before passing him a keycard that looks like the kind you get at a hotel. The whole vibe in this part of the club is like a boutique hotel.
Again, he takes my hand, leading the way. The heels of my boots sink into the thick deep-red carpet. Small lights above a series of erotic gold-framed paintings are the only spots of light spilling down the walls and up to the ceiling, which is painted black. We stop at one of the solid wood doors that divide the paintings into groups of three.
“Jules seemed to know you?” I’ve no idea why I feel the need to say this to him. Maybe it’s the jittery butterflies swirling in my belly. Or the spike of jealousy I felt when he greeted Jules like a friend. How often does he bring women to this club?
What I felt for Gio in Italy was special because that’s how he treated me. But lately I’ve wondered if I imagined the feelings that were developing between us in Florence. It felt real, and the obvious sexual attraction between us is undeniable. Could that be all there is to us? Maybe after tonight I’ll have my answer.
He shrugs a shoulder as he swipes the card across the reader at the door, and the little light turns green. He opens the door and gestures for me to enter. As I slip past him, I don’t miss the way he stares at me like he can read every one of my thoughts.
When the door snicks closed behind us, he cages me against the wall before I’ve even had a chance to fully see the room. “I’ve never pretended to be a saint, but I’m also not a regular.”
The question seems to have touched a nerve. In fact, Gio seems more tense in general than the fun, flirty guy I met in Florence.
Looking him in the eye, I respond forcefully, “Let me be clear, Gio. I’ve never pretended that I wanted a saint in my bed.” I start to undo the buttons of his shirt, but I don’t get very far before he’s grabbing my wrists and pulling them high above my head.
“Tonight, I need to be in control. You can take control next time.” His voice is gruff, and I nod, wide-eyed. I’ve not seen this slightly desperate side of him before.
