Page 45 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
I have no idea if Contessa is still in the studio as I cross the street, and I force myself not to care. My interest in that brat has gone far enough. To distract myself completely, I pull out my phone and hit a number I haven’t used in a while. I place my order, confirm the hour and address, and by the time I’ve unlocked the apartment door, I have a date for the night and a surefire solution to the problem downstairs.
I throw my keys and cell onto the counter and walk into the bathroom. I’ve stripped off everything but my boxers when the doorbell rings.
Well, fuck, she’s prompt.
I run a hand through my newly trimmed hair, no doubt roughing it up, as I go to open the door, then a sight I was not expecting makes the vision I’m trying to banish swell tenfold in my mind until I’m resting a well-placed hand about pelvis-level. Just in case.
“Miss Castellano. What can I do for you?”
She stands there for a few seconds, nothing coming out of her mouth. Her eyes are wide as though she’s trying desperately to keep them focused on my face. She’s succeeding to the point of looking slightly unhinged. Maybe terrifying.
I try again. “Contessa? Do you need something?”
“I… um… I?—”
Normally, the sight of someone as taken aback and flustered as this makes me feel like a fucking winner. It means I’ve got the upper hand; I’ve caught them off guard. But seeing Castellano red-faced and tongue-tied only makes me feel fuckinghotall over. Exactly the opposite of what I’m trying to achieve. With her anyway.
“Yes?”
She swallows and almost chokes. “I just came to check you were okay,” she rushes out. “I heard gunshots earlier, and… Well, I know you were in the barbershop and that’s where the shots seemed to come from…” Her cheeks flush.
“Have you been watching me?” I say in a deep, low voice, deliberately ignoring the sheer hypocrisy lining my words.
“No!” She flushes even deeper. “I was dancing, and…”
As she struggles to speak I can feel myself committing the exact same sin my victim committed earlier. My dick is filling to the brim with blood.
“I just heard gunshots, that’s all.” She straightens her shoulders, collecting herself. “I just came to check you were okay.” Finally, her gaze drops to my torso, then my boxers and my naked thighs. Then she shakes her head and shrugs, dramatically. “And, clearly, you’re fine. So, everything’s good. I’ll let you get back to… Well, whatever you were doing.”
She turns her back to me, almost stumbling down the steps but then she stops abruptly. Her gaze narrows when she sees something at the foot of the stairwell.
I don’t miss the way her knuckles pale as she curls her fingers round the handrail. I lean round the doorframe and see exactly what’s stopped Castellano in her tracks.
My call girl.
Castellano spins around to face me, her features taut. “Clearly, you are justfine.”
I can’t help but smile. “Thanks for checking on me.”
She dips her gaze and tentatively makes her way down the steps.
Karina looks up at me with an arched brow. It wouldn’t be the first time she followed a warm-up act, if only that’s what this was. I look past her to the darkened street.
“It’s late,” I say to Castellano’s back. “I have a driver outside. He’ll take you home.”
Then, Castellano surprises me.
“Oh,” she says brightly, spinning around and disarming me with a broad, devastating grin. “I’m not going home.” She looks at Karina, then back at me. “You two have a good night now.”
She unlocks the door to the studio, drawing a small frown from my brow. It’s almost seven pm… Surely she’s finished training for the day? Unless, she’s going back inside to get ready to go somewhere else… The thought scratches at something in my brain. The other girls who left earlier were dressed like, well, fair game, if you ask me. They were goingout-out.
Karina approaches, dousing me in a cloud of Opium perfume. “Good evening, Mr. Bernadi,” she purrs in a deep, throaty voice, then kisses my cheek, lingering until the warmth pulls me back to where I’m meant to be.
She threads her fingers through mine and pulls me into the apartment, kicking the door closed. I glance at the open door to the bathroom with slight longing. I probably have blood splatters on my face and fingers. But Karina has seen it all before. Made men are discreet when it matters, but when it comes to their sexual exploits, they may as well believe they’re Rupert fucking Murdoch. I know I’m not the only mafioso Karina has entertained. The woman has earned her yacht.
I kick the door to the bathroom closed too. I’ll shower in the morning.
Exactly one hour later and I’m experiencing yet another first. I’m apologizing to a hooker because I can’t get it up.
