Page 46 of Sins of the Orchid
“You aren’t going anywhere alone,” he ordered.
I blew out a frustrated breath. “You know, I was having a great time. My last night before leaving. But of course, you’d show up and ruin it.”
The reasonable part of me knew that if Adriano and I remained together, this scene wouldn’t be happening. Yet, I couldn’t help but be furious with Santi.
“We are going to find Adriano.” He ignored my comment, fury like a fire in his eyes.
“No.” I was half-tempted to stamp my heel down.
“Amore,” he warned.
I pressed my lips together and stared at him, unwilling to say anything. Instead, my fist clenched the material of my dress into a ball, making it even shorter.
Santi stood there in a dark three-piece-suit and a black tie. The contrast between us stark. He seemed to be towering over me, larger than life. His gaze fell down my body, and I felt it, as if he actually grazed my skin. My breathing stilled, his eyes lingering on my scrunched material, showing off more of my thigh than appropriate. I immediately released it, and he continued tracing my legs with his eyes until it reached my shoes.
Why was my body so in tune with him? His gaze alone made me feel breathless, itchy, and heated. It was killing me.
His heavy gaze returned to mine, burning with something I had never seen in his eyes before. And for some inexplicable reason, the way he looked at me sent every fiber of me into over-excited mode.
My stomach made a few somersaults, making me feel strangely breathless. Itchy. Hungry forhim. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him, his darkness hypnotizing me. Then he gave his head a slow shake, as if clearing his thoughts.
He turned to Renzo and the tattooed guy. “We are done here.”
That was one way to dismiss people.
“I’d rather hear the night was just getting started,” I mumbled under my breath without thinking, and instantly, heat ignited within me.
Renzo stifled his laugh, hiding it behind his hand while the tattooed guy smirked in amusement.
I went to sidestep him but his calloused hand around my wrist tightened. His grip was firm but not painful. But his touch… It felt like fire licking my skin, igniting an inferno through my bloodstream. He was branding me with his touch, and he’d only placed his hand on my wrist. Christ! I could only imagine how good it would feel to have his hands all over me.
Does he know what his touch is doing to me?
He pulled me along, almost like I was a bratty child, which pissed me off. We walked through a dark hallway, running into couples making out. He never even hesitated, moving like they weren’t even there until we entered a room that looked like an office. He shut the door behind us, and instantly the loud music dulled, like we were far away from it.
“Now what?” I spat, mad at myself for feeling this damn attraction towards him while he talked to me and treated me like I was a child.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he snapped back at me.
I blinked at the sudden change of his mood and glanced down at myself. “A dress.”
“That is not a dress,” he hissed. “It can barely be called decent material. You look like a kid playing dress up.”
The words hit the mark and shook up my confidence.
I blinked my eyes, hurt swelling in my chest. “I-I designed it myself.”
A string of Italian curses left his lips as he strode back and forth in front of me.
I watched him pace and realized he was trying to calm down before continuing our conversation. Frustration rolled off his body along with the whiff of his cologne - masculinity mixed with leather and whiskey. So good, like a man.
I narrowed my eyes. He wasn’t the only one pissed off; I was too. He couldn’t look at me one second with fire in his eyes and call me a kid the next. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Yes, I was younger, but nobody should call me a kid. Something boiling hot itched under my skin. An agitation that he refused to see me as a woman. Young woman, yes; but still a woman. Not a fucking kid.
Santi finally stopped; his piercing, dark eyes locked on me.
“Amore, you can’t wear stuff like that.” His eyes traveled down my body, and for the first time, it felt like his gaze wasn’t clinical. “You are underage,” he rasped. “Drinking and hanging out at clubs will get you in trouble.”
I frowned at his reasoning. That was the dumbest thing I had ever heard.
