Page 20 of He Should Be Mine
As we step back into the sunlight, I slide my sunglasses on and stretch my arms above my head, letting the warmth kiss my skin.
“I want to have tea at the Ritz,” I announce.
Dario’s head turns like a slow-motion threat. “It’ll be booked up.”
I pout. “You can make it happen.”
He crosses his arms. “You know I can’t use my name for this.”
I blink innocently. “So use a fake one. Call in a favor. Bribe someone.”
His eyes narrow. “Molly.”
I tilt my head, lips curving in a knowing smile. “You’re telling meDario Bianchi, who could probably get a table in hell with a well-placed phone call, can’t get us into the Ritz?”
“I’m telling you that Dario Bianchi can, if he uses his name, which he can’t.”
I slide my sunglasses down my nose and give him my best pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
His gorgeous, thick, manly eyebrows furrow. “If I call in a favor using my name, word could get out that I pulled strings to take a male sex-worker to tea,” he explains carefully, as if I didn’t understand perfectly the first time he said it.
My hand goes to my heart. I flutter my eyelashes dramatically. “I’m a sex-worker and not a whore today? Dario, I didn’t know you cared.”
He exhales like I’m personally shaving years off his life. “How about Harrods?”
I squeal. “Yes! God, I love you.”
He stiffens like I threw a grenade at him. I twirl away before he can react.
Dario mutters something in Italian and pulls out his phone, stepping a few paces away. He has his back to me, all tense lines and clipped words. I lean against the shopfront, basking in the victory.
And then…
“Hey,” says a voice.
I turn my head. There’s a guy standing beside me. Tall, blond, very aware of his own smile. He nods at the shop sign above our head. “Big spender, huh?”
I offer a polite smile. “Something like that.”
“You from around here?”
I glance sideways at Dario, still on the phone. His back is rigid now.
The guy’s getting bolder. “You got a number?”
I give him a slow once-over, then smile sweetly. “Sorry, Sugar. I’m spoken for.”
“Oh yeah?” he grins, not believing me. “Boyfriend?”
“Something like that.”
Dario’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. He turns around.
And starts walking toward us.
Actually, it is more likestalkingtoward us. Like a storm cloud with an axe to grind. His eyes are locked on the guy, and the guy, God bless his survival instincts, takes one look at Dario’s face and bolts without another word.
Dario stops in front of me, eyes still burning. “You good?”
