Page 33 of Silent Night Sins
“What were you saying, Donald?” I turned my attention to the crisp gentleman—and nearly choked on my tongue.
Standing in a black dress shirt without a suit jacket or tie, tattoos peeking out from the rolled up sleeves and neckline, was someone who did not belong to this scene. The muscles strained against the material, and my panties were instantly warm as I resisted the urge to run my fingers over the shirt.
Iknewthat body. The other night I’d tied it up and rubbed against it.
“I wanted you to meet the champion from the other night.” Donny beamed. “This is Cristiano Messina.”
“What are you doing here?” I blurted out.Double shit.I needed to stop drinking before my filter became non-existent. The laughter in those dark chocolate eyes told me the monster knew exactly what I was feeling, and he was probably having a good laugh at my expense. “I mean….” I gulped. “Your mother approved?”
I rounded on Donny, tearing my gaze from those bottomless dark pools.
“Oh, that’s the best part. She doesn’t know.” Donny laughed, clueing me in like it was some joke. “And when she flips, I’ll point out that as an investor, it’s my job to make sure Messina makes a splash when he turns pro.”
“You’re turning pro.” I spun back around, staring hard at the specter in black.
His voice was smoke and midnight. “I am. Happy for me, Nicky?”
That was his dream. As a kid, he obsessed about boxers, always playing clips on the VHS when he wasn’t hitting the bag in his garage. It was part of why I loved fighting, back in the days before the UFC was mainstream. Now, while I watched traditional boxing, I preferred mixed martial arts. Since Cristiano fought that style, I assumed he had also made the genre switch.
I suddenly wished we were alone. I wanted to pepper him with questions. Fill in the blank space that the years apart had created.
Without meaning to, I stepped closer to him.
“Is that for me?” The fighter tipped his chin down to my glass.
The one I was stupidly holding in front of me like a weapon. Or a shield. Probably both.
“If you want it,” I said lamely.
That mouth that had worshiped my body twitched in the smallest of smirks. Cristiano took the scotch from my fingers. The slight brush sent a zap of electricity straight through my veins. I dropped my hand, wiping it against my too-tight skirt. Lifting the tumbler, the monster twisted it to the part that had a dark red smudge, drinking from where I drank. My burgundy lipstick stained his lips.
My inhale caught in my throat.
Shaking myself, I took a healthy step backward, praying Donny hadn’t sensed whatever that weird chemical explosion was.
“Pretty boy’s over there,” Cristiano growled.
Heat flamed over my cheeks. “Good. He’s obnoxious.”
Throwing back his head, the monster let out a booming laugh. “You haven’t changed a bit, Nicky.”
I scrubbed my hands through my hair. “I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or a slap.”
Cristiano reached out and ran his knuckles down the lace of my sleeve. “We discussed my career goals. What about you?”
Theterm angel felt implied, I waited breathlessly for it, but it never came.
Doubt trickled through me. Maybe our connection was only physical. He didn’t want to admit he was my midnight monster, so that he wasn’t committed to anything more than the physical, carnal desire.
Or maybe he doesn’t want to admit it, so we can keep playing this game.
I wished I could read his mind.
I shrugged. “I’m looking for work.”
“You decorated the cookies.”
I pinned the monster with a look, to which he added nonchalantly, “Donald showed me in the kitchen as the waiter loaded them on a tray. Very proud of your baking, that one is.”
