Page 27 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“You,” she says, as if it’s a curse.
I smile down at her, enjoying everything about this moment, including how much she’d obviously like to stab me in the eye with a cocktail fork. “Buonasera, Miss Bobbitt. Cut off anyone’s cock since I last saw you?”
She narrows her gorgeous green eyes at me. “The night’s still young.”
Stifling my laughter, I take the seat next to hers.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“In this bar?”
“In this city. But I do come here often for drinks.”
She exhales slowly, then says with quiet sarcasm, “Get a little lonely up in your castle, do you?”
“I’m never lonely,” I lie, holding her fierce gaze.
It’s unsettling how easily she pegged that, and how uncomfortable I am that she might think me weak. I can’t remember the last time I gave a damn about what someone else thought.
Until right now.
Moistening her lips, she looks me over like a warlord might look over a kingdom he’s about to invade. It’s electrifying.
“I want my sketch pad back.”
I smile at her. “Too bad you already traded it for a plane ticket.” Then I remember why she was so desperate to get on that flight. “How is your father?”
All the color drains from her face. She winces and turns away.
“I’m so sorry.” Moved by her pain, I’m overwhelmed by the sudden urge to take her in my arms. I have to fight to keep my hands by my sides. “If there’s anything I can do—”
She whips her head around. “You can give me back my damn sketch pad!” she says loudly, causing the bartender to turn and squint at us. When he sees it’s me she’s shouting at, he smiles, nods, and turns away.
“What will you give me in return?” I smile. “Since you enjoy bartering so much.”
Through gritted teeth, she says, “You know what—never mind.” She folds her arms over her chest and shakes her head, muttering darkly about people with stupid titles and men with oversize egos and various other things until I interrupt her.
“How long will you be in Florence?”
“None of your business.”
Dio mio, this attitude makes me hard. “I want to take you to dinner.”
She snorts. Somehow it sounds elegant. “No.”
That shocks me. Not only the finality of it, but the word itself: no.
Women don’t say no to me.
Ever.
My dick throbs and lengthens, straining to get free from my trousers.
“Breakfast?”
“No.”
