Page 24 of Skin Deep

“Hmm,” I muttered to myself. “Trouble already.”

Where the man had fire in his eyes, my cousin had ice water in his veins that made the blue of his eyes cold. It didn’t take long for Amadeo to take his wife from the man, and for the man to stand there and watch them continue to dance.

“My God,” I said in Sicilian. “He is in love with her, too.”

It was hard to keep my eyes in one place—on the man or on Mariposa. Maybe it wasn’t Mariposa that I needed to concentrate on, but him, the man. He had to have some big balls to challenge a man like my cousin.

Downing the rest of my wine and setting it on a passing server’s platter, I fixed my dress and made my way onto the dance floor. The man was standing there, looking like a riled-up dog about to fight to the death for what he considered his bone. That was all she was. Skin and bones.

I took his hand in mine, catching him off guard. “Dance with me,” I said, as I led him to the dance floor.

He twirled me out, then brought me close, once we were in the middle of the dancers, but he hadn’t even really looked at me. He was a good dancer. Smooth as he moved us without paying much attention. His eyes were still on my cousin and his wife. Even after Amadeo led her away, the man’s eyes continued to search.

Under the hundreds of lights strung up over the dance floor, his eyes were hazel. Green with varying shades of gold around the pupil. They were almost hypnotizing, the passion in them. His hair was dark brown. He made for a handsome picture as I studied his face.

“It is customary when you dance with a woman, you look at her.”

He stopped staring into the distance, where my cousin and his wife had gone, and truly looked at me. He blinked a few times and then nodded.

“I’m not good company tonight,” he said, almost like an apology, then went to walk away from me.

I held on to him. “He will kill you,” I said. “Let her go.”

“I feel dead already,” he said.

I nodded, understanding. “A piece of advice? Dance with me. Show me attention. If she feels anything, it will show. You will see it.”

In truth, this man wouldn’t see anything but Mariposa staring at my cousin to see if he was staring at me. I hadn’t been formally introduced to her yet, and I got the feeling my cousin was doing it on purpose. She had no idea who I was to him and was curious, but she was too proud to ask. My cousin wanted to get a response out of his new wife—would she be jealous? I didn’t want this man to know it, though, because…I already knew.

I wanted him.

I wanted him to look at me the way he looked at her. When I wasn’t around, I wanted him to search for me with the same passion in those gorgeous eyes.

He laughed, sarcastic and short, but turned to face me. “You want me to make her jealous?”

“Why not? Sometimes we do not realize what we have until it is gone—until it belongs to someone else.”

“Who are you?”

I held my hand out and we shook, but we didn’t let go. “Georgina Dolce, but mostly everyone calls me Gigi.”

“Gigi,” he said, his head tilting. “Isn’t that a guy’s name?”

“In Italy,” I said. “It’s my father’s name. A nickname for me.”

“Like Toni with an i,” he said.

“Sì,” I said, smiling a little.

“Which name do you prefer I call you?”

“Surprise me,” I said.

Our hands stayed connected while he finally kept his eyes on mine. We did not say anything for a second or two, then I cleared my throat.

“What is your name?”

“Harrison Ryan. I’m from New York. I’m on the bride’s side.”

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