Page 27 of Gin & Trouble

It was gorgeous, sexy, and full of bad juju. “You wore that to our father’s funeral.”

“So?”

“What am I supposed to do, flash him my cleavage and ask him to rip out a chunk of his brother’s hair?” It didn’t matter what I wore for two reasons. I wasn’t trying to impress Dante Marchionni, and even if I was, he wouldn’t be there. I’d checked the guest list.

“You might want to try something a bit more creative.” Sophia scoffed.

“What do I do if Nicolina is there?” The mere thought of our cousin showing up and blowing my cover sent a chill down my spine. “Or worse, Evelyn Marchionni.”

“Nico is still in Sicily.” She stood and perused my pathetic collection of practical, sturdy shoes. “And I doubt Evelyn would recognize you.”

“She might.”

“Other than boning our dad back in the day, she hasn’t had anything to do with us.” Sophia shoved a pair nude pumps into my arms. “Besides, you haven’t seen her since you were, what? Fourteen?”

I frowned at the scuffed-up heels. “She’d be less likely to recognize me if I dressed more like Julia and less like you.”

“Trust me, the only Marchionni you need to worry about tonight is Enzo.” She ushered me toward the bathroom. “Married or not, he’s a man—anItalianman. He’s more likely to forgive a beautiful woman who cuts him and steals his blood than a dowdy girl in an oversized sweater and dorky glasses who pulls his hair or steals his glass.”

I wanted to argue. To point out the million things wrong with what she’d said, but she wouldn’t listen, and I was already running late.

An hour later, Sophia had curled my hair, applied my makeup, and stuffed me into a cab. I’d never admit it to her, but the dress and the shoes worked wonders. I felt more like me and less like self-conscious Julia hiding beneath layers of thrift store clothing.

I walked into the Christmas party confident I would leave with a piece of Enzo’s DNA…and then I locked gazes with Dante. Between his sexy grin and his Santa hat, I couldn’t look away.

A slow smile crossed his face. He looked me over from head to toe, twice.

Logically, I knew he was trouble, but my heart and my body disagreed. I wanted him in ways I’d never wanted another man. Of course, I craved him between the sheets—what red-blooded female wouldn’t? But my desire for him went much deeper than sex. I missed our conversations and inside jokes. I longed for a world where we could be a man and a woman in love without our families and lies between us.

My current state of mind wasn’t entirely my fault. Dante seemed to have made it his mission to make sure he wasn’t far from my thoughts. At work, he’d wooed me with handwritten notes, sent the entire department lunch, and embarrassed the hell out of me with a singing telegram. I couldn’t even escape him when I got home. He was online every time I logged on, and haunted my dreams every time I slept.

Between my racing thoughts and rock-hard nipples, I didn’t trust myself around Dante. One touch, and God forbid, one kiss, and I’d never want to leave his side. I needed to find Enzo, do what I had to do, and get the hell out of there.

The second Dante turned his head, I ducked into the crowd and followed Enzo.

Sipping my wine, I trailed the chef and restaurant owner as he checked on the lavish buffet. I had to hand it to the Marchionnis—for a bunch of jerks, they’d spared no expense at the employee party.

“We need more lobster.” Enzo spoke to a woman who appeared to be his assistant. “And more toast points for the caviar.”

“Yes, chef.” The woman headed for the kitchen.

I caught Dante glancing around the room and ducked behind a potted palm.

After what felt like an eternity, Enzo lifted a glass of wine from a passing server. He downed half the glass before walking toward the bar.

Ten minutes of following him and dodging Dante had yielded nothing except a headache. I’d all but given up, when Enzo finally deposited his empty glass on a tray of dirty dishes.

This is it.

I unzipped my oversized bag and hurried to the edge of the room. With my back to the other guests, I exchanged my glass for Enzo’s.

“There you are.” Dante flashed me his morning-after-in-the-hotel-room smile. “You’re not avoiding me, are you?”

Damn it. Why does he have to be so perfect?

“Of course, I’m avoiding you.” I lowered the stemware to my side in the hope he wouldn’t notice it, and just in case, I went on the offensive. “You lied to me about your name. Ignored my very legitimate concern about fraternizing with a supervisor, and went out of your way to make sure I thought about you all week.”

“You thought about me?”

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