Page 13 of Hot-Blooded Killer

As I lose myself in the music, I even manage to forget about Lorenzo for a few moments. Right up until I feel a heavy hand land on my hip and spin me around. Where I come face-to-face with Lorenzo himself.

He flashes that famous grin of his at me, but underneath the cheerful expression, something dark and dangerous lurks. He leans in close and speaks into my ear. “You’re late.”

I step back and nod as if he just asked me to dance. I wrap my arms around his neck and shimmy up close to him so that my breasts brush against his chest. His jaw clenches, but then he makes an effort to relax, moving into the dance.

He grabs my hips and hauls me up close to him, grinding against me in time to the music.

My mouth goes dry. I’ve never seen Lorenzo dance before.

He’s good—lithe and sensuous.

The kind of dancer who makes you think of sex with just a few moves.

This plan to pretend to fall in love is going to be easier than I’d feared.

CHAPTER6

LORENZO

Gia turns around on the dance floor and rolls her hips, bumping her ass against me. I bite back a groan.

She’s certainly selling the idea that the two of us are going to hook up tonight.

The problem is, I don't know if it was a show she’s putting on for everyone, or if she actually plans to go through with it.

As she twirls around to face me again, her blond hair whips across my face, several strands clinging to my beard, and I have to repress an urge to bury my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her.

The beat of the song we’re dancing to changes, the house mix sliding into something I don’t recognize.

Gia’s two friends, Adele Terranova and Sarah D’Angelo, bracket her on either side, urging her to dance with them.

She stands up on her tiptoes and speaks directly into my ear. “I’ll find you after a couple of songs.”

Jesus. I shouldn’t have come alone tonight.

I hadn’t known Gia would be bringing an entourage with her—though I probably should have. They never went anywhere alone.

The three Mafia Princesses.

If I had been paying any attention to the social scene among the Families, I would’ve realized that these two are the ones we’ll need to convince that we are falling madly in love. And they’re the ones who will have to believe that we mean it when we announce that we have decided to get married on the spur of the moment—or as close to the spur of the moment as ever happens in our circles.

I make my way over to the bar and buy a drink, desperate to do something to slake the thirst she’s created in me.

Even if what I really want is Gia Rossi in my bed.

I turn around and lean back with my elbows on the bar, searching her out in the crowd.

There she is—dancing with her friends.

I need her.

The thought crosses my mind, and I push it down, determined to ignore the lust coursing through my body.

No matter what my clock might be telling me, the last thing I need to do is actually get seriously involved with Gia Rossi.

I fully intend to use her up and send her back to Edoardo Rossi in pieces—at least figuratively.

There will be no pregnancies, no children, no heirs to the Rossi fortune. Just a destroyed girl with a broken spirit, ruined for any other men.

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