Page 7 of Secret Babies for the Italian Mafia Boss

I wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She’s safe with me.

Even if it is just for tonight, because I’m not a man meant to be in someone’s future, Camilla is mine tonight.

And I’ll treat her as such.

When we finally reach the top, one of my guards opens the door to my private room. When the door shuts behind us, the music can’t be heard.

“I’ve soundproofed the room,” I explain, shrugging my blazer off and hanging it on the back of the chair.

She looks around, wide-eyed and shocked by the extravagance.

I click the button on the wall, and the frost that tints the glass disappears, so she’s able to see outside the club.

“That’s a neat trick,” she says, sauntering her way to the nearest wall to look at the swaying bodies.

“We can see them, but they can’t see us.” I clarify, wanting her to feel safe as she can be with a man she doesn’t know.

“You must own the place to have this kind of office.”

“I do.”

She turns her head and smiles at me, which almost has me tripping as I walk around the bar. Men like me don’t trip over themselves, but her smile is beautiful enough to stop a man in his tracks.

“Your club doesn’t disappoint. I’ve wanted to come here for ages. I just had to wait until I was legally able to,” she explains.

I grab two flutes and a bottle of chilled champagne, then head toward her, my heart stammering a beat as she turns to me again.

She’s stunning in a way that I bet gets overlooked.

She’s natural, which isn’t appreciated in today’s world. Her cheekbones are high without filler, and her big brown doe eyes blink their innocence at me.

She’s a little lamb in a wolf’s den, and she has no idea how badly I want to devour her.

I hold out the flute glass to her, and she takes it, our fingers brush just enough to send a spark of electricity through my bones, and I know she felt it, too, by how she gasps for breath.

I pop the champagne, and the cork flies across the room, bubbles spewing from the bottle. “Happy birthday, Camilla.” I pour her glass full and then my own, raising it to hers until the flutes clink.

“Thank you, Luca.” She sips the champagne, and this time she doesn’t wince.

“I take it you didn’t like the martini you had earlier?”

Her cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Oh God, you saw that? Don’t fire your bartender or anything. It wasn’t their fault.” She grips my forearm, and the heat from her palm sears me. “I don’t drink. At all. I always saw martinis ordered in movies. You know,” she tosses her hair over her shoulder and lowers her voice to a sultrier tone. “I’ll have a martini. Dirty. Shaken. Not stirred.”

I chuckle at her rambling, finding her conversation refreshing. I’m so used to dealing with business that I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation that didn’t end with someone dying.

“And it didn’t work out for you?” I watch as her lips press against the rim of the glass while she thinks back to her martini.

“No. God no. I didn’t know it was only vodka. That’s disgusting. Who can just drink vodka? It burned going down.”

“You can ask for gin too. It isn’t just vodka.”

“Oh. I-uh-I didn’t know that,” she stammers, blushing again. “I like this champagne. It isn’t too sweet. It’s dangerous.”

“Isn’t a little bit of danger somewhat enticing?” I take a step closer and invade her space to see if she takes a step away. If she does, no harm or foul. It means she isn’t interested in what I am interested in for the night.

Camilla steps closer until her breasts are skimming against my chest. She licks her lips before taking another sip of her champagne. “It’s why I’m here tonight. The real world can wait until tomorrow, right?”

The sexual tension builds between us, and our eyes lock, a heated glare passing between us as we stand in silence. She downs what’s left of her champagne, and I reach beside her to grab the bottle, having to lean in just enough to suggest I want to kiss her. Her breath ghosts against my lips, and her sharp inhale makes me grin.

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