Page 2 of The Fixer

And I’m wearing a tiny slip that shows a lot of cleavage and nothing else.

“Umm,” I blurt out. “Hi. My zipper broke.”

“Yes,” the hot stranger replies, his lips twitching. His piercing blue eyes rake over me in appreciative appraisal. I feel hot and cold all at once, shivery and shaky. I can’t tear my gaze away from him. I’m a mouse hypnotized by a cobra, and I’m about to get eaten alive.

Valentina clears her throat.Valentina.For a moment, I forgot she was there. My cheeks heating, I drag my eyes away from the stranger and focus on my friend, who is looking at me with a knowing grin. “Rosa Tran, meet Leonardo Cesari. Rosa was in school with me and designs clothes. Leo works with me.”

He’s Mafia. That realization should snap me out of my daze—I have no desire to get involved with the criminal underworld—but it doesn’t. I want to stroke his cheek and trace his scar with my tongue, rubbing myself like a cat against his stubble.

“Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand to shake his, and the strap of my slip slides down my shoulder, giving him a great view of my naked breast.

A gentleman would avert his eyes.

Not Leo.

He looks.

It’s a male gaze, hot and carnal. He looks like he wants to push me down on the floor, tear my slip off, and thrust his hot length into me. No foreplay, no games. Just raw animal pleasure.

And I want it.

I’ve never felt this way before. I go on dozens of dates, but something has always been missing. I’m almost ready to believe that the sparks I’m searching for don’t exist, but then I lay eyes on Leo Cesari, all muscles and darkness, and I realize that the fairy tales, the romance novels, and the movies were right. Leo is fire, and I am a moth, fluttering helplessly toward him. I don’t know what to do with this violent cocktail of emotions churning inside me. “Sorry about the strip tease,” I find myself saying. “My clothes don’t usually fall to pieces on me.”

Leo gives me a wicked smile that transforms his face. “No apology needed,” he says, laughter coating every syllable. “I enjoyed it.”

The moment the door closes behind him, I whirlto Valentina. My body still feels feverish. “That’s the Leo you work with?” I demand. “You never told me how hot he is.”

“Leo isn’t,” she starts, and then she shrugs. “If you like the type, I guess. He’s too old for you.”

No, he’s not,I want to reply.He’s perfect.

That night, when I get into bed—alone—and turn out the lights, it isn’t my date I’m thinking about when I touch myself. It’s Leo, his piercing blue eyes staring into me, a small smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. And when I climax, it’s to the memory of him saying, “I enjoyed it.”

I seeLeo for the second time six weeks later. I’m in a bacaro, and Valentina’s daughter Angelica has just been kidnapped. Leo has a thousand things to do that day, but he still takes the time to walk me home.

We don’t say much. Leo’s face is grim, and as for me, I’m in shock. Who would kidnap a child? Why? I’m desperately worried, and my heart is pounding in fear.

“Will she be okay?” I finally ask at my doorstep.It’s a dumb question. He doesn’t know the answer any more than I do. Anything he could say to me right now is a platitude, an empty reassurance to keep my fear under control.

“Yes,” he says bleakly. There’s a flat resignation in his voice. Almost like he’s seen this exact scenario before, and he knows how it’s going to play out. It’s not going to end well, but he’s going to do everything he can to prevent it anyway. I look into his eyes, and I see an inky ocean-deep darkness that threatens to drown him. “I will find her or die trying.”

The next timeI see Leo is in July at Valentina’s wedding. My friend is getting married to Dante, the love of her life. I’m one of Valentina‘s attendants, and Leo is one of Dante‘s. He’s wearing a tuxedo and looks every bit as good as I remember.

Better.

I haven’t seen him in months. I don’t know why. I get the sense he isn’t doing well, but Valentina changes the topic every time I ask about him directly. I should have forgotten all about him. He’ssomeone I’ve met twice in eight months, but I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind. He’s the object of my fantasies, a fairy tale prince in gritty armor. When I close my eyes, I remember the way he looked at me the first time we met, the raw hunger in his eyes, and I feel that keen ache of longing all over again.

We’re seated together at the reception, but we don’t get a chance to talk until late into the night. The band is alternating ballads with pop songs when Leo turns to me. “Not dancing,principessa?”

“Principessa?”

He gestures to my bridesmaid dress, a pale pink frothy confection dotted with sequins. “You look like a princess tonight, pretty and sparkling.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

He tilts his head to the side. “Why would it be an insult?”

Because my parents think my choice of career is a mistake. Because Franco, the most recent man I dated, thought fashion was frivolous. I don’t say any of that. “If I look like a princess,” I reply, gesturing to Valentina on the dance floor, “what does she look like?”

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