Amore: Part 1 Read online

  “I’m seeing it,” I murmur, my voice low but clipped, focusing on the girls below. My eyes train in on the one who started it all. From this far, it’s hard to see what she looks like clearly, but what I can see is that she’s got hair that makes her look luscious and extremely feminine, long legs, and a killer body. Obviously she’s got sass, too. My mouth twitches as I stare down at her and her friend, who are currently sticking their fingers in their noses and pulling them up to make pig faces.

  Vin is grinning. “Don’t they know who owns this club?”

  “Clearly they don’t care,” I say, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

  “Sassy little things,” he murmurs, his eyes trained on the other girl in her red dress that can barely pass as a scrap of material.

  “Mmmmmm,” I say, watching a group of men around them who have slowly been moving in closer, eyes on the prize.

  Girls who look like that draw attention, but mostly, girls who act like that—cute and sexy—draw even more. They’re oblivious because they’re laughing so hard. “You seeing those men surrounding them?”

  Vin glances back down. “Yeah, there are a lot of them. Too many. You want to intervene?”

  I stare at the pretty mousy-haired girl who is now laughing, her head thrown back, her drink in her hand flicking out the side of her cocktail glass. Cute and sexy all right. She has no hope once that group hones in. “Yeah, I think I just might.”

  I stand and straighten my suit jacket before turning towards the door.

  “Careful brother.”

  I grin. “I always am.”

  ~*~*~*~

  JULIETTA

  There are way too many men surrounding us. Granted, we weren’t exactly being subtle—we’d attracted half the club with our crazy faces. The group of men closing in are all-grinning, all-charming, but all-freaking-me-way-the-hell-out. They look like predators, the kind of men who corner women and take what they want. They just have that air about them. Something crackling that fills the space surrounding the group.

  Celia glances at me, and we quickly step backwards, stopping what we’re doing and turning towards each other, pretending we can’t see them. We make light conversation, but that doesn’t seem to deter them.

  One of the men steps forward and places a hand on my hip, leaning down close. “You like to draw attention to yourself, I see. I admire that in a woman.”

  I shiver and try to step away but his grip tightens, a silent warning that I don’t like. “Let me go. We were only having fun.”

  “Pretty girls having fun—I like that,” It would seem he likes a lot of things that I don’t. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  I glance at Celia, who is being chatted up by another one of the men while the others casually grin at us as if they’re waiting for their dessert. This is not comfortable. At all.

  “Candice,” I lie.

  “That’s a beautiful name, Candy.”

  Ugh. What kind of man is he?

  I try to shift away again but he doesn’t let me go.

  “Let’s dance.”

  “I’d rather not,” I mutter, trying to move again but his grip is unmovable.

  “Come on, just one dance. I don’t bite.”

  He pulls me towards the dance floor and I squirm, trying to get his hands off my hip but they only tighten. People hardly notice—it just looks like he’s a man trying to control his difficult girlfriend. I’m fairly certain if I started screaming, they still wouldn’t be concerned. He is practiced, of that I’m sure; he maneuvers me in a way that is nearly impossible for me to pull away from, and he’s doing it with skill. That’s frightening.

  “Let me go,” I say, but he pretends he can’t hear me. He just flashes a charming smile at the crowd that has them moving aside to let him through. His hair, which I can see clearly now, is blond and practically glistens under the flashing lights. This man is a real-life Ken doll, and he knows it. I make one more futile attempt to get him to let me go, but he doesn’t release me.

  His grip tightens and he hauls me closer, crushing me against his body. His erection presses against my belly and panic sets in.

  I shove again. “Let me go.”

  “I believe the lady asked for you to let her go.”

  The sound comes from behind us—a silky-smooth, sexy sound that makes my skin shiver and prickle with fear at the same time. It has an authority that cannot be denied or ignored. Both the man holding me and I turn and see what is, without a doubt, the most devastatingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life.

  Six foot of muscled Italian male stands beneath the flickering lights. He has thick, dark hair that curls around the collar of his black, sleek suit, and eyes so brown they almost look black. He’s got at least three days’ growth on his masculine jaw, and he smells incredible.

  “Rafael,” the man holding me says, instantly releasing me and stepping back. “I wasn’t causing any trouble; I was just dancing with this lovely young lady.”

  “She didn’t want to dance,” Rafael says, his voice steady and precise—terrifying even though he’s not raising it. This is the kind of man to snap another in half with the click of his fingers. It radiates off him. My heart pounds.

  “R-r-right, of course,” the man stammers. “I’ll just leave.”

  He turns and lets me go, disappearing into the crowd so quickly I’m confused. I turn back to the man standing in front of me and wonder what sort of magical power he holds to make someone disappear so quickly. Probably Mafia. That makes fear crawl up my spine. I decide on giving him a smile, just in case. I certainly don’t want to piss him off. “Thank you.”

  He studies my face, those deep brown eyes moving over my features, and a slow grin spreads across his. “My pleasure, cara.”

  My knees tremble. His voice is the kind of voice you want to hear when he’s in between your legs, fucking you so hard you can’t breathe.

  I study his face while subtly breathing him in once more. God, his cologne smells good. He looks equally as amazing. An Italian stallion without a doubt. This is the kind of man you would pay to ride all night long, without hesitation. I flush at the thought and turn, glancing at my hands, unsure what I’m supposed to say.

  “What is your name?” he asks seductively, dipping down lower so I can hear him. His breath tickles my cheek, and I’m fairly certain I moan.

  “Julietta.”

  “Beautiful,” he breathes.

  God, who is this man, and when can I take him home?

  “Ah . . .” I shift nervously. “Thank you.”

  “Take care of yourself, Julietta,” he purrs, glancing around the club. “There are bad people out there.”

  “I will,” I say, meeting his eyes. “Thanks for your help.”

  God, Julie, stop saying thank you.

  He flashes me a heart-stopping grin before turning and disappearing into a crowd that moves to let him pass through.

  Wow.

  That was intense.

  I want more.

  CHAPTER 3

  JULIETTA

  Celia and I dance until we glisten with sweat.

  Then we dance some more.

  I’ve had a few Cosmos, but I’m not yet drunk. I think all my dancing is letting the alcohol pass quicker than it can get into my system. Besides, I’m having so much fun I don’t really need it.

  This club is incredible and the longer I stay here, the more I like it. Celia dances beside me with some handsome guy who looks like he rolled straight out of a country music film—all that suntanned skin, blond hair, and cowboy boots. I’m just dancing freely, not at all concerned with who joins in. It’s well past midnight, but this club remains open until five a.m. and I plan on staying that long.

  Nature calls midway through the next song, and I wave to Celia, letting her know I’m going to the bathroom. The line is huge when I arrive upstairs, and I want to groan out loud. I glance over at the male toilets, and see there is no line at all.

  No, I c
ouldn’t.

  I stay in the line, squirming as the pressure increases and my bladder feels as if it’s going to explode. My eyes go to the male toilets again. If I wasn’t tipsy, I wouldn’t consider it, but I am and I need to pee.

  I run like a boss towards the toilets, barreling in and skidding to the first stall I find. There are no men in here at the moment, so I quickly shut the door and pee, sighing with relief. When I’m done, I peek out and see no one is around still. Do men even pee? I mean, honestly, how can their toilets be so empty and ours so full?

  I rush out of my cubicle and over to the taps. I glance in the mirror and nod appreciatively as I wash my hands. I still look pretty good, considering all the dancing I’ve been doing. My hair isn’t as bouncy as it was at the start of the evening, but my mascara is still intact. Winner.

  I finish washing my hands, dry them, and then rush towards the door. I push it open and step out, only to slam into a hard chest. I look up with a squeal and my eyes get big when I see Rafael staring down at me, his hands curled around my upper arms to stop me falling backwards. He has a grin on his face that tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing and that he finds it utterly amusing. “Are you confused as to which toilets are which, Julietta?”

  I flush and smile sheepishly. “When a girl’s gotta pee . . .”

  His grin gets bigger and I see through his scruff. He has dimples. Hot. “I like a girl who lives dangerously. Come, have a drink with me.”

  Is he serious?

  I want to do a happy dance and squeal. I mean, I’m a girl and I’m single. This is the kind of man you want to have a one-night stand with. Granted, I don’t do those often, but tonight I’m willing to make an exception. I nod at him with a grin.

  He curls an arm around my hip and leads me down the hall. The girls in the line for the toilet have their mouths open, and I know it’s because I got to pee before them. As we walk, people turn to glance at me, a mix of shock and confusion on their faces. What? Have I got a rip in my dress or something? I glance down at my dress and see nothing. I rub my teeth with my finger, just to be safe. Then I continue on with Rafael, unfazed.

  He takes me to a door, and I’m not paying any attention because my favorite song just came on and the urge to dance is strong. We step through the door and I’m happily wiggling in his arms, but stop dead when I realize where we are. The big glass office. I can see the entire club below me, and suddenly I’m hit with full clarity. Celia said . . . I turn slowly and stare at Rafael.

  Oh. My. God.

  He’s mafia? Was I right?

  “Is this your office?” I ask, trying not to squeak or sound too afraid.

  “No,” he says calmly, as if sensing my panic. “It’s a friend’s; I’m watching the club for the night. Do you want a drink?”

  He’s not mafia—but that means his friend is.

  I exhale with relief, but only a little. “Your friend owns this club?”

  Rafael clearly picks up the nerves in my voice and walks towards me, and now he looks more like a predator than a sexy-as-hell man. “Yes, cara, he does.”

  I blink and then smile lamely.

  He grins. “It appears you’ve heard rumors about this club.”

  I swallow. “I, ah, I think everyone does has, right? Maybe I should leave.”

  He steps forward and cups my jaw in his big hand. “Do I scare you, sweetheart?”

  His words cause my knees to shake. “No, it’s just . . .”

  “Am I harming you?”

  He’s most certainly not. Why does he have to be so attractive? “No but . . .”

  “Then have a drink with me, and stop worrying about something that doesn’t involve you.”

  It’s not an option—I can tell by his gentle but firm tone. I nod and walk over to the edge of the glass, staring out. I catch my breath and calm myself. We’re just borrowing the mafia guy’s office. Who cares? He’s not here. This hot-as-sin man is. And I’ve been wondering what it would feel like to be in his arms all night. I exhale loudly and decide to go with enjoying the fact that I’m about to have my chance with this gorgeous male.

  I feel his presence behind me and my body trembles as the heat of his clouds all my senses. “It’s quite a view, isn’t it?” he says, reaching around me to place a drink in my hand. It’s a Cosmo. He’s been paying attention. I think my panties just got wet. He simply keeps getting better.

  “Do you just sit up here and watch?” I ask, trying not to stutter as he steps up closer to me, his hand gently grazing my hip.

  This man is intense, so intense. It’s a little scary but in the way you can’t seem to turn away. Like the part of the horror film you know will be awful, but your eyes remain glued to the screen.

  “Mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “Yes, mostly.”

  Oh boy.

  “So you saw me . . .” I swallow and flush, “. . . making faces?”

  His thumb slides across my hip, and I tremble. “Yes. You’re an intriguing woman.”

  I bring my Cosmo to my lips and swallow a big gulp, very un-ladylike. “And you saw me go into the toilets?”

  He chuckles, low and throaty. “Yes, I did.”

  “Am I in here to be punished?”

  “That depends,” he says, gliding his hand up the exposed skin on my spine. “Do you want to be punished?”

  “Preferably not,” I squeak. “I was never a fan of being spanked.”

  He has amusement in his tone when he says, “Then I won’t punish you, and I won’t spank you. Tonight anyway.”

  Jesus. I gulp. “Why am I in here?”

  “I told you,” he murmurs, tangling my hair around his finger. “You intrigue me.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “Never.”

  Oh. Shit.

  I step even closer to the glass until my breath makes little steam clouds on the surface. “They can’t see us up here,” I breathe, watching the people mingling about below. It’s fascinating, much like watching a beehive in action. The interaction between the sexes is mesmerizing.

  He steps closer, until his hard body is pressed against my back so fully I can feel every inch of him. Every. Single. Inch. “No. Quite thrilling, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I admit, placing my hand on the glass.

  Rafael takes my hip and gently turns me around so I’m facing him. “You’re impressed by the club?” he says, studying my face.

  “Yes, it’s very impressive.”

  He grins and lets me go, stepping back. I want to sigh in relief, except I kind of miss his touch and that’s insane. I’ve had way too much to drink. Wait, no I haven’t. He’s just like a drug. Everything about him captures you in the same intoxicating way. “Come,” he says, sitting on a plush, leather sofa. “Sit. Tell me about yourself.”

  I walk over and carefully sit down, crossing my legs. His eyes drop to them, and I quickly uncross them, shifting nervously.

  “What do you want to know?” I ask looking at anything but at his gaze.

  “Give me your eyes, cara,” he murmurs and a tingle shoots up my spine. I give him my eyes. “Do you work?”

  I nod. “Yes, I’m a nurse.”

  “A nurse.” He smiles. Jesus, I wish he were ugly. “Very impressive.”

  I shrug. “It’s what I wanted to do.”

  “Admirable. Do you have family in town?”

  “My mom and dad live here, I’m an only child.”

  His eyes flash. “Sorry to hear that.”

  I giggle, and his brows shoot up.

  “You find that funny?” he asks.

  “You’re apologizing because I don’t have siblings?”

  His face turns serious. “Family is everything, Julietta. Everyone should have siblings.”

  Oh boy.

  “What about you?” I say, swallowing more of my Cosmo. “Do you have siblings?”

  “Two brothers.”

  “That’s good. Your parents?”

  He lean
s back in his chair, sipping the amber liquid from his glass. The ice in it makes a clinking sound. “My father died a year ago. My mama is still alive.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say genuinely.

  He studies me. “Thank you.”

  “So, ah, I should probably go and—”

  “Are you currently taken?” he asks and I turn, glancing at him with a shocked expression. I shouldn’t be shocked. I came here knowing what he wanted. I’m not stupid. I’ve read the signs. I want it as much as he does. This dangerous, handsome stranger is doing things to me that I like, very much.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Taken. Are you in a relationship?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “Do you want to be?”

  He isn’t asking me to be his girlfriend, is he? Oh God, is he whacked? Maybe I should run. I thought it was just a night of steamy fun, and here he is dropping the girlfriend line. Me and relationships don’t work; they never have. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend and the minute he asked me to marry him, I ran screaming. Commitment-phobe, Celia calls me. The idea of marrying and losing my free spirit scares me, so I’ve avoided relationships like the plague.

  As I said, I’m sure I was meant to be a male.

  “No,” I say, my voice thick. “I’m not the relationship type.”

  “Perfect,” he murmurs, placing his glass down and turning to me.

  My heart pounds; this man is full-on in a thrilling kind of way. If I wasn’t drinking, I probably would have run already. Rafael is so tempting, so beautiful. God, I want just one taste. Especially when he’s leaning closer like he is . . .

  “Are you going to kiss me?” I ask, surprising myself.

  His lip twitches and he murmurs, “Yes, cara. Then I’m going to fuck you.”

  My eyes get wider, but before I can protest, he reaches out, curling his fingers around the back of my neck and pulling me forward. I place my glass on a bar table close by as I anticipate his next move. Then his lips are on mine, soft at first, coaxing. When I melt into him, that kiss becomes deeper. I should be running, but I can’t. He tastes as amazing as I thought he would, and God, kissing him is heaven. His mouth is demanding, his body is hard, and he’s in complete control. Our tongues dance together, and my head swims happily as I shift closer to him, wanting even more. He won’t even remember my name in the morning, so I should just live in the moment.