Page 29 of Liberated By Sin

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t seem all that thrilled from where I wasstanding.”

Another cheeky smirk.

“Were you looking for me?”

“It’s a little hard to miss that inflated head of yours.”

Santino’s laugh shook his chest. “I won’t even argue with that one.”

“Figures,” I said, trying desperately to hold back the smile creeping across my lips. As much as I wanted to detest his arrogance, I found myself strangely amused. “I’m heading home for the night.”

“I’ll have your winnings sent to your room,” he assured me as I started down the hall. “And I’ll see you tomorrow, Amara.”

I kept moving without a second glance, but much like our moment on stage, I felt his eyes on me…and maybe, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t experience the usual pricks of anxiety that came with the presence of a strange man at my back.

14

I couldn’tdeny the disappointment I felt each time I watched her leave from the live feed in my office. If I had even an ounce of a moral compass, I’d feel slightly guilty, maybe even disgusted, at my growing obsession with this woman. But I couldn’t be bothered. I’d indulge in her beauty when I saw fit, whether from the comfort of my space, stage-side, or our purposeful interactions.

Inflated head, I repeated in my thoughts with a chuckle. It was the second time she’d let her guard down with me. But I needed more.

We’d had a moment, she and I, when eye contact wasn’t necessary because I felt her passion from across the room. No one else existed at that moment. Amara had performed for me.

Slamming my glass of scotch against the wooden desk, I stormed to my feet. Watching her dance for a room full of men was becoming more difficult the stronger my obsession grew. Knowing they coveted her the way I did, were mesmerized by her the way I was, it made me want to lock her up andkeep her for myself.

Although something told me, Amara Carvalho wouldn’t be kept.

Movement from the corner of my eye shifted my attention back to the monitors as she emerged from the back door. The knot she usually wore in her hair at the end of her shifts was missing. Tonight, she’d left her curls loose. Black dress pants and a sleeveless top also replaced the more casual outfits she’d changed into.

“Where are you going,preziosa?” I whispered to myself.

She reached her car, but without losing her stride, passed the small Audi and headed toward the sidewalk.

Drawing in a strained breath, I gripped the edge of the desk and warred with the overwhelming urge to follow her.

1 a.m.

The streets of Miami were no place for her at this hour. I snatched my key fob from the drawer and tore out the door.

I had no doubt I looked crazed as I ran through the lot, reaching the curb just in time to see her turn a corner.

People stumbling out of clubs, bars, and the pier still littered the street. Some looked at me in annoyance as I split their friend groups, bulldozing through and making no effort to lose pace for anyone. When I reached the corner she’d disappeared behind, I thought I saw the back of her hair, but before I could confirm, a young man, probably too young to drink, plowed into me before falling on his ass.

“What the fuck! Watch where you’re fucking go—” he’d started to say, until the look on my face made him pause.

Without wasting another second, I dusted my suit sleeve and pressed forward. I hadn’t felt the heat of a Miami summer night until then. Cursing, I slipped the jacket off my shoulders and tossed it. My cuff links came next.

“Thank you!” shouted a homeless man perched against a brick building. I offered the poor bastard a subtle nod as I continued down the sidewalk while simultaneously rolling up my sleeves.

As I approached a busy crosswalk, I expected to see Amara’s curls, but she was nowhere to be found.

“Cazzo!” I seethed, coming to a stop once I realized I’d lost her.

“Do you make it a habit to follow all your employees?”

I whipped around to the sound of her voice, and there she was, like a goddess, leaning against the glass of a storefront, eyes trained on me. But something was different about her stance, demeanor, and how she sized me up as if it were our first meeting, and she was unsure of my intentions. I supposed I couldn’t blame her.

Clearing my throat, I sifted through excuses that wouldn’t make me sound like some perverse stalker. Until I realized, I didn’t care.

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