Page 76 of Her Dark Salvation

“Good luck with that,” she said dryly and turned back to the crowd, sipping her martini. “They’re all the same.” The tenor of her changed to something distant. “The whole lot of ’em.”

I followed Siobhán’s eyes across the room.

Luca.

He looked as though he’d stepped off the red carpet at the Met instead of Terme di Boston. His fitted white tuxedo with black lapels was a stark contrast to the uniform black worn by the rest of the men. With his matching white smile, slicked-back hair, andGQcheekbones, he pulled off the daring fashion statement with effortless insouciance.

He chatted with Carmine and Angelo, and a blonde woman in a skintight, strapless cocktail dress clung to his side, hands resting atop his shoulder. She whispered something in his ear, but he barely acknowledged her—a distracted glance, a quick nod—never breaking conversation with the two men. She turned away, and I nearly choked on my champagne when I saw the size of her breasts; her dress defied the laws of physics. She walked away with short, dainty steps on platform heels toward the restroom.

Siobhán’s eyes never left Luca, like she was torturing herself with his presence. Before I could warn her to stop staring, Luca’s attention drifted across the room. He frowned for a fraction of a heartbeat, then his mouth twisted into a sexy sneer.

One hand in his pocket, the other holding a crystal tumbler, he said something to Carmine and Angelo, and started a casual saunter toward us, eyes fixed on Siobhán.

Siobhán threw back the rest of her martini.

“Okay,” I said. “I know you two don’t get along, but…” She met my eyes, and hers were filled with defiance and sadness. “There has to be more to the story.”

“Unfortunately,” she mumbled.

Luca rested the heel of his hand on the high top and drummed his fingers. “Good evening, ladies,” he said with a roguish smile. “Anna, you look ravishing. Rumor has it you’re a touch over-qualified for your administrative assistant position. Brilliance and beauty. Marco’s a lucky man.”

Unease shot through me like an arrow. “Oh. Uh… Thank you, but I… That is…”

“What is it, Luca?” Siobhán’s confident voice sliced through my nervous stammer. She lifted a toothpick lined with olives and touched the last of the green orbs to the bottom of her parted red lips. Luca’s eyes landed on her mouth, mesmerized by the olive. “Jealous Marco found a woman with more than two brain cells to rub together?”

She ran the olive along her lower lip and poked her tongue out just enough to touch it before she slipped it into her mouth. She closed her lips around the olive with a pucker and pulled it off the toothpick.

Luca’s throat bobbed through a slow swallow. “I think we both know I’m not the one who’s jealous, Shamrock.” The bravado had left his voice, and his taunt came out choppy and strained as he continued to stare at Siobhán’s mouth.

“Please,” she scoffed and quirked a wicked smile. “I’m just concerned your date might not find her way back from the bathroom. It’s a terribly large hotel, and I worry she can’t count high enough to remember all the left turns.”

She trailed a red fingernail down his shirt from just below his chest to where his tuxedo jacket buttoned at his waist. She let her finger dally there, tracing it in circles. Luca tensed. His hand atop the table balled into a fist, and his nostrils flared with effort.

“Did you let her know if she takes too long, you’ll move on to the next set of big breasts stupid enough to fall for your BS?”

Luca’s pouty lips thinned into an unhappy line, and he snatched Siobhán’s hand away from his waist, holding it between them by her wrist. “Tsk, tsk.” Luca shifted his weight and closed the gap. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Shamrock, even if green is your color.”

She jutted her chin toward him. “I told you not to call me that,” she hissed, each word slow and hot.

Luca leaned in, animosity and sexual tension crackling in the few inches of air left between them. “There’s that Irish temper. You can pretend all you want you’re not from Southie, but that accent always comes out when you lose your temper. Or, if I remember correctly, when you’ve had too much booze.”

“Why you?—”

“You two behaving yourselves?” Marco’s deep voice ended the standoff.

“Always,” Luca said and released Siobhán’s wrist. He rolled his shoulders and eased himself back, schooling his expression and clearing his throat. “Marco.”

“Luca.”

“Well.” Luca downed the rest of his scotch and set the empty tumbler on the table. “I better go find my date. Wouldn’t want her to get lost.” He turned toward the center of the lobby and took a few steps before tossing one final barb over his shoulder. “Right,Shamrock?”

Siobhán’s lips pinched into a tight pucker, and she gripped the stem of her martini glass so hard I thought she was going to fling it at the back of Luca’s head. “I need a drink,” she grumbled and stormed off.

Marco puffed his cheeks and blew out a slow breath.

“What was that?” I asked, astonished.

“Damned if I know. They’ve acted like that for…” He waved his drink before bringing it to his lips.

---