Page 113 of Salvatore

She sighs. “Can you quit showing off for a minute and answer me?”

“I can’t help it if excellence comes naturally.” I skirt the pool table, focused on the balls. I won’t look at her the second she demands my attention, no matter how compelled I am to do so. “But I’m glad you’re impressed.”

“Do I look impressed?” she drawls.

I glance over my shoulder, such a weak fucking prick to cater to her needs.

She leans against the archway, her long, dark hair loose around her shoulders, one brow raised in disdain.

What she looks is goddamn edible, and I’m fucking famished.

I wanted to plaster my mouth to hers the second I arrived. To smother her against the rental car and slide my hand beneath the waistband of those curve-hugging jeans.

I drag my attention back to the table and take another shot, hitting the purple against the yellow to sink it in the far corner.

“Why is there a stylist here with a wardrobe full of expensive clothes?” she asks.

I double back a few steps to level up with the cue ball. “One look in the mirror,mi reina, and you’ll have your answer.”

She casually approaches as I lean over the table, weighing the cue in my hand to take a few practice swings. Just as I’m about to shoot my shot she bumps the stick, sending the cue ball off track to hit the black.

“Whoops.” She cocks her hip against the table. “Sorry.”

I suppress a grin and turn to her, taking in those earthy eyes. “What do you want, Ivy?”

“For you to politely inform your stylist that her services aren’t needed.”

I look her up and down, my brow raised in disagreement despite devouring the sight of her. “They’re definitely needed.”

She smirks, silently calling me on my bullshit.

This woman couldn’t look bad if she wore a garbage bag. The issue is that she deserves better than basic clothes. I hate the thought of cheap, chemical-riddled material touching her skin.

“I don’t want to be more indebted to you, Salvatore.”

“Don’t worry. You can work off the money owed in ways we’ll both enjoy.”

Her lips twitch before she quickly shuts the smile down. “And if I’m not interested in working it off?”

I step closer, my loafers brushing the tips of her white canvas sneakers. “We both know you are.”

For more than a week I’ve wondered what our reunion would be like. If she’d be more subdued after her trauma had time to percolate. If she’d quit being the ball-busting beauty given what Gabriel’s men did to her.

She stares at me, pensive, composed.

There’s the slightest edge of trepidation in her posture. It’s those eyes that betray her, the hunger burning in the dark depths driving me to madness.

“I’m not going to be your whore,” she murmurs.

“You wouldn’t need to be.” I place my cue against the table and lean into her, caging her against the felt. I need to know they didn’t break her. That she’s the same, fearless woman that fucked me senseless. “It’s not my pleasure I’m interested in. It’s yours.”

“Is that right?” She quirks a brow, acting immune to my advances even though her breathing increases. “I wouldn’t have taken you as the selfless kind.”

“No?” I shift my weight, testing her, pressing my thigh between hers and earning an almost inaudible gasp. “Then allow me to prove you wrong.”

“No, thanks.” She plasters herself against the pool table, trying to gain space I’m not willing to give. “Olivia has spent the last few hours warning me away from you. Not that I needed it. I’m kinda smart where stranger danger is concerned.”

“Yet the first thing you do after leaving your best friend is come in search of me.”

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