Page 6 of Saint
“Professor Martinez believes the future of city transportation is in elevated pedestrian networks,” she says, her voice soft but surprisingly articulate, her teeth briefly catching her bottom lip between thoughts. “It would reduce street-level congestion while creating new commercial space."
“An interesting concept,” I reply, leaning toward her. "I’d love to hear more about it sometime.”
Her blush deepens. She returns to her iced tea, using the straw to push the lemon slice around the glass. The nervous gesture is oddly endearing, and I find myself wanting to put her at ease even as I fantasize about making her more nervous in entirely different ways.
“Lily’s considering a summer internship in Albany,” Jackson announces, swirling his twenty-year Macallan, the amber liquid catching the light like the flecks in his daughter’s eyes. His silk tie—Republican red—shifts against his starched collar as heleans back, oblivious to the electric current running between his daughter and me. “I’ve told her it would be an excellent experience before her senior year.”
Something flashes across Lily’s face—a tightening at the corners of her strawberry mouth, a momentary hardening of those whiskey eyes—before she smooths it away like expensive lotion. Her fingers clench around her napkin beneath the table where her father can’t see. Interesting. The governor’s perfect porcelain doll has hairline cracks.
“And what are your thoughts on Albany?” I ask her directly, angling my body toward hers, effectively cutting Jackson from our private sphere.
She hesitates, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip. I track the movement like a predator. “I’m considering all my options,” she finally says, each word measured as precisely as the pearls around her slender neck.
Diplomatic answer. I admire her restraint even as I imagine testing its limits.
“The Ravello Foundation offers internships as well,” I say, sliding my business card across the white tablecloth until it touches her fingertips. I savor the way Jackson stiffens beside me, his knuckles whitening around his tumbler. “Our urban development initiatives might align with your... interests."
“Luca,” Jackson laughs, the sound brittle as thin ice over deep water. A vein pulses at his temple. “Are you trying to poach my daughter?”
Yes, but not in the way you think.
“Just offering alternatives,” I reply smoothly. “Diverse experience builds a stronger resume."
Lily’s eyes meet mine, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. She understands exactly what I’m doing—challenging her father’s authority, offering her an escape fromhis plans. She takes another sip of her tea, but this time, she maintains eye contact over the rim of her glass.
My cock strains against Italian wool, the rigid length trapped painfully against my thigh like a caged animal. I shift in my chair, the subtle movement sending a delicious friction through my groin as I adjust myself beneath the crisp white tablecloth. I’m forty-eight hours away from announcing my mayoral candidacy, sitting across from the governor whose endorsement I need. All I can think about is the taste of his nineteen-year-old daughter’s skin against my tongue, the silk of her thighs wrapped around my waist, her innocent gasps turning to desperate moans as I claim every inch of her untouched body.
I’m a goddamn cliché—the powerful man lusting after a girl half his age. But when she bites into a stuffed mushroom, her eyelashes flutter against her cheeks like dark butterflies. The tip of her tongue catches a fleck of herbs at the corner of her mouth, and heat pulses through me in a slow, dangerous wave.
“The duck here is exceptional,” I tell her, letting my voice drop to a timbre that brushes against her skin like velvet. “Have you tried it before?”
She shakes her head, the movement sending a whisper of her jasmine perfume across the table. “This is my first time at Le Bernardin.”
First times. The words hang between us like ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. I imagine her skin flushed pink beneath my hands, her body arching as she discovers sensations she’s never felt before.
“Then you’re in for a treat,” I promise, letting my gaze caress the hollow of her throat where her pulse flutters like a captured bird.
Jackson clears his throat, perhaps sensing the shift in atmosphere. “Luca is being modest. He’s a regular here—knows the chef personally, don’t you?"
“Eric and I go back many years,” I confirm, reluctantly turning my attention back to the governor. "I’d be happy to introduce you both after dinner.”
As Jackson launches into another political topic, I notice Lily watching me with newfound curiosity. She’s more perceptive than her father, sensing the power dynamics at play. When she reaches for her water glass, her fingers brush against mine in what could be an accident but feels deliberate.
I’m playing with fire. The heat of it licks across my skin, pooling low in my abdomen. Jackson Moore could burn my ambitions to ash if he knew how I imagine his daughter’s lips parting under mine, the soft gasp I could draw from her throat with just one touch.
Or at least, he’d try.
But as Lily’s eyes meet mine again, holding for just a beat too long, I feel that familiar tightening in my chest, the slow drag of desire that makes rational thought blur at the edges.
Some hungers can’t be satisfied with power alone.
Chapter 5
Lily
The moment his fingertips—roughand warm—graze my bare knee under the crisp white tablecloth, electricity shoots from that single point of contact straight to my core. My breath catches as carbonated bubbles burn the back of my throat. I grip the delicate crystal stem of my water glass tighter, forcing my face to remain placid while my pulse thunders in my ears. Across from me, Daddy drones on about the upcoming election cycle, utterly oblivious to the inferno igniting beneath his very nose.
“The polls are looking favorable, but we can’t take anything for granted,” my father says, his gold cufflinks catching the candlelight as he cuts into his bloody ribeye with practiced ease. The rich, metallic scent of the rare meat wafts across the table, mingling with the heady aroma of Luca’s cologne. I make a mental note to scold Daddy later about his overconsumption of red meat—his cardiologist would have a fit if he could see the crimson pool forming on the white porcelain plate.
