Page 42 of Carnal Urges
“But I guessed something was up when I saw his house on the lake. He has an estate right next to Zuckerberg’s with three hundred feet of private beach. The place is probably worth fifty million dollars. Then there was the private jet, and the passports from various countries, and his little buddies who all spoke Russian. So, you know, one plus one equals two. He never told me, and I never asked, but it didn’t matter. He was already past his expiration date by then.”
Declan digests all that in silence. “Because boyfriends are like koi fish: a time-consuming and boring hobby.”
“Exactly.”
“So when did you finally confirm he was in the mafia?”
“Not until that night at La Cantina when the Irish guys were talking shit and the bullets started to fly.”
He turns me to face him. It’s so abrupt and unexpected, I’m startled.
Staring down at me with blistering intensity, he says, “You didn’t know he was in the mafia when you got together?”
“No.”
“And when you found out, you left him?”
“Don’t make it sound noble. I wasn’t a conscientious objector to his lifestyle or anything. The reason I left him is because I got bored.”
Declan is incredulous. “He’s a billionaire. A powerful, rich, good-looking young billionaire. Withbillions.”
“I’m familiar with the word. You don’t have to keep repeating it. And I have no idea how much money he has. I didn’t conduct a forensic accounting.”
“Trust me on this.”
“Okay. And?”
“And you got bored.”
“Money isn’t what makes a man interesting. It’s not even on the list. Stop making that face at me.”
“Let me get this straight. You dated Stavros becauseyou thought he was cute?”
“How is it possible that you can make that sound like a moral failing?”
“I just don’t get it.” He shakes his head. “He’s fuckingrich.”
“So are you, by the looks of it. It doesn’t make you interesting, either.”
Judging by his expression, he can’t decide if he’s more surprised or offended.
“You’re telling me I’m not interesting?”
“You’re about as interesting as a koi fish. An old one. With digestive issues and a malfunctioning swim bladder.”
Now he’s outraged. His face is turning red.
God, that feels good.
Just to twist the knife deeper, I add, “Plus, you don’t even know how to kiss.”
His eyes flare. His jaw clenches. He growls, “Believe me, I know how to fucking kiss.”
“Sure you do. If it’s opposite day.”
When I smile at his obvious fury, he mutters, “Bloody little smartass.”
Then he grabs my face in both hands and crushes his mouth to mine.
