Page 56 of Steal My Heart
Angelo pulls out a chair for me, and I take a seat. Eyeing the vase of red carnations in the center of the table, I cross my arms. “This isn’t a date.”
He sits beside me, grabbing my chair leg and pulling my seat closer to his. It’s a far sexier move than it should be.
His lips quirk. “But I bought you carnations; I thought that was your date criteria.”
“Clearly, I need to raise my standards.” Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, “How did you get rid of Laurie so quickly?”
“Like most people in my life, Laurie is easily persuaded by the mighty dollar,” he admits.
“That’s sad,” I comment.
He shrugs. “That’s business.”
“And what persuades you to be with her?” I ask, even though I’m confident I won’t like the answer.
“Laurie on my arm provided me with an air of legitimacy,” he answers matter-of-factly. “She has social connections that I needed. But don’t misunderstand me, I’m also a man, and I have certain other needs.”
“I’m glad she can help you with all your needs,” I say coolly.
“Helped. Past tense,” he assures me.
Having heard this song and dance before, I don’t comment.
A server appears, filling our glasses with water. “Ma’am, would you like something else to drink? Wine, perhaps?” the man asks me.
“No, thank you,” I tell him, wanting to keep a clear head for when I practice.
The man disappears to the back, and Angelo reaches into the interior pocket of his suit jacket, handing me a folded paper.
I bounce excitedly in my chair as I look over the set list. “Some of these songs I don’t know,” I admit.
“Which ones?” Angelo’s fingers brush mine as he takes the paper, those same fingers he had inside me earlier today.
He’s thinking about it too; with heavy blue eyes, he uses those fingers to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
My nose crinkles, ignoring the fluttering between my legs. “I hope you washed those hands, especially since you were double dipping.”
Fire in his eyes, he grabs my cheeks and yanks my face inches from his. “I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself. I did not touch Laurie. But yes, I did wash my hands after you came all over them. With my tongue.”
Our server appears, and with a mixture of heat and annoyance, Angelo releases his hold.
My heart pounds against my ribcage as I fall back in my seat, but God bless the server, he refuses to look anywhere but the table. He efficiently pours from a bottle of sparkling water and places down a bread basket without a word, and swiftly exits.
Angelo examines me, a predator sizing up his prey.
He knows what I look like when I orgasm. He knows what I sound like when I orgasm. Oh my God, and if he really licked his fingers, he knows what I taste like when I orgasm.
My mouth now bone dry, my tongue darts out, wetting my lips, and he tracks the movement like a hawk.
Not girlfriends showing up “uninvited” to palatial weekend houses.
A reminder of one of themanyreasons why Angelo Calvani and I are a bad idea.
I clear my throat, getting us back on track by pointing to a song. “I don’t know this one,” I say, ignoring the pulsating between my legs.
He goes to grab his phone from his pocket. Hisemptypocket.
A nervous giggle bubbles from me. “Sorry. I was practicing in the car.” Reaching into my bag, I return the phone.
