Page 17 of Dirty Mafia Torment
She blushes.Interesting.
“No.”
But she’s heard about him. I bet Massimo got more action on campus than the Harvard libraries.
“You’re his type. Intelligent. Conservative. Blonde.”
She swallows hard and shifts in her chair. “And what’s your type?”
“Every type’s my type.” It’s bullshit I feed her, and myself.
“Have you ever been in love?”
“I love a lot of things. Freedom. Drugs. Bondage. Fucking.”
“Is there a woman in your life?”
“Not anymore.” I frown. I burned that bridge, torched it to the motherfucking ground.
Her eyes narrow. “But there was?”
I ask myself the same thing. Was there or wasn’t there? Do twenty-four hours, with a few stolen moments scattered on top, even measure up to a lifetime?
“Lorenzo … let me help you.”
I snort. “Help me?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Let’s fuck.”
She sits up straighter. Yet, it’s too late, the flash in her eyes gave her away. “Um … ah … your father asked I get you sober for his wedding.”
His wedding to my almost-fiancée. I seem to be accumulating them like baseball cards.
“Askedor demanded?”
“He cares.”
“Love’s never been the issue.”
I can’t pretend I’m in control, not after what happened.
The least I can do for my father after the fuckup in Rome is attend his wedding sober. But I don’t need a shrink to help me with that.
I take another long lick of lollipop, then my sugar-coated lips.
Her eyes tracking the movement.
“Have you thought about what I said?”
Her words catch in her throat. “What did you say again?”
“You prefer I make it easy for you?” I toss the lollipop into the can beside her desk and offer her a smirk that ruins women. “Stand, hike up your skirt, and bend over the desk.”
CHAPTER THREE
FINA
