Page 6 of Wild Heart
She eyes me, obviously not happy that I didn’t answer her question, but she doesn’t press.
“Girls just want to have fun, don’t you know? We don’t need an occasion to come out.”
You do when you’re Carlo Berone’s daughter. But I let her have her moment of fun. I’m sure she doesn’t get to do this much.
“And are you?” She cocks her head, unsure what I’m referring to. “Having fun?”
She leans in to hear me above the music, and I catch the sweet scent of gardenias. I can’t tell if it’s from her hair or her perfume, and I resist the urge to pull her to me and find out.
“I am now.”
She smiles at me from under thickly coated eyelashes, and even as my heart swells at the attention, another part of me wants to march her out of here and tell her off for flirting with a man like me.
“How old are you, Trina?”
The smile slides off her face. She’s angry I’m not flirting along. But I’m too old to play games.
“Twenty-one.”
She holds my gaze as she says it, never once showing any indication of the lie. Damn, she’s good.
I raise my eyebrows, but she keeps her gaze steady.
“That’s a coincidence. I’m twenty-one too.”
She laughs at my obvious lie, and it’s a genuine laugh that makes her eyes sparkle like sunshine on a mountain lake.
There’s movement by the door, and we both turn to see three men in tailored suits enter the club.
“Puttana…” Isabella rattles off a stream of Italian curses. Fear flashes across her face and she glances around wildly, looking for an escape.
For one crazy moment I think about dragging her to the fire exit and making off with her on the back of my bike. What would happen if I kidnapped the eighteen year old daughter of Carlo Berone? It wouldn’t just be me he’d come after. He’d destroy the entire MC. I can’t do that to my men.
Besides, it’s one thing to flirt with an older man. There’s no way a woman like Isabella could be attracted to a man like me: twice her age, rough, and bearded. She’s used to the clean shaven well-dressed men who work for her father, to being driven around in the back on a tinted SUV, not on the back of a Harley.
Still, when I see the desperation in her expression, I know I’d risk everything for her. I clasp her hand.
“Isabella.” She looks up at me in surprise, her eyes wide because I know who she is. The confusion turns to anger.
“Did you call him?”
“No.” I shake my head. “But you must have known you would be recognized.”
She frowns even as she nods her head.
“I thought we’d have more time,” she mutters to herself, and I don’t know if she means she’d have more time at the club or more time with me.
I glance up at the men, and they’ve spotted her. They’re moving toward us, and at the same time my men are heading this way too, ready to back me up if needed.
“Why don’t you want to go back?” I ask urgently. “Does he hurt you?”
I’ve heard about Carlo’s cruelty, but she’s got enough flesh on display and I haven’t seen any evidence of harm.
“No.” She shakes her head. “My dad would never hurt a woman.”
Relief floods me. I’d risk everything if she was in any danger.
“He’s strict. I can’t go anywhere. I can’t have any fun.” She slumps against the barrier to the dance floor, defeated.
