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How the hell can a man seduce me so completely with just a single breath? I turn around and step back, trying to create some distance. Roman is dangerously alluring, and I’m slipping under his spell.
This can’t be real.
Men like him don’t lavish gifts on women they’ve only known for a week… or do they? It’s not like I’ve ever met a multi-millionaire. What the hell do I know about the spending habits of the powerful and rich?
“Are you ready, baby?” He offers me his hand.
When I take it, he brings my knuckles to his lips. His dark eyes bore into mine as he leans in and bestows each one with a kiss.
His warm breath heats my skin, and I swallow hard, picturing myself spread out on the bed while he covers my naked body with kisses.
“Yes,” I rasp, wanting more.
The corners of his eyes crinkle into a smile that oscillates between warmth to smug satisfaction. Taking my hand, he leads me out of the bedroom, through the studio, and into the night.
Floodlights illuminate the Montesano mansion, making its limestone exterior glow like the moon. They brighten the ivy covering half its walls, making it appear like we’re walking toward the setting of a fairytale.
As we approach the patio, I hear the strains of an orchestra playing one of the concertos from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
“Is this your kind of music?” I ask.
“My tastes are varied. The orchestra will play modern pieces later, so everyone can dance.”
We walk through the hallway, where I glimpse a few strangers milling about, all dressed in the same black-and-white outfit with burgundy accents. Roman must have hired a catering company.
“Isn’t this the same uniform as Chez Aquitani?”
He turns to me and smiles. “Have you dined there?”
“I wish,” I say with a chuckle. “Those snobs rejected me for a cleaning job.”
We round a corner to find Gil and Tony standing beside a set of double doors. As soon as they spot us, Gil brings a phone to his ear and holds up his huge palm.
“One second, boss,” he says. “I’ll open the door as soon as the orchestra switches.”
Roman nods.
I turn to Roman and whisper, “What’s happening?”
He leans into me and murmurs, “We’re making our grand entrance.”
I gulp.
We?
Why me? I’m just a nobody who grabbed him by the lapels a week ago and stole a kiss. Now, he’s dressed me up to parade me as his plus-one? Roman might be an underworld prince of darkness, but I’m no mafia Cinderella. Beneath the designer clothing is someone who doesn’t belong.
My heart pounds and unworthy thoughts race through my mind, picking up speed and paranoia until my brow breaks out in a sweat. Everyone inside will wonder what he’s doing with me when he could have a movie star or a mafia princess.
Maybe I’m overthinking things. Maybe Roman sees me as a trophy because he stole me from a policeman desperate enough to storm the gates with backup. Men like him are competitive, and Roman’s grudge against the authorities is valid.
Would that be so bad?
Revenge against the police is the only thing that makes sense because there are more beautiful and more connected women than me. This isn’t self-denigration, it’s me being realistic. Drop dead gorgeous mafia dons might fuck a starving artist once or twice, but would he show her off to all his friends?
I don’t think so.
The music quiets, and there’s a smattering of applause. A smooth voice announces through the closed door, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome your host, Roman Montesano!”
