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“Remember what I told you in Dublin?”
Fuck me.
“Stay out of it, party princess. Or I’ll take you over my knee and give you a good spanking, little girl.”
Those were the exact completely inappropriate words he’d whispered in my ear when he blocked me from interfering with Gabe taking back Sophie.
Those were the exact words that had strangely haunted me in my sleep and popped into my mind at the most inopportune times.
Those exact words had annoyed the hell out of me and weirdly turned me on.
I folded my arms across my chest and scoffed. “You wish. But let me tell you one thing.” I turned to him, braced for the inexplicable impact this man—all, 6’4”, dark and dangerous, slicked-back black hair, chiseled jaw, tattooed neck, smoldering gaze, pure male gorgeousness—had on me.
“You need to work on your big-bad-gangster lines and grow up, because you’re not man enough to handle me.”
I looked him up and down, starting from his shoes, then lingering a little too long on his formidable crotch outlined by his black jeans, and up.
I skimmed his tattooed knuckles until my eyes landed on his piercing black eyes, which seemed to bore straight into my soul.
My knees turned slightly wobbly, and I locked them and straightened even more.
Like hell would this man ever see me weak…or turned on.
He lopsidedly smiled at me, laughter dancing in his eyes, while he mirrored my pose—growing even taller. “Is that so?” His grin deepened. “Struck a nerve there, maybe?”
“Struck a nerve?” I forced a chuckle, pretending to be the completely unaffected socialite he thought I was. “Look at you perfectly okay, and yet, you were glaringly missing at the wedding.”
“Missed by you?” His grin deepened. “Let me give you a tip, princess. Maybe try to be nice to people you want to have in your life.”
I scoffed. “I’m not taking advice, or take people seriously, whose life is an absolute dumpster fire. And FYI,” I said, my voice firm with determination, “I missed you as much as I miss a UTI.”
I could see his eyes harden and a muscle in his jaw jump. Struck a cord there, buddy. Donnelly 1, Falcone 0.
“At least I’m not tagging along on someone else’s honeymoon.”
Oh, fuck me. Could this asshole be any more assholish?
As if I wanted to come here. As if it wasn’t enough to have felt like an outsider my whole life—no, being dragged on someone else’s honeymoon was that, turned to 100.
But being called out just felt like real douchebaggy behavior. Alessandro Falcone—douchebag turned to 100.
I gave Gabe a side glance, who was staring at his feet, then glared back at Alex, who took my wrath head-on without a morsel of remorse.
Damn spoiled Italian macho brats.
No wonder the Irish Mafia was regularly kicking the Italians’ asses, what with their big egos making it hard even to recognize anything or anyone but themselves.
But right now, I was not in fighting condition.
“Can we check in, so I can go lie down?” I asked Gabe, ignoring Alex.
Gabe nodded and turned toward the front desk.
“And please make sure my room isn’t anywhere near yours,” I said. The idea alone of listening to my best friend having hot monkey sex with her husband all night long made my desire to stab myself with a fork skyrocket.
“And can you please not hover around me?” I turned back around and glared at Alex, who was still uncomfortably close.
“Your wish is my command, principessa.” He grinned again.
