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Such an annoying asshole.
He turned and moved around the desk, but instead of disappearing, he parked himself right next to the clerk checking us in—who, in turn, looked like she wanted to bolt.
“Passport,” he said, holding out his hand while staring at the computer.
No fucking way would this guy ever see my second name.
He made a beckoning motion with his hand.
“Are you serious?”
He looked up, and our eyes locked—including another, completely unwelcome, electrical shock. “What are you hiding? Hideous mugshot? Or the fact that you’re way older than me?”
I glared at him and put my hands on my hips. “No matter how ugly, it wouldn’t ever compete with your hideous face.”
Complete lie—his face was gorgeous—like, completely, totally bad-boy sexy. “And you know full well I’m the same age as Sophie, which makes you, basically, a grandpa in my eyes.”
I reveled in the storm brewing in his eyes.
“Fucking insolent kids these days.” He held out his hand. “Passport.”
I looked at the clerk, who nodded, then at Gabe, who shrugged. “It’s the law.”
I raised a single brow. “And we all know you abide by the law.”
“God, princess. Why does everything have to be difficult with you? Hand me your fucking passport, or I’ll come and get it,” Alessandro growled.
That growl did all kinds of things to my body—only not what he intended.
“Fine.” I rummaged in my purse and handed it to him.
He opened it, looked at it, compared the photo with my face—which I answered with a perfectly executed eye-roll—then he chuckled. “Aoife? See, even your parents don’t like you.”
His pronunciation was flawless. Ee-fa not ay-oy-fee, like most would pronounce it.
Fuck me.
Why would this Italian bastard pronounce my very Irish second name perfectly when almost nobody could?
And why did that almost make up for the comment about my parents that hit dangerously close to home?
“It’s our grandmother’s name,” Sophie said. “What is with you, Alessandro?”
That shut him up good.
Instead of continuing to insult me openly, he handed back my passport, supervised the clerk checking us in, and handed us our keycards.
Then he looked straight at me. “You’re with me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “With you? Hell no. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll find my way.”
He shook his head and sighed, and then he rounded the desk, stood for a moment directly in front of me, then bent down, picked me up, and threw me over his shoulder as if I was a sack of flour.
“Hey.”
“Alessio.” I could hear Gabe’s low voice, vibrating with a warning.
“Don’t worry. I’ll show her to her room. Joseph will take you to your apartment.”
