She quickly righted herself and crossed her arms. “Is it true you rescued a cat and a dog from a dumpster?”
He frowned. “Who told you that?” He waved his hand. “Never mind. I know who did.”
It was either Dario or Celeste. If Dario had told her, he would have said something likeThe guy’s not really as bad as he makes himself out to be. That’s just a wall he puts up. He’s like those mangy mutts he rescued from a dumpster. But don’t ever call them mangy in front of him. People are mangy but not animals. If it was Celeste, it would have been more likeThe guy’s an asshole, we all know that, but he did rescue that cat and dog. He has that going for him.
He crossed his own arms and sat glaring up at her while she did likewise, glaring down at him.
She was the first to break the silence. “So?”
“So, what?”
“Is it true? Did you rescue a cat and a dog from a dumpster?”
“Yes, it’s true. Why wouldn’t it be?”
She shrugged. “No reason.”
“Animals don’t go around showing you one face and then turn around to show the world another. They don’t make you think you can trust them, only for you to find out you can’t.”
Something changed after he’d said that. He tried to spot what it was. Was it in her face? The way she was standing? He tried to pinpoint what it was, but couldn’t.
“And people do that?” she asked, her voice suddenly softer.
His heart picked up pace. He wanted out of this chair. But with her standing there, he hesitated. And that made him feel trapped. For some reason the softer voice bothered him. He felt more comfortable with the other one—the one that matched her black eyes.
“Women do,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “But then, you being a woman, you would already know that.”
There she was. She was back. He could tell by the way she’d squared her shoulders.
She scowled. “I know what’s bothering you.”
There it was—the black-eyes voice. Why would he prefer it to the softer one?
“You do, do you?”
“I’m sure you would have preferred a woman serve you.”
In that outfit, as a matter of fact, yes.
A surge of heat radiated through his body, and that pole between his thighs began to throb.
She glanced down at his lap. “Your sugar?”
The humming he’d felt in his groin went full throttle.
He hesitated before getting her meaning. He picked up the box and handed it to her.
She indicated with her eyes his espresso sitting on the table.
He took it, but before he could hold it up to her, she threw a sugar cube in the cup with enough force, most of the espresso spilled out onto his thighs. He was glad it was no longer hot.
He stifled a grin but not the stirring he felt below his waist.
“I think one should be enough,” she said with that arsenic smile. “We wouldn’t want you to be too sweet, now would we?” she added before walking away.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ROCCO
