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And he’d have understood her smile, returned one of his own and said, well, perhaps they might have a drink while they decided who owed whom an apology….
Nicolo brought his bourbon on the rocks to his lips and took a long drink.
Damn it, the woman was haunting him and for a reason that was insulting.
Such insolence! Why had he tolerated it? Such audacity! And he’d let her get away with it.
His eyes narrowed.
What she’d needed was a real lesson in how a woman should behave. Not that pale excuse of a kiss but something she would have remembered, something that would have shaken her loose of that cold disdain.
He should have dragged her against his body. Taken her mouth, parted her lips with his and filled her with his taste. Let her understand that she was female and he was male and despite the ridiculous conventions of this misbegotten century, what that meant was that he held supremacy when it came to things such as this.
But he had done none of those things. And now, for all he knew, somewhere in this vast city she was laughing at him. At how easily she’d cut him down to size.
Laughing, perhaps, with her lover.
A woman with a face like a madonna’s would surely have a lover.
Would he be a man she could command? Yes. Of course. And what a pity that was because what the lady needed was a lover whose touch would make her tremble. Whose kisses would melt her icy hauteur. Who would make love to her until she begged for mercy…
“Barbieri!”
Nicolo forced the darkness away, looked at the expressions on his friends’ faces—and realized that he had held his glass so tightly it had shattered.
Whiskey puddled on the table.
“Merda,” he growled, and dabbed furiously at the spreading pond of golden liquid with a napkin.
“Never mind that. Did you cut yourself?”
Had he? Nicolo checked.
“No. Not a scratch.” He forced a laugh and held out his hand. “See? Relax, Reyes. There won’t be a lawsuit.”
But Lucas wasn’t buying into the poor attempt at humor.
“Amigo, I’m not the one who needs to relax. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”
Nicolo thought about denying it but what was the point? These men knew him too well.
“You’re right. I am, and I’m sorry I’m spoiling your evening.” He pushed back his chair. “The truth is, I can’t keep my mind on things tonight, so I’m going to head back to my hotel. I told you, that meeting—”
“We’ve known you too long to fall for that. Tough negotiations don’t stress you, Barbieri. You live for them.” Laughing, Damian nudged Lucas in the ribs with his elbow. “It’s a woman. Admit it.”
Nicolo gave a deliberately careless shrug. Maybe if he made light of it…
“Okay,” he said, “it is. But I’ll get over it.”
“Of course you will.” Lucas leaned closer. “And I know the quickest way to do it. It’s like drinking, Nicolo. Remember, back in college? The hair of the dog cure after too much partying? You wake with a hangover, you get rid of it by taking a drink. Well, you have a woman on the brain, you cure that by—”
“Lucas,” a soft voice purred, “darling Lucas, here you are! We’ve been looking everywhere.”
Five women had materialized beside the table. All stunning. All smiling as if they’d found the lost treasure of the Amazons.
“The hair of the dog, my man,” Damian whispered, and Nicolo thought, Why not?
Chairs were dragged over. Introductions were made. Champagne corks popped. After a few minutes, one of the women—her name was Vicki—turned to Nicolo.
