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I smile. I don't think I'm going to get tired of that name anytime soon. And not the way he says it with a hint of the same Italian accent he told me a good evening with.
“Buonasera, I haven’t had to say that in a while.”
“No?”
“No.”
"You can tell me where you're from if you want to. You know I'm not allowed to ask." He narrows his gaze at me, and I realize he wants to know.
“Sicily. I have grandparents and a few relatives who still live there.”
"Me too. I have a grandmother, and most of my extended family live there. I go there every year, so I bought a house on the coast."
“Wow. I love the coast. I love water.”
"Well, you can enjoy the pool later."
“Thanks. That would be great. And I get my own room?”
A smile of pure sin lifts his handsome face. “Yes. You have your own room and space. Hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I will. You have a gorgeous home.”
His gaze drops from my eyes to my lips, then down to my breasts nestled in the bodice of my little summer dress.
"I'm glad you think so, Duchess. But, right now, I'm more interested in what you taste like." He levels me a stare, and I gaze back at him with anticipation of what he's going to do to me. "Come here."
I walk closer and stop a breath away.
He catches my face similarly to how Henry did it last night, and we gaze at each other.
"Where's Henry?" I ask and smile wider.
“On his way. He got stuck in traffic. Since he got to kiss you last night and I didn’t, he’s okay with us getting started without him. He’ll join us when he gets here.”
“Okay.”
If I had to guess who was more alpha than the other, I'd say it was Georgiou, although, at first glance, he seems more reserved and brooding.
He leans close like he's going to kiss me, and I prepare myself for it, but he stops when he gets an inch away from my lips.
“Duchess, you look at me like you know me, or you’ve heard of me.”
It’s a statement, but really it’s a question he shouldn’t be asking.
It’s obvious he’ll play by the rules. But only to a certain extent.
That’s the kind of statement that could trap me if I answer the wrong way.
Swiftly, I think on my feet.
“Giordanos Inc.,” I say. “I know it’s a shipping company. I wondered if your name was the same.”
"It is." One corner of his sensual lips lifts into a sexy half-smile that tightens the knots in my stomach. "What do you know about Giordanos Inc?"
His gaze bores into me, and I'm smart enough to know he's not just asking me if it's a shipping company.
I've already confirmed I'm Italian, and I might be locked away in a tower most of the time, but Cordelia told me every Italian in Chicago knows that family's name, so they know mobsters run the company.
