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I flushed, shaking my head. I wasn’t allowed. Staff roles here were very clearly defined, and the barmaids were completely off limits for the punters, and vice versa.
He knew it too, but that didn’t stop him stalking towards me, taking my hand, the gleam in his eyes irresistible, intoxicating.
He towered over me, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement. “Finally, the little bird comes out to play,” he mocked.
I shook my head. “No, I’m on my way out.”
“Are you?” he whispered in my ear.
I could feel the stares of a couple of the hostesses nearby as his hand curled around my waist. A shock of awareness ran through me. His touch was firm, possessive, sending a thrill of shivers through my body. His other hand entwined with mine, the strength of his fingers a stark contrast to mine.
The music enveloped us as he commanded my every step, his movements smooth and controlled, his body leading mine in a dance more intoxicating than any I’d ever danced.
His heady scent—smooth sandalwood and something zesty and fresh that I could have inhaled all night—filled my senses, making me lean close to rest my head against his chest.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. I knew my colleagues would be whispering about me. Every hostess and dancer here would have their eyes on Marco, and they would be furious at me for encroaching on their turf. This could cost me my job.
I pulled away from him. “I have to go.”
But his hand caught my wrist. He whispered words in my ear that sent a rush of exhilaration down my spine. “You’re mine tonight.”
His gaze locked onto mine, an unspoken invitation in his eyes as he led me towards the back corridor of the club.
This was utter foolishness, and yet my entire body was mesmerised by his touch. Unable to break free.
The second we were through that door and alone, he backed me against a wall. Pulled me into the hard line of his body. His lips closed over mine and every damn thought went flying out of my head.
I was kissing Marco DeAngelis, the mobster, his lips soft yet insistent on mine. And I had never felt more alive.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, needing to touch him. Pressed myself into his kiss, wanting it with every fibre of my being.
He pulled away briefly. “Fuck,” he murmured.
Then scooped me up into his arms. I didn’t even think of where we were going as he walked. I was too busy seeking out his lips, enjoying the strength of his arms so effortlessly carrying me.
One second, we were in the close confines of a private elevator, and then we were in a bedroom. His bedroom in his luxury apartment above the club, where he deposited me on the bed.
I scrambled back on the mattress a little, my eyes widening.
“Marco,” I murmured, but that was all I had time to say before he had shrugged off his shirt and climbed on top of me, claiming my lips again.
“Marco, I—I—”
I didn’t know what I had been going to say. His lips dragged over my throat, full of possessive heat. His hands yanked the straps of the red dress down, tearing it in his haste.
“Hey!” I chided him.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promised, his voice muffled, his mouth kissing down my collarbone.
Then, with a growl, he tore the bodice apart and my breasts spilled out. Bare. I gave a cry of shock, and then another as his mouth closed hot and hard over one taut peak.
I lay back, my spine arching as he nibbled and bit and sucked. My legs writhed on the bed, my body unable to handle the sensations ripping down into my core.
This was too fast. Too much. I had never felt this before.
“Marco, please,” I gasped.
He kissed back up to my mouth. His voice was taunting. “Slower, little bird? You want it slower? You want me to order champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries? Or you want this?”
