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I laugh. "You sound almost insulted. Were you hoping I'd want to keep you all to myself?"
She rises from her seat, frosting over in the blink of an eye. At once, I can tell she's trying to hide that my words hurt her and might even be debating sending her brother's enforcers after me. "Go to hell, Dickhead."
Before she can take another step from the table, I jump to my feet and block her off, enjoying this far too much. God, she's fun to tease. And her reactions are so satisfying—but mostly, I like to know that shedoeswant me to want her all to myself.
Even if she doesn't admit it, I know it.
"Move," she snaps.
"You're right about me," I step closer to say quietly, so no wandering eyes in this fine restaurant will linger on us thinking we're making a scene. "I do want to keep you to myself. Don’t you dare go on another date with another fucking idiot when we both know what's happening between us, Giulia Russo."
"But you're—"
"Rob. Rob Leone. Nice to meet you," I chuckle, brushing curls away from her face.
Giulia blinks, and then her lips part slightly as she realizes what I'm saying. It's incredibly distracting because I know just how devious she can be with that soft, delicious mouth of hers. Her gaze rests on my lips, too, and then her lashes flutter, and she laughs breathily. Probably a result of our proximity, which is affecting me, too.
I should step back so the uppity people here won't stare at us because I know Giulia cares about that kind of thing—but right now, I'm just enjoying her smile.
"I didn't expect that," she admits softly.
"That's the beauty of us, cutie. We're unexpected."
Chapter 15
Giulia
RobertoGiovanniisadevious man.
An incredibly gorgeous, tempting, irresistible, fucking devious man.
I glance down at our entwined hands as he walks beside me down the beach, the sunset turning the brilliant water shades of amber and pink. It's an empty private beach near Long Beach, a place I suggested because I can't have anyone connected to the Russo family spotting us heirs of the two feuding families strolling on a public beach and causing an uproar.
We're both barefoot, and Roberto has rolled the sleeves of his suit up to his elbows. The slight salty breeze of the ocean has messed his dark hair up gloriously, and when he glances back at me, his warm eyes twinkle with their usual mischief as his crooked smirk appears.
He really needs to stop being so charming. It's too criminal even for a mafioso.
During dinner at the high-end seafood place, Roberto dared me to try authentic bouillabaisse for the first time and laughed heartily when I forced him to switch entrees with me so I could eat the swordfish steak he wisely ordered instead. Then we took a chauffeured car to a chocolate fondu place where he also spared no expense. There was a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon wine that, for once, I didn't turn down. Now we're here to enjoy the sunset while it lasts.
The bones of the date Are familiar. But it's been nothing like any of the others. Every other similar outing I've ever been on was dull in comparison, just sitting in a seat and going through the motions and writing scripts in my head for the guys whose faces had all been so interchangeable and uninteresting.
In comparison, there's no comparison. I've never been poetic, but the entire snapshot of my dating life was like a starless night sky until he came around like a troublemaking, blinding comet.
This entire date has been incredibly fun, from our witty banter, his dirty jokes, and how he finds every excuse to touch me and secretly light my body on fire.
Like now, he reaches out to trail his fingers down my arm. "Tell me a seashell joke."
I scoff. "Once again, you can't tell me what to do. Tell your own damn joke."
"But I want to hear yours."
"You don’t even know if Ihaveone about seashells," I pointed out dryly.
He laughs. "You live in California. Most people here are crazy about the beach. I'm sure there's been at least one tragic date you went on in the past where the guy pulled corny beach jokes out of his ass to try and get a smile out of you—and he also failed horribly, I bet."
Damn. He's far too good at guessing.
I roll my eyes, fighting a smile as he steps closer while we walk so his leg will brush mine. "Fine. Why does the Little Mermaid wear seashells?"
