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Now I’m curious as hell to understand why she’s here. If I’m honest, I’m not unhappy to see her.
“What’s going on?”
“Trust me, this is not what it looks like,” she says, and my brows lift in response.
“Okay, perhaps it is. Well, no, it’s worse,” Mia adds.
Worse?
Okay, now she is really getting my attention. Why has the Mancini mafia princess come back for seconds? An assumption, I realize, but what else could it be?
On second thought, I can’t see her being one of those clingy one-night stand types.
Plus, she looks stressed.
“Explain,” I say, taking in her sexy-as-hell tight jeans, which hug her ass perfectly, and a silk green top which drapes in a cowl neck, hinting at those perky little tits I had in my mouth many times this morning.
She looks completely different from her Bloom Events uniform. Tonight, her long dark hair is flowing in silky waves down her back.
I don’t want to be this attracted to her, but Mia is gorgeous. And complicated. At least, she’s a complication to me.
If I’m going to use her to get to the notorious Italian mafia’s inner circle, I need to remember she would just be an asset.
Nothing more.
Fine, she’s a great fuck as well.
It can be both.
Temporarily.
“I think...I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Well, it does. I think. Shit. I’m here because I didn’t have your number,” Mia says.
Obviously.
Not many people do.
“There’s a reason for that,” I say, walking past her toward my building. She follows, and I open the door and glance at her. Mia figures out it’s an invitation to enter, while Mack stands back, watching me.
“Head home. I’ll see you in the morning,” I instruct him.
“Yes, sir,” Mack says, walking back to the car. He and Benson will wrap up for the night, my other men in the foyer starting their evening shift.
I turn to Mia, waving her in, and we walk to the elevator to my penthouse. When the doors open, I go straight to the kitchen and pull out two bottles of water.
She paces the floor, biting her nails.
Curiosity is nearly killing me, if I’m honest.
I open one of the bottles and put it on the kitchen bench between us. She looks at it, then at me as if snapping out of her thought pattern, but she continues her pacing.
Christ, this is going to take forever.
“I know who you are,” I say, hoping that might speed things up.
Mia stops walking and freezes. She’s staring at me, and I guess I can appreciate that she’s waiting to see what I will say. I know what it’s like to protect your true identity.
“Mia...or should I say, Maria Luna Mancini,” I add, to be clear we are on the same page.
