Page 41 of Claimed By a Capo

This little pep talk does nothing to quiet the butterflies. So, instead of looking away, I tilt my head and stare back. The corners of his lips tip up as if my decision pleases him. The hum down south turns up a notch.

I get a good look at the man, who is examining me carefully. His skin is smooth and lightly tanned, and his neatly trimmed five o'clock shadow adds a hint of ruggedness to his features.Unlike me, he doesn't bother with hiding his interest, and I don't mind.

He’s examining my movements with attention, and I feel desired and vulnerable. This isn’t my thing. I don’t flirt with strangers in bars. But there’s something about him that feels like we’re talking without words.

From years of working as a marketing strategist, I know he’s a man who is used to getting what he wants. A man who knows how to conquer a woman.

He stands as if to leave, confirming my assessment. He’s tall and imposing, with a suit that looks tailored to fit the broad shoulders and trim waist. I suck in my stomach, suddenly wishing I’d went to the hotel gym this morning.

I turn, trying not to look so obvious in my interest, and refocus on my drink, absentmindedly running my finger along the rim of it as I smile to myself.

My trip to New York has nothing to do with pleasure. I'm here on business and decided to visit the bar for a celebratory drink. My boss asked me to oversee an important project for the next thirty days, starting with a business conference.

Live a little, whispers up my spine. But I’ve never been the type of woman to fixate on a man.

My career. Yes.

My folks. Absolutely.

But romantic relationships are outside my realm of understanding. I’ve never been tall enough, fit enough, beautiful enough for men.

I have big, unruly curls from my father and wide hips from my mother. I slide into my mother’s native tongue if you piss me off, and sometimes I’m loyal to a fault. So, I’d rather remain alone than deal with the games men play.

I'm not the type to have one-night stands or to take advantage of business trips to do the crazy things I wouldn't otherwise dare to do in my own city.

Rather, I’m one of those who silently dreams of one of those impossible and very rare loves that people think don’t exist. But I know different because I’ve seen it every day of my life with my folks. Seeing the way my father loves and protects my mother makes it hard to settle for less.

"Charge the tab to my room, please." The bartender nods and I finish my drink, standing up.

"Better yet, charge it to mine."

My heart stops. The thick timbre of his voice sounds like a good shot of liquor. Smooth, slightly raspy, and with a deep intensity that makes my legs weak.

I turn and I’m face to face with Mr. Bianchi. The intoxicating scent of his cologne wraps around me like a handmade quilt. He looks ten times better up close, and I’m afraid I’ll say something embarrassing.

"That's very kind. But I'm sure I can pay for my own drinks." I’m thankful my voice doesn't betray me. It’s even and steady, the exact opposite of what’s going on inside.

Mr. Bianchi gives me a calm smile amid his serious face. A smile that seems to be a premonition of many things. "Maybe so, but let's use the drink as an excuse."

"An excuse for what?" I raise an eyebrow, curious about the direction of this conversation and the hint of an Italian accent.

"It’s an excuse to see you up close." He drops a hand in his pocket, looking like a man who owns the world.

A hush falls over the room and I’m trapped again in his gaze. This man is a pro, and I feel out of my league. But here we are. I can run or be myself, and the latter feels as natural as breathing.

"And why would you need an excuse to approach me?" I smile, slightly tilting my head. My experience with romance is limited, but I know men, and very little intimidates me.

"Curiosity." Mr. Bianchi raises a finger to get the attention of the bartender, who immediately brings him a new drink. "You see, Miss..."

"Donato."

He smiles down at me and what’s left of my panties melts.

"You see, Miss Donato, I'm a straightforward man. You’ve captured my attention.”

Heat rushes to my face. The balls of my cheeks burn, and I don’t need a mirror to know I’m beet red.

"You’re very kind—"

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