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“Fine, then don’t think.”
“How am I supposed to not think about thinking?”
I set up my canvas and my easel and start picking out paints. I lean towards blues, cool colors, sharp ones.
“Why don’t you tell me a story while I work?”
“I’m not much of a storyteller.”
“Yes, I’m aware. How about you tell me about the first time you came to Vegas? You’re not from here, right?”
He smiles, glancing away, and that’s the look I want to capture. I sketch it as fast as I can before it disappears.
“No, I’m not from here. I was born and raised in Jersey. Casinos are in my blood, in the Costa family. My father built our empire, turned it into a massive operation, and now we have hotels all over the world, from California to London. When Dad passed, my older brother Adler took over as the Don of our family, and the rest of us took a piece of the empire.”
“Don is the leader, right? That’s like a mafia thing?”
“Yes, it’s a mafia thing. You watch movies, right?”
“The Godfatheris basically all I know about mob stuff.”
“That’s not a bad way to think about it, except we’re more like a business these days. We have our illegal operations still, but the casinos and the legitimate businesses are extremely profitable to the point that the illegal stuff is more of a liability than anything else. Adler’s been slowly phasing it out, although that’s difficult, since the family’s bigger than just the Costas. We have soldiers, captains, lieutenants, dozens of associates, and they’re all pushing their own agendas.”
“Sounds like a lot.”
“It’s a lot,” he agrees, leaning back in his chair. His relaxed posture is so masculine and powerful, like he can sit there and own the room without even trying. It’s impressive, this aura he has, and I try to capture that in quick brush strokes.
“Are you nervous about bringing me into all that? My dad warned me about it, you know.”
“He was right to.” Erick’s voice softens and his gaze goes distant. “If I had my way, you’d stay here in the desert house and never get anywhere near the Costa family, but that isn’t reasonable. You’re smart, talented, and beautiful, and I’m not concerned about you fitting in, but yes, some aspects of your life might be dangerous.”
“You mean, someone might grab me off the street and drug me?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Been there, done that.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re already hardened to it.” He’s silent for a moment. I focus on his jaw, on his lips, on his eyes. The background is all darkness, shades of blue so dark it’s nearly black. He’s the only bit of light on the canvas.
“Tell me something nice now. You’re getting too tense.”
“Yeah? What’s nice?”
“Tell me how you want to fuck me tonight.”
His eyebrows raise. “You want me to talk dirty to you while you’re painting me? You don’t get much work finished if we go down that road.”
“Very good point. Maybe I shouldn’t rile you up.”
“Too late, devil girl.”
I grin at him and he smirks back, but at least his shoulders drop and his hands stop clenching the armrests. “Think you can hold that pose for, I don’t know, an hour?”
“Doubtful. I’m having some very filthy thoughts, Hellie. I don’t think I can sit still for much longer.”
“Try. Have some self-control.”
“No, self-control is for weaker men.”
