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The skin on my body prickles as I turn to face the man with angry, chocolate-brown eyes.
“Dante,” I exhale, resigned. Of course, he’d see me inthisstate. I was hoping to be able to change out of my wet clothes and at least partially dry my hair before I’d have to face him. But, as per usual, I should have known better than to have hope where Dante Santoro is involved. I swear, the guy’s sole purpose of existence is to make my life difficult.
“You’re…Wet.”
“Five points for observation.” I squelch the urge to roll my eyes at him for stating the obvious.
“Don’t you have an umbrella?”
How bratty can I be before the mafia boss with anger management issues decides to put a bullet between my eyes? I should stop right there. He carries a gun, after all, so the bullet-brain scenario is a definite possibility. Except... By now, we all know my stance on cheap thrills. Plus, where would he keep said gun? His tailored-to-perfection suit distracts me as I try to spot any gun-shaped bulges. My traitorous eyes cast to the one bulge I should not be drawn to. I can clearly see the outline of a thick, long—What the fuck, Alessa? No, no, no.I’d rather be shot between the eyes than admit I’m attracted to him.“Would I bewetif I had one?”
The smirk that graces his clean-shaven face is nothing short of predatory. He stays silent, letting his eyes slowly move up and down my body as the temperature all around me rises, igniting my nerve endings. It’s a miracle the rain does not start evaporating off me in billows of steam under the heat of his stare.
“Right, anyway,” I croak out. “I’d better get going before I’m late for my shift.” Taking a step away from the entrance, I look past him at the hill I’ll have to climb before having to turn and backtrack to the back of the building.
Dante stops me. Wrapping his warm hand around mybicep, he pulls me back to face him. God, he’s strong, and his hands are big, his fingers easily meeting around my arm.
“Come with me.” He takes a step toward the door, making me stumble behind him.
“But, the staff entrance,” I protest.
“Are you really arguing with me right now, Alessa?”
“It’s the rules,” I try again.
He stops, turning around to face me as the automatic door slides open. Cool air-conditioned air assaults my body, making me glad my jacket is zipped up because my nipples instantly stand to attention.
“Imake the rules,” he says in a cool tone of voice. A tone that should have me running for the hills with fear, but has my body warming instead. “You best remember that.”
And even though my body is screaming, “Yes, yes!Tell me all the rules!” My mind is once again in the cheap thrills—poke the bear state. “Sure thing, boss man.” I salute him.
His jaw ticks as those molten chocolate eyes bore into me. I want to run away from his scrutiny, from the full attention he is giving me. Not because it makes me squirm but because the more he gives, the more I crave.
And that’s something I’ve never experienced before. Ever since I could, I ran from men, only offering them the bare minimum that ensured my survival. Men were always bad news for me. From that fateful night when I was thirteen, I didn’t trust them. Their interest was never a good thing. After I ran away, more than once I have experienced a situation where a guy abused his power to further his agenda, where he lied and cheated just to get me on my own. Very quickly, I’ve learned that it’s a man’s world out there, but most of them are so far up their own asses they can be manipulated. Easily.
And I’m a quick study. Watching liars and cheaters in action, I picked up their tricks fairly swiftly, learned theirtells, learned to spot their limits. I stole, I flirted, never getting close to one person and always running away before they had a chance to collect thepaymentthey expected.
Standing in front of Dante and actually enjoying the attention he gives me feels…exotic. Even if at the back of my mind there is still that worry that he will want more. That for everything he’s offering me right now, he’ll expect something in return. Something I’m not sure I’m ready to give to anyone, and especially nothim.
“To everyone inside,” he says, his voice quiet as he pulls me out of my thoughts, “you’re still Stevie.”
I look at him quizzically. I was sure now that my ruse was up, I’d be back to Alessa, and he’d be Miss Jones-ing me at every opportune moment.
“It’s safer that way. Just—don’t tell anyone you’re Alessa, okay?”
As soon as I nod, he drags me inside the still empty casino.
When he deposits me in front of the staff changing rooms, I stare at him.
“What?”
It would be nice if he told me which uniform I should go for, since I still don’t know what my actual job is supposed to be. “What shall I change into?”
“Whatever is dry,” he says dismissively, leaning against the wall, then looks down at the phone he just pulled out of his pocket.
My mouth opens. Is he just going to wait here while I change? And what the hell does he mean, whatever is dry? I swear if they had any of those feather showgirl outfits, I’d put that on just to see the expression on his permanently indignant face.
I giggle to myself, pushing the door open and imagining the fury in his eyes. My gut tells me that if he went throughall the trouble of giving me a job and making sure I’d stay in town, the probability of him killing me is exponentially lower than what I thought at first. And with that knowledge, the thrill of poking Terence right in between his angry eyes is that much more delicious.
