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He growls, huskily, “You’re the first and only. Love at first sight, Bella.”
“Stop calling me ‘Bella’,” I order.Or I will hit you with my purse again. Then bite and scratch and—oh damn, Gina!
“No, Bella.” I’m lost in the genuine, dreaminess of him. “This is where you insert your name so I’m able to switch things up on occasion.”
He winks. Another waterfall gushes between my pants. This ispuregame. I should walk away. This asshole has played the field so long even he believes such foolish attempts.
But I cock my head ever so slightly and analyze him. “So, you’re saying, first, I should tell you my name. Second, you believe I’ll be around for you to refer to me bymy name or Bellaat your leisure.” I stare at his confident eyes and warn myself to not get lost in the depths of them.
A genuine smile fades the fury of lust on his face. He gestures, “So, you mentioned Christmas?”
“I was. Addio,” I wiggle my fingers. Saved by my Uber Lux at the curb. One of my favorite drivers, Thomas, greets me with a nod, opening the back door.
“Should I circle back to your apartment?” he quietly suggests.
“Thanks.” I offer a curt nod. So much for a brief, leisure walk before spending the day—and sometimes night—slaving over paperwork.
In my Bluetooth, I ask, “Nikki, it’s not Christmas, right?”
All my assistants have heard more words than necessary while waiting for me to respond to them. Nikki’s no different. She promptly replies, “Well, Ms. Galloway, if you count Christmas in July.”
“No, I do not.”Oh, thank God.I contemplate, sliding into the leather seat. Every minute of my life is designated with a task for business and, on occasion, pleasure. The holiday season never meets my expectations. It exceeds my outlook if you take into account the shit hitting the proverbial fan.
“So, boss, why do you hate Christmas so much?”
Glancing out the window, I watch as Thomas slides into traffic. “It’s not that I hate Christmas; I love it. The family gets together, dropping less than subtle hints as to when orifI’ll find a man.”
“I understand,” Nikki replies.
Although she’s fresh out of college, I doubt she truly understands. I’m 28 years old, young enough, but too focused for age to matter. “Well, the part I actually love is, how four generations of Galloways, my momma,” I clear my throat. Damn, I’m usually impersonal with my assistants, and this one is new. “The women in my family set aside oursaditymannerisms for peach cobbler bake-offs.”
“What’s sadity?”
“Uppity, sweetheart. Then after the sweets, the gloves come off. But that’s to be expected. The next day, I’m another friggin year older. Thus, making Christmas great.” I mutter, unable to get the man’s words, “amore a prima vista,” off my mind. How could it be love at first sight on his part? Hell, I’ll be honest; it was lust once I figured he wasn’t trying to rob me. But love at first sight? Can’t be. I pout. The Italian never asked for my number. Twirling a finger around my necklace, I imagine how I would have climbed him like a tree–once.
2
Santino Morelli
“Iquit!” are the first words out of my mouth when I head back across the street. The guys on my construction team offer confused glances while I’m still visualizing the femme fatale. Her pretty brown eyes shone with a guarded strength as she stared at me. Beautiful full lips probably as plump as the second set between her well-rounded thighs. But the way she walked, God, she walked into my life, and I can’t recall ever living without her.
That walk . . . Those two gorgeous round globes. I want to command her and watch that walk carry out my every order. That talk . . . Those thick, honey lips. That ass . . .Addicted to a woman who whacked me like a crazed lunatic, I repeat in my mind before saying out loud, “I’m fuckingdunzo.”
“Are you crazy, Santino?” Carlos asks, “How are you going to pay for that new apartment on—”
“Not with this, bonehead. The stripping. Have someone at the gig this evening. I just saw my future wife. She’s too stuck-up to marry a man who moonlights as a stripper.”
“Future wife!” Carlos scoffs.
I arch a brow.
Torry shrugs. “Probably your best bet for a woman like that. She seems like she’ll ride your balls hard. Not in a good way.”
“First, Santa, that’s a negative. You were specifically requested tonight.”
When he calls me Santa, I speculate why the woman of my dreams mentioned Christmas as she walked into wet cement.
“It’s July, you idiot. And I hate when you call me Santa!”
