Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure,” I say stupidly. I’ve never done this before, and my body feels frozen. How do normal people go from total strangers to doing something so incredibly intimate?
“Are you here alone, or are you meeting someone?”
I touch the rim of my glass. “Alone. Hoping to meet someone, but I haven’t seen him yet.” I arch an eyebrow and try to be… sexy? Seductive? I’m trying to flirt and I have no clue if it’s working.
He doesn’t seem to notice my awkwardness. His eyes flit over to the bartender as the guy returns with his drink and my credit card. I quickly take it and slide it into my clutch. The tattooed man sips his vodka and studies me like he’s ripping through my dress with his eyes. His gaze moves down my lips, to my throat, to my chest and along my hips and legs. He’s not subtle about it, and my spine shivers. Any other time and I’d find him outrageous and offensive.
But tonight, I’m not being myself.
Tonight, I’m not Siena Bastone. I’m not a sheltered twenty-two-year-old with no experience in the world, let alone with men.
For one night only, I’m someone strong, clever, outgoing, and flirtatious. I’m the kind of girl that accepts a deep, probing stare from a wildly handsome man without blushing—too much, anyway.
I think of the guys at the table behind us. The nice boys in their good suits. Handsome boys. They’d probably buy my drinks and ask polite questions. Maybe even one of them would take me home and give me what I want.
But this man, the one with his straight vodka and ice-blue eyes, he’s the kind of man that rides the line between sinfully sexy and outright dangerous. I’ve known men like him all my life—though admittedly, none so attractive—and I know what he’s about.
Drinking. Eating. Fucking.
That’s what I’m here for. Minus the drinking and eating.
In some other life, I could go sit at that other table, smile and laugh, hear their stupid stories from their fraternity days. I could be a normal person.
But that’s not my life.
And I don’t have much of it left.
My stranger quirks his lips. It’s astonishing how gorgeous he is, and that frightens me. “What’s your name?” he asks.
I consider lying. It might help with the whole being-someone-else thing. But it doesn’t matter. Dead girls aren’t remembered.
“Siena,” I say. “What about you?”
“Maxim.” He tilts his head slightly and offers me a hand.
I accept it. His palm is warm and large, and the skin along his fingers is covered in hard calluses. He doesn’t look like he works outside, but I can think of a few other reasons why his hands would be rough.
“You said you were looking for someone tonight,” he says quietly, still holding my hand. He leans closer and I catch a whiff of his scent: grassy, musky, and warm. His breath is a mix of mint and vodka. My heart races and a bead of sweat rolls down my back. Good thing I’m wearing black. It’s fitting, really. I’m mourning my own life.
“I might be. I’m on a sort of… mission.”
“And what mission is that?”
“I’m not sure I should say. I don’t know you at all.”
He gives me another lopsided smile. “What do you want to know, Siena?”
I chew my cheek and shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m not really sure what I’m doing.”
He releases me finally, and it’s like I can breathe again. I pick up my drink and take another swallow. It burns, but the warmth spreads and I loosen up a little.
“You’re nervous. You don’t come out alone very often, do you?”
“Never.” I tug at the hem of my dress. “You’re observant.”
“It’s a talent of mine.” He sips his drink, considering me. “You keep looking around, but you said you’re here alone. You’re flirting, but you’re not comfortable with it. I’m trying to figure you out, but I’m not quite there yet.”
My eyes narrow. “Who says I’m flirting?”
“I do. Am I wrong?”
I say nothing. I take another sip. More courage. What’s the deal with this guy? It’s like he’s playing with me, and I can’t tell if I like it.
“I’m not wrong then,” he says, nodding to himself. “All right, then I’ll guess. I think you’re the long-lost heir to an ancient Italian fortune. You escaped your oppressive grandmother, and now you’re lying low in Dallas. You’re looking for muscle to hire to take down your enemies in order to reclaim what you’ve lost. Am I close?”
I laugh softly and nod. “That’s exactly it. There’s gold buried in the hills of Lombardy for any man strong enough to claim it. Are you that man, Maxim?”
“Siena, I’d kill a thousand evil grandmothers to give you whatever you want.”
I grin stupidly and tug at my hair. “I didn’t realize you were such a hero.”