Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61692 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 308(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Maybe I was being polite so you’d tell me your name.”
“You’re really adamant. I like a woman with fire in her eyes.” He lifts his tumbler and takes a long sip. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows and the muscles in his neck are corded, as if he’s barely holding onto the predator within.
“Since you like my fire, are you willing to give me something in return for it?”
“Franco,” he says simply. My deductions on the accent were correct. He’s Italian. Jesus, he’s probably working for the American Nostra.
“You said earlier you’re a bad man. Does that mean you’re from the American organization or the Sicilian?” Tipping my head to the side, I regard him with sheer curiosity. Perhaps I’ve said too much, but I can’t take it back now.
Dark eyes pierce me as if he’s wielding a blade. “You know too much, little one.” He smirks then, draining his glass. “Pour me one more and I’ll give you one more fact, but you need to do something for me,” he affirms with a nod, setting the glass on the counter.
“Okay. What do you want me to do?” He lifts his index finger, the one my tongue was swirling around moments ago, crooking it, ordering me closer with one small movement. Once again, I obey easily. Leaning in, I can feel the heat of his breath on my cheek.
“Do not make a scene. Go to the restroom, take your pretty pink panties off, and bring them to me. Then you’ll pour me that drink. Now.” His words, although not filthy, make me blush. He’s asking me to do something so far outside my comfort zone. And when Adria’s earlier comment hits me—perhaps he’s into those things you read about in those smutty books—it makes sense.
Without responding, I straighten to full height and make my way to the back where our staff ladies’ room is located. Locking the door behind me, I slip my panties off and bundle them in my hand. They’re not pink, so he was wrong about one thing.
When I reach the bar, Franco is sitting alongside another man. An older gentleman with dark hair, which has a dusting of salt and pepper on the sides. Nearing them, the new stranger halts his words and regards me.
“Here she is. This is Raina.” Franco smirks, glancing at my fist, and I know he can see the soft black material peeking out. “Please get Mr. De Luca a drink. He’ll have the same as me,” he says, reaching out his hand, palm up. “I’ll take those.” Shock races through me that he expects me to place my panties in his hand in front of the older man, who for some reason doesn’t seem perturbed at the request.
“I… What—”
“Now.”
One word.
A command.
An order.
I obey.
Placing the lace material in his hand, I feel my cheeks burning from embarrassment. He bunches a fist around it and places it in his pocket without so much as a glance at the older man.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, then gestures to the bar. “The drinks now.”
Without response, I turn to the counter and grab two tumblers. The bar is warm, but the fact that I have no panties on sends a shiver through me. Anticipation. The two men continue their conversation in Italian, so I can’t understand what they’re saying. I pour two generous measures of whisky in each glass. When I turn back to them, both sets of eyes are on me.
“Thank you, Raina.” The older gentleman smiles, his ice blue eyes twinkling. The tone of his voice and accent match Franco’s and I wonder if they’re related, or if they’re from the same organization.
“It’s a pleasure. Let me know if you need anything more.”
With that, I leave them to their business and continue serving the other patrons, getting drinks ready for my waitresses on shift. But I can’t stop my gaze from flitting back to him. To Franco. He still owes me another fact about him, and I vow that before he leaves tonight, he’ll give it to me.
As I serve drinks to customers, the thought of a man with my wet panties in his pocket sends a thrill through me. I wonder what he’ll do with them. Do I want to know? Perhaps not.
An hour later, he rises, shakes hands with his friend, and the older man leaves. When he turns to me, he summons me with the crook of his finger. “I’m leaving, but I wanted to talk to you about something. In private.” The last two words are uttered in a deep growl and I can’t help squeezing my thighs together.
My vision’s been stolen.
My senses are acute to the sound of soft footfalls.
Even though I can’t see him, I know he’s in the room. Even though the blindfold hides everything, my body prickles with awareness. The stranger with the rough, husky voice.