Granted, I hadn’t come into this to woo my own lawyer, but what’s a man supposed to do? Besides, I’m pretty sure this is one of those unwritten laws of being a made man. Generations ago, the old capos that roamed the narrow alleyways of Naples had probably made some kind of mafioso voodoo to ensure that a full-blooded Italian wouldn’t be able to look away from a fine piece of ass without being smote on the spot by God’s hammer.
I definitely didn’t want that, and so I let my gaze wander down Sophie’s body, enjoying the way her blouse and skirt hugged every detail of her curves. It was almost a sin to say that she was hot—next to her, the fucking Vesuvio itself would be nothing but a broken kettle.
“Let’s put this behind us, bella,” I said, allowing my grin to melt into a smile that had dropped as many panties as a B-52 bomber had dropped bombs. “Let me buy you a drink, what do you say?”
“First you spank me, now you want to buy me a drink.” She folded her arms over her chest, which resulted in her breasts being pushed up. Not that I was going to complain. “What are you, Indro? Some kind of bipolar mafioso?”
“I’m just trying to right my wrongs.” I made the sign of the cross and, for good measure, finished it by kissing my thumb. Blasphemy wasn’t exactly a good thing among those who followed the white-robed man that lorded over the Vatican, but I figured that even the pope would approve of this. If God wanted me to behave, maybe he shouldn’t have put Sophie on my path.
“You’re so full of shit, Indro.”
“Yes, yes,” I said. “Now, andiamo.” Before she could protest, I grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her out of the kitchen. Ten minutes later, we were walking through the arched entrance of Botte, a dimly lit bar that prided itself on its long list of Italian cocktails.
Sophie made it a point to drag her petulant mood after her. Not that I minded it. Her moodiness was nothing but a challenge to me and, after three Negronis, she was finally coming out of her shell.
“If you weren’t such an asshole,” she said, taking another sip of her fourth cocktail while leaning against the counter, “maybe I would break my no-clients rule. Too bad you’re set in your ways.”
“What’s this?” I smirked, enjoying the way her full lips hugged the rim of her glass. It was hard not to imagine them hugging something else. And after what she had just said, my mind was hard at work imagining a lot of different things. “What happened to Miss Lawyer Bitch? I didn’t notice her leaving.”
“You have a way of turning a compliment into an insult,” she threw back at me, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her face. Awkwardly, she tried sitting up on a stool, but lost her balance and crashed against me. Her hands landed on my chest, her fingers clawing at my hard pectorals, and I laughed as I helped her up.
“You know, there are better ways to get your hands on me.” I pushed her fourth Negroni away from her. That was the proverbial one drink too many, I figured. “You just have to ask nicely, and maybe I’ll let you have a bite.”
“A bite?” She pressed her body against mine and, I’ve gotta admit, I kinda blacked out for a second there. My cock went from twitching to standing at full attention, Sophie’s scent taking my brain by assault, and it took all that I had not to bend her over the counter. Again.
“Maybe more than a bite,” I whispered, enjoying the promises of sweat and glory in her eyes. Fuck, had I known that three Negronis would do it, I would’ve walked into her office with a tumbler and ice. “Maybe I’ll even let you—”
“Hold that thought.” She held one hand up, using the other to cover her mouth as she started hiccuping. “I’m gonna need to use the restroom.” With that, she turned on her heel and ambled across the bar, making her way toward the back. I followed her every movement with a predator’s hunger and, once she was out of sight, I ordered myself a Campari. I needed to cool down—to behave as a horny teenager wasn’t befitting of a respectable made man.
No, I had to wait as the cool and confident man that I was. After all, a made man is a patient man. Except my patience had its limits. By the time my glass was half-empty, I glanced at my wristwatch, frowning. Sophie had been in the restroom for ten minutes now, and that had me worried.
That’s when it hit me.
“Fuck,” I breathed out, checking my pockets like a cokehead who has suddenly remembered there’s an extra gram somewhere in his jacket. I tried to find the SIM card, but it was gone. Sophie had played me like a fucking fiddle.
Bravo.
Chapter Thirteen
Sophie
My heels clicked against the lobby’s marble tiles. A few heads turned my way as I headed toward the elevators. I gave a quick wave at the doorman, smiled, and squeezed myself past the sliding doors. Once they closed in on me, the elevator pushed itself up with a ding. I glanced at the mirror behind me and finger-combed my hair.
That’s why you don’t run through downtown like a maniac, especially if you’re wearing heels. It makes you look unkempt, even if you’re wearing $1000 Louboutins, and that’s something I simply can’t stand.
Thankfully, this had all been worth it. The SIM card was now safely tucked inside my purse, and I had even gotten three Negronis for my trouble. Now, it was only a matter
