Borgata - Book II #wattys2016

Chapter 32: Hurricane

HEY EVERYONE IT IS 12:35 AM AND I AM WIDE AWAKE

WHAT'S EVERYONE'S FAVORITE SONG???? MY CURRENT FAV SONG IS ATTACHED TO THIS CHAPTER. DON'T LISTEN TO VAULTS UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET OBSESSED WITH HER VOICE LOL

Come fan girl in the Omertà/Borgata group on Facebook!

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The gorgeous Italian man kept flashing that vicious grin. I wondered if he smiled so infrequently that his mouth was stuck like. But then, as his gaze raked slowly up and down my body, that grin slowly fell.

"I hoped you would wear that dress," he said seriously. I took note of the huskiness to his voice. Either he had laryngitis, or he was imagining ripping my dress off of me twenty different ways.

"If you keep complimenting my dress, I'm going to start thinking you want to wear it," I teased him. "But hey, if you can squeeze it on, maybe Robert can find you a matching yellow eye patch."

Fico stepped forward, invading my space. His hands boldly rose up to grip either side of my lower rib cage. I stopped breathing. I imagined his large rough hands touching the soft fabric of the dress. It must have felt like silk to him. Now he was a villain with dangerous intentions in his eyes. But he didn't act on any of them. No, he was a master of control.

His expression was not amused, or angry, or anything, really. He was just...staring at me. He slid his hands from the sides of my ribs to my waist. Stiff, as if he were afraid he would break me. Then, as if something snapped within him, he tugged me forward and brought our bodies closer in one sharp movement. I couldn't help but gasp at the quick change of pace of things and my pulse lurched. His strong hands slid down my back. He squeezed my ass, pressing my pelvis hard against his. Then he leaned in and brought his mouth to my ear.

"You'd be very smart not to tease me right now."

Heat crawled up my neck and a thrill swelled in my chest. "Sometimes I don't like to be smart."

He pulled back and our mouths were close. I knew he was going to kiss me and licked my upper lip a little. I even started to close my eyes. But instead, Fico leaned away from me and walked past me with a low, deep laugh that brought goose bumps all over my body.

"Do you like the set up, cucciola?" Fico asked and pulled out a chair for me. The scrape of its legs on the floor seemed to snap me out of a trance he had me under. Set up.

I watched him skeptically a few moments. Set up. What an interesting choice of words. He was being too well mannered and courteous. Fico, the most dangerous man on the East Coast (or so I'd heard and only briefly witnessed thus far) was hosting an elegant and romantic dinner for me. How could I not think this was a total trap?

He waited patiently for me to sit down. Finally, I made my way to my chair, pressed my dress under my butt, and gradually, gracefully, began to lower myself down.

"Thank you," I said, not yet sitting in the chair. It was like I was doing a slow squat, hovering over the chair. It must have been pretty hilarious from an outside perspective. But maybe I could detect a sliver of hatred in his voice and confirm my dramatic notion that my chair was a death trap, thus saving my life. I kept lowering myself centimeter by centimeter, waiting.

His hand rested on my shoulder, and before I could react, he pushed me down into the chair the rest of the way. I gasped, and he laughed in that low way again. Then he calmly unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in the seat across from me. The chair itself even moaned from his presence.