LUCA {Full Book}

8

I grabbed her wrist, feeling the same rush I had when I'd kissed her. "I'm, of course, paying." I tossed some cash to the counter then walked over to a small table.

"I can pay," she insisted. "It's the year twenty—"

I threw my hand up to stop her, and, at the same time, gesturing her to sit. "I don't care what year it is. I brought you here, I paid, now sit."

She sat across from me, smile matching those sexy eyes. And I was fucking mesmerized, watching every curl of those lips, every drum of her fingertips against the table, every bat of those eyes.

I sat back, staring. "I want to know more about you. Tell me."

"More?" she repeated, straightening in her chair. "What do you think you know about me?"

Very little beyond the exact curve of your ass, the flow of your hips, the taste of your mouth, the smell of your lips, the snicker of your laugh. "Your father's Giuseppe. Mother is... Amina?"

"My mama's name is Ayomide Monifa Mancini. Amina is a nickname she's had since school. Anything else?"

"You speak Italian."

She nodded. "Yes, and Yoruba."

"Go on."

Her smile hitched at the side, and she lifted her hand to her straight hair, smoothing it over her ear. "I was born in Lagos, moved to New York when I was five, and about three years ago my baba's, my father's company moved him to D.C. I didn't move with them, much to his dismay. I couldn't leave New York. And then, um, that's it."

That was a geography lesson; I wanted more. "What—"

"What about you?" she interrupted.

"Me?" Everyone knew my fucking business.

"Besides the whole different woman in your bed every night thing," she teased, spouting off with a smile.

"That's about all you need to know."

"Oh, really?"

I scooted the chair back, stretching my legs forward, keeping my eyes on her. "I run Romano Investing with my brothers. My padre started the company, and I took it over when he died. I also took over my youngest brother Gav, papà of the twins you met. I became his guardian after my parents passed. I'm currently sober'ish, trying at least."

She threw a palm out, interrupting me. "Sober? You're at the bar every night!"

"I said ish. And that's sober from all things."

"Why?"

Because I had a heart attack two years ago. At thirty-seven, my own fucking heart gave up on me. Which no one needed to know. "I've got a company to run," I semi-lied. "And I'm a godfather now, gotta do my part."

She laughed, leaning back for the server placing our drinks and her scone down. "So you hit up the bar to help stay sober?"

"I said, trying."

Another laugh. "Trying... to see me."

"Lately." It was the fucking truth. I was intrigued with more than just her ass. "Where am I taking you home to?"

She bit into her bread. "The village."

The—what? "Do you live alone out there?"

"Out there?" she repeated, munching away. "I have a roommate, and I love it out there. New York's expensive. Which is why I was so surprised that bitches and blow jobs were only a dime a dozen. That seems incredibly cheap for such an expensive city." She finished chewing as she mocked me. "And since you're a millionaire, that means, what, you could afford a billion blow jobs," she spoke through her smirk, laughing in my face. "That's impressive, the fact that you could find soo many women, or as you said bitches, and the stamina you'd need, very impressive."

"You done?" Hearing my bullshit was painful.

"I misjudged you. You really have a way with words," she continued teasing, enjoying herself way too fucking much. "Your prose was on point. It was almost poetic."

I laughed, whether I wanted to or not. "I'm a dick, but I'm working on it."

"Are you?"

"No, not at all," I answered honestly.

She laughed, holding out her scone. "Want a taste?"

You have no fucking idea. "Want to go to my place?"

She shook her head, not even taking a minute to think about it. "I like this Luca, and I don't want to deal with that one, not on Christmas at least."

She was getting good at denying me. Although, that may have been deserved. "I'm not gonna try to sleep with you. I'm just not ready to say goodnight."

Her lips pursed, head cocked to the side, smelling my bullshit a mile away.

"Okay, fuck, I might try other stuff. I don't have much restraint when I'm sitting in front of a beautiful woman. But I am perfectly fucking capable of controlling myself, at times."

She clasped her hands in front of her. "And no temper tantrum if you don't get your way."

"A temper tantrum—" Jesus Christ. I started laughing, pushing out of my seat to stand, hand out for hers.

Shedebated, then stood. "Okay, Tin Man."