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“Don’t get me started.” I keep my gaze on the stage where Nina is now performing for me. She’s wearing a red silk dress that hugs her body as she moves sultrily on stage, her eyes drinking me in from across the room despite the crowd of people shouting her name below the stage.
“She's hot, isn’t she?”
“Hmm,” I grunt, taking another swig of brandy as Nina winds up her song, her voice hitting a crescendo.
“Not Nina. Francesca.”
Ice replaces the blood in my veins, and I turn to Orlando. “Excuse me?”
Orlando opens his mouth then snaps it shut. He swallows hard. “I-I’m sorry, Boss.”
The only reason I’m not slicing his fucking throat is because I’m even more shocked than him at my reaction.
Orlando and I have discussed women in the past. In fact, aside from the business, women are the second thing we discuss and on a few occasions, I’ve tossed some of the women I’m done with his way. But the mere thought of Orlando looking at Francesca long enough to call her hot makes me want to rip his heart out.
“Francesca is my wife. You do not ever speak of her.”
“Yes, Boss.” Orlando’s voice shakes.
“And if you do have to refer to her for some unavoidably important matter you call her Signora Barone. Do you hear me?”
“Yes-s, Boss.” His eyes show fear. “Forgive me. It will not happen again.”
I turn to the stage where Nina rounds up her session, and the crowd claps and cheers.
“I think she’s coming over here, Boss. Want me to head her off?” Orlando asks just as Nina pushes through the crowd towards me.
I shake my head.
I watch as she sashays towards me, her hips undulating sexily as she walks. Seconds later, she stands before me, her arms gently circling my neck, lowering her head to kiss me. My body doesn’t want the kiss. My head turns of its own accord, and her lips land on my cheek. She pulls away and stares at me in confusion for a few seconds before taking the alcohol bottle from my hands and pouring herself a small measure into my goblet.
“I missed you,” she says, sipping from the glass. Over the rim, her gaze drops to my crotch. “You’re the only real man around here.”
I stare at her curiously. God, how is it possible, but I feel nothing.
Nina smiles, then finishes the brandy and sets the empty glass on the bar behind me. She touches me again, pushing her body into me and rubbing it against me. The scent rising from her full breasts is the only thing in my nostrils. It always worked in the past.
“My session is over,” she whispers into my ear while one long red fingernail runs down my throat.
This is a willing woman. A willing, experienced, skilled woman. Just a few moments with Nina, and she will have my cock spurting thickly with satisfaction.
Yet, there’s no…excitement. None.
My thoughts remain ensnared by Francesca in her swirling wedding dress, and it annoys and frustrates me to no end. She is not willing. Why can’t I just take what Nina is so blatantly offering?
“Let’s go over to my place,” Nina says coyly. “I’m dying to take this dress off.”
I let the bottle drop from my hands and it crashes to the floor.
Nina jumps, stepping back away from me. “Valentino?”
“I’m a married man now, Nina.” There’s no twinge of regret in my voice. “I can never be with you again.”
Her face falls. She is obviously confused. “I don’t- I … But you don’t love her?”
I nod. “I don’t.”
I don’t love Francesca Barbieri,I repeat internally to myself as well. I hate her to the point where my blood boils whenever I look at her. Yes, I walk around with a gold bracelet in my pocket, but I don’t love her. I’m sure of that. If I can feel this much emotion from hating Francesca Barbieri, I never want to love her. Imagine the hell that would be.