Page 66

Jerkface doesn’t waste another second. Without another word, he hops to his feet, clutching his bleeding mouth as he scurries away without looking back.

My hand drops to my side as Harper and I stare at this hero in awe. Even though I am the only one between us who appears grateful to the stranger for literally swooping in to save the day. Harper looks terrified, probably still deciding whether to call Papa or not.

Slowly, I muster a small smile at the stranger, who still has his eyes trained on the shadow of my harasser.

“Thank you...” my words hang in the air while I sweep my gaze over this man’s striking features.

Firm, bow-shaped mouth, chiseled jawline, eyes that don’t just look but see, and a classic fifties pompadour haircut.

The stranger appears young, but his aura, the way his shoulders stand stiff, the swiftness of his punch, the hard lines at the corner of his eyes...

everything about him oozes years of experience navigating through this crazy world.

Regardless, I am not deterred. Older man or not, he rescued me from the snares of that idiot. So, he deserves my gratitude. I try again.

“Thank you, sir.”

That startles him. A deep, sexy chuckle rumbles at the back of his throat, and with a smoothness that makes me fall even harder, he turns and faces me with a dazzling smile.

Dark eyes, the color of molten chocolate, lock on mine, assessing every inch of my body, from my bare shoulders, down the length of my mini pink slip dress, sending a tingle across my skin.

I am feeling light-headed, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the few drinks I had, or the effect of this man not-so-subtly checking me out.

My knees wobble, and I clear my throat. Damn.

“Sir?”

I didn’t take note of it before, but now, as I listen keenly, I hear an accent.

And the best way I can describe it is as a tempting roll of the tongue—reminiscent of olive oil drizzled over fresh bread, with his words stretching long and smooth, like melted mozzarella.

My ears itch to hear more of it. I beam back, easily forgetting what brought him here in the first place.

“Is it strange to be called that?”

A playful glint crosses his eyes, like it’s fun to indulge me.

“No.” He shakes his head, still giving me that dark, delicious, intense look that swallows up the noise around us and makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room. “I’d prefer if you called me by my name.”

I suddenly remember that I’m not the only one in the room—Harper is here too. My eyes find hers, and I try to snap out of whatever spell this man has me in.

“I’m sorry, but we have to go.”

He looks over his shoulder and smiles at my sister. “Don’t you think I should buy your sister a drink? That man tried to ruin your night, but I can make up for it.”

Harper does not look too convinced. Her eyes tell me she is uncomfortable and wants to leave, but his charm seems to have worked on her, too, because she rubs her arm and nods. “Sure. You did help us, so I guess one drink is not too much to ask for.”

“ Grazie.” Thank you.

And my stomach drops with a warm sensation, as if everything suddenly clicked into place. It makes so much sense, that poise, the insane level of unearthly beauty, and the accent.

He’s Italian.

By the time I snap back to the present moment, he’s telling Harper something about taking me to the bar across the street because the drinks there taste better.

He extends the invite, but Harper doesn’t want to join in.

He directs her to stay in his VIP section because it’s safer there and advises her to keep her phone close.

He’s a stranger, and we should not trust strangers, but I can’t help the tug in my chest as I watch their interaction and his gentleness with my sister.

Harper gives me a cautionary glance, one with a message: don’t hesitate to scream or call if you have to.

I nod. Message received and sent back.

Satisfied, she clutches her purse and walks away with a bodyguard we hadn’t even noticed before, leaving me and the perfect stranger alone.

“She’s safe, don’t worry.” He turns back to me and extends his arm. “Shall we?”

The music pounds through my chest, a deep bass that makes the floor vibrate beneath my feet, although I think my heart is beating for some other reason.

Shyly, I blush and hook my arm through his, allowing him to lead us through the sea of gyrating bodies and smooching partners. His tall frame, standing out like a six-foot-three athlete, cuts through the masses like a knife, and I follow close behind, my fingers slipping into his without thinking.

We move towards the back of the club, away from the pulsing lights and sweat-slick air, to the back door with the neon exit sign gleaming atop. The heavy door creaks as he shoves it open, and a rush of cool night air hits me, sharp and refreshing against my flushed skin.

I laugh quietly when he closes the door, blocking the thrum of the club, and ushers us into the narrow alley, dimly lit by flickering streetlamps at the far end. It’s quieter out here, but my heart’s still racing, the adrenaline from the night pumping through my veins.

I brush my hair behind my ears. “This is crazy.” I smile up at him. “I don’t even know your name, and we’re in an alley.”

Mirth flashes through his eyes, but he just stands there in all his intimidating glory, with his hands tucked into his pockets. He looks sharper than a knife with a black button-down tailored for his broad chest.

“Antonio.” His shoulders nudge towards the bar at the other end of the street. “And I really did bring you out to get a drink across the street.”

Something crackles in the air between us, thick and suffocating, like static before a storm, and it pulses between us with every glance, every breath. It’s a heat that crawls across my skin, shrinking the space between us, until it’s just the two of us, locked in this silent, unspoken thing.

I swallow to find my voice. “But?”

There’s a dark, sharp flicker behind his eyes, somehow daring me to look away, but drawing me in at the same time. When he takes steps towards me, I take a step back.

He moves again, and I move back, slamming into a wall behind me. My pulse quickens, a steady thrum in my chest that echoes this tension cracking between us.

The corner of his lips curves upwards and I can tell he’s enjoying this. I square my chin, narrowing my eyes with a feigned defiance. “The bar is across the street. Why aren’t we moving?”

He’s too close, not close enough, and every nerve in my body screams for more, for less, for something to break.

“Because, what’s crazy is that I don’t even know your name, and I feel a crazy urge to kiss you senseless, until one of us gasps for air.”

Damn. That didn’t just leave his mouth. Did it?

My breathing falters as the heat flares higher, the tension pulling tighter like a thin rope about to snap, and I know he feels it, too. It’s in the way he’s standing, just barely holding himself back, as if one wrong word, one wrong move, and we’d be crossing a line we can’t come back from.

Nervously and on impulse, I blurt, “Vivienne. And it’s my birthday today.”

Hearing that seems to snap something inside him because his hands leave his pockets and find solace on my cheek, like he needed the slightest excuse to touch me. They are big and warm; I can’t help but lean in.

“I should give you a gift then.”

Gently, his fingers trace the curve of my mouth and the loud thrashing of my heart in my ears makes it hard to think or breathe. I should say no. I should turn on my heels and head back inside, grab my sister, and leave without looking back at this handsome Italian stranger.

This is escalating very fast, but I can’t bring myself to move from this spot.

My body calls to his own; a wild, irrational yearning to feel the weight of the man on me, to know what it feels like to be suffocated by his strength.

I want—no, crave—every inch of him. Every muscle, every taste of him.

He lowers his lips to mine, and my heart flutters when the dim streetlight casts a warm glow on his olive skin.

“ Buon Compleanno , Vivienne.” Happy Birthday .

When his mouth closes on mine, fireworks explode in my head.

I grip his shirt, my fingers curling into the crisp fabric to steady myself.

He cradles my face and moves against me like he fears I’ll break.

I moan into his hot mouth, tugging on his shirt.

I don’t want the restraint. I want him to unleash.

For a moment, it’s just us, lost in a bubble of wild passion with no cares or worries.

Then, a crack splits the air.

I recognize the sound too well.

Gunshot.

I freeze, breaking our kiss as I pull away from him, the sound ringing in my ears. Panic replaces passion, fast and hot, and my mind snaps back to reality.

My sister is inside.

“Harper!”