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She doesn’t look at me as Simone answers in the affirmative.
I can’t resist teasing her. ‘I heard something about the entertainment having arrived?’ I cock my head. ‘Or is it running late?’
A flush sweeps her cheeks and she flashes a baleful look my way. ‘I’ll find out and get back to you as soon as I can.’
I can’t help but chuckle. Then I count the seconds until she returns.
‘It’ll be just another few minutes and then the singer will be here,’ she says.
‘Singer?’ I clarify coolly. ‘Not a dancer?’
‘No.’ Her teeth snap as she smiles sharply.
‘I’m going to need more coffee to keep me awake for the performance,’ Simone says, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between the waitress and me. ‘Any chance of a latte?’
‘Of course,’ Talia says. ‘I’ll get that right away.’
I can’t remain still for more than a few moments. ‘Excuse me, Simone,’ I mutter.
Talia stands by the coffee machine. As I approach I have to suppress the maddening urge to run my hand the length of her stiff spine and soften her curves against me again. I take a sharp breath instead. Public flirting is not my thing and I definitely don’t touch a woman in view of anyone else—I don’t even hold hands. Discretion is everything to me. My personal life is and always will be utterly private. So that I’m openly obvious with my attention is a first. Women are usually obvious with me. All I need do is discreetly nod and they approach. From there it’s to my private suite. I know that sounds arrogant but it’s just true. It’s what happens when you’re one of Australia’s wealthiest bachelors. Only I’m not in Australia now and this woman avoids my gaze entirely. But I know she’s aware of me. There’s strong chemistry between us and we both know it.
‘I’m really looking forward to the singer,’ I say conversationally.
Her body goes tense.
‘Or is there some problem?’ I add. ‘Perhaps you’ll have to step in and fill the breach?’
She ducks her chin and her flush deepens. I actually feel a little bad for teasing her.
‘You should have told me you were her date,’ she mutters meekly.
I blink. She thinks I’m Simone’s date? Good grief, I’ve gone from stripper to escort. She glances up and that’s when I spot the gleaming tease in her eyes. It tugs deep in my gut—it makes me want to use some sort of physical correction with her.
‘Simone Boras is my godmother,’ I inform her as coolly as I can. ‘She’s the nearest thing to a grandmother I have.’
Talia’s expression flickers with smug amusement before she smooths it. I narrow my gaze on her.
‘So I’m not about to give her or any other woman here a lap dance.’ I lean close. ‘Though I’d make an exception for you.’
That colour deepens her skin but I’m struck by the molten emotion in her bottomless eyes. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m like some lecherous party guest. But she provoked me and we had shared a moment in that storeroom. Now she presses her trembling lips together—not pursing them in disapproval, but suppressing her smile. That ache tugs deep inside me again and I want everyone in this room to vanish so we can be alone.
‘Can I please get a coffee too?’ I mutter. ‘Black. No sugar.’
‘Of course.’ She swiftly operates the machine.
Even though I never do this—I never usually have to—I somehow end up telling her who I am. ‘My name is Dain Anzelotti.’
Her expression is back to bland. ‘Am I supposed to recognise your name?’
‘Many people would.’ My name is on a lot of contracts.
But I’m not surprised she didn’t recognise my face. I avoid all kinds of media. I can get some stories scrubbed before they hit the mainstream press and I only attend social events where discretion is assured. I’m not on any social media platforms. I don’t have a personal email address. When you’re as wealthy as I am it’s advisable to remain as unreachable as possible. So as far as I’m aware there are no social media pictures of me anywhere now and, yes, I’m too precious but I’ve had more than enough of those in my past when I was used as a pawn during my parents’ drawn-out separation and brutally public divorce.
She looks down at the coffee cup she’s filling. ‘You’re not local, right?’
‘Right. But...’ But most people recognise my name.
‘Are you famous or something?’
