Page 169 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

But she wouldn’t use it.

Cara watched Nathan stroll out of the restaurant with his hands in his pockets, and no worse for wear than he had been when he first arrived. The bartender took her order for ice water in a glass, and Cara surveyed the rest of the restaurant while she waited.

It was only when her gaze landed on a familiar pair of dark eyes that she finally understood why it felt like someone had been watching her.

Gian.

He sat at a corner table, tucked away in a quieter part of the restaurant with dim lighting, and what looked to be a glass of whiskey in front of him. Across from him sat an older gentleman, dressed just as well as he was, although the man was several pounds heavier around his middle. His guest seemed entirely oblivious to the fact that Gian was no longer engaged in their conversation, but rather, focused on Cara at the bar like she was the only person in the room.

His stare did not feel like it usually did.

It was hard.

So cold.

Angry, even.

Those dark eyes of his pinned her in place, lips smoothed into a thin, grim line, and his sharp jaw tensed as he looked her over. She didn’t miss the slide of his gaze darting to the left, in the direction Nathan had gone. His hand clenched around his glass tight enough for Cara to see his knuckles go white.

Great.

Cara would recognize that look anywhere, even if Gian had no business sporting it. He was fucking jealous.

All over, unnecessarily, completely jealous. And fuck, it looked good on him. Like every other goddamn expression he wore, from his indifference to his rage, to his sweetness in the mornings, and the way he looked when he fucked her. It all looked damn good.

She had just spent a little more than an hour with a man who was everything that Gian was not, in certain ways. She hadn’t managed to feel anything for him, not even an ounce of the confusing mess she felt with just a glance at Gian Guzzi.

How was that fair?

She should be over this ridiculous mess by now.

Even Gian had told her that she would be fine—that she was the kind of woman who could fall again and again, yet manage to brush herself off and move on with her life. Yet, there she was, not moving the fuck on.

Frustrated, Cara turned away from Gian, refusing to meet his stare again or acknowledge his presence. She had gone months without running into him in the city, and now, in a matter of just a couple of weeks, she had run into him twice.

Someone from up above was laughing at her. Clearly, she had no guardian angels looking out for her.

She snatched up the glass of ice water when the bartender finally brought her the drink, and took a sip. Maybe, if she just pretended like she hadn’t noticed Gian twenty feet away, he would opt to go the same route she did.

Cara hoped for too much.

Just as she finished her water and slid the glass back across the bar, she felt his presence slip in behind her. It was fucking crazy and stupid and intense how that worked. The very fact that he didn’t even need to speak, or make a noise, and she just knew.

Knew that he was there.

Knew that he was looking at her.

Knew him.

“Are you going to corner me somewhere and make me talk again?” Cara asked without turning around.

“No,” Gian said, his voice a rough murmur.

“Good, because I’m about to leave.”

“Is your date waiting outside?”

“That’s none of your business,” Cara replied.