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Wonderful.
I march straight toward him, willing my knees to hold steady.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
He straightens, that infuriating smirk already in place. “Waiting for you, Dottoressa. We need to talk.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “About the hospital bill you paid? What’s your game, Santori?” My eyes flick to his hair again before I can stop myself. “And what happened to the blond?”
He runs a hand through the locks, and for a fraction of a second, he looks almost self-conscious. “The blond helped during a covert job. I’m relieved to have my original color back.”
“You dyed your hair blond for a job?”
“Bleached. And I’ve done stranger tasks for work.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Do you prefer the blond, Dottoressa?”
“I prefer men who don’t show up at my car uninvited.” I keep my voice sharp, but I can’t help noticing how the brown color enhances his eyes. “Now answer my question. The hospital bill. Explain yourself.”
“No game.” He shrugs. “A kid needed help, so I helped.”
“Bullshit. Men like you don’t do charity.”
His amusement fades. “Men like me? Once again, you don’t know me.”
His gaze rakes down my hair to where some face-framing layers fall just above my breasts. I immediately flick them back and instantly realize two things.
I’ve never worn it down around him, and I’ve just exposed more of my cleavage to him.
“I know enough.” I clear my throat, angling my shoulder slightly away from him. “You’re a criminal working for a mafia family. A hospital bill can be used for leverage. Whatever you want from Rosa Delgado and her family, you’re going to hold that little boy’s well-being over their heads until you get it.”
His jaw flexes, and his eyes narrow. “You really think that little of me?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” My voice cracks.
“What if you are what I want?”
He steps closer, and my breath hitches as I look up at him. As a dizzying wave of heat envelops me, I stagger backward, running from the undercurrent he emits until my back hits my car with a dull thud. He uses the opportunity to crowd my space in an overwhelming but not threatening manner. As his frame consumes my vision, his warmth bleeds into mine.
This must be what gentle deer feel like when big bad wolves close in on them. For reasons I can’t explain, my eyes linger on his Adam’s apple for half a second too long.
My pulse races, I draw in shallow, rapid breaths, and heat pools low in my belly.
His low murmur caresses my ears. “Are you shaking because you hate me and you’re scared? Or because you know what I want?”
He’s near enough that I have to crane my neck to glimpse his face. His thick scent of sandalwood and a hint of leather hijacks the sparse air between us. It’s unmistakably masculine, and it makes my head swim as I question if I’m getting drunk on another human being’s presence.
“You’re shaking because you want me, Dottoressa. And that terrifies you.”
I sneer as a flush burns up my chest and face. “What a staggering ego.”
“And what adorable denial.”
I smack my hands onto his chest and push, realizing my mistake too late. My palms flatten against solid muscle, and a current shoots through me like I touched a live wire.
“You arrogant bastard…”
When I raise my hand to slap him, he catches my wrist, and for a horrifying second, every cautionary tale I’ve ever heard fires through my brain.
I’m alone in a parking garage with a dangerous man I’ve managed to provoke. No witnesses, and nowhere to run.
