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“I wanted something you’d remember.” Dario reached for the handle and swung open the door. “Go ahead.”
I walked through and stopped, the short hall opening to a two-story living room, one with a million-dollar-view of the Strip. The room had low-slung white leather couches, a giant flat-screen on the wall, and deep blue walls dotted with colorful paintings. To the left was an all-white kitchen, with a six-top table and fireplace. I walked to the windows, which stretched from the floor all the way to the second-story ceiling. Moving closer, I watched the Bellagio fountains dance.
“Is this where you bring all your girls?” I turned away from the view, watching as he moved into the kitchen.
“I ended my relationships. With the waitress, as flimsy as that was and…” He tilted his head as if reluctant to say her name. “Meghan.”
Meghan. She could be the nicest girl in the world, but I already hated her. I leaned against the window, curling my toes inside my socks, against the slick wood floors. “You broke up with them?” I lifted one shoulder. “Why?”
From this spot, I could see the ring on his finger. From this spot, everything I saw belonged to The Majestic and his wife.
“I’m making room for you in my life.”
It’d been seven days since we met. Seven days, and he’d ended two relationships, had me followed, tried to trick me into being a prostitute, and brought me here. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away. “You shouldn’t have. And I’m not entirely sure you actually have.” I huffed out a laugh and tightened my arms.
He pulled open a few drawers before finding a wine opener. “I have. You drink wine?”
I wandered away from the view and leaned on the counter, my gaze taking in the spacious and modern kitchen. It was all white granite and stainless steel and I watched Dario crouch before an open wine cooler. “Yeah. Something sweet, if you have it.”
“We have it.” He fished a golden bottle from the cooler and stood. The under-cabinet light was on, and it lit up his delicious features. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, the top button of his dress shirt open, and his forearm muscles flexed as he opened the wine. I watched his face, the strong features relaxed, half doused in shadow.
He was painfully attractive, in his movements as much as his genetic makeup. He was the manliest individual I’d ever met, from his dominant presence to the sheer strength of his build. He popped the cork and set the bottle down, tossing the opener aside.
“Trying to get me drunk?” I wandered around to his side of the counter and braced my palms on the granite, hoisting myself up and sitting on the edge. He only had one wine glass out, and I watched him fill it up halfway.
He ignored the question and handed it to me. “Here.”
“You aren’t drinking?”
He headed to the fridge, and as he passed, gently squeezed my knee. The gesture was sweet, an unnecessary touch of affection, and I lifted my glass to my mouth to hide the resulting smile.
“I’m fine with water.” He opened the door, the fridge neatly filled with rows of soda, juices, and water.
I watched him reach in and grab a bottled water. I thought about my dad, the way his eyes lingered on alcohol as if it was liquid gold. I set down the wine glass. “I don’t have to drink.”
He straightened, leaning against the opposite counter and twisted off the water’s cap, raising a brow at me in question.
“I mean, if it tempts you. I can just have water.”
His mouth curved as he brought the bottle to his lips. “I’m not an alcoholic, Bell.”
“Oh.” I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the glass.
“Sometimes I drink. Typically, I don’t.” He finished off twenty ounces in a single swig. “And I’m definitely not going to drink around you.”
I stopped, the rim of the glass at my lips, and watched him toss the empty plastic into the trash.
He moved forward, his hands pulling my knees apart, and leaned forward, caging me in. “I need all of my wits around you.”
I puffed out a scoff, taking a deep sip of the cool and flavorful wine before placing the glass down. I wanted to kiss him. The urge was so strong that I had to focus on moving the glass away just to keep from grabbing at him. “Why is that, Mr. Capece?”
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I saw our future. The growl of my name as he thrust into me. The grip of my arm when we fought, the hood of his eyes when he was about to come. He liked when I said his name. He’d like it more if I was on my knees before him, my mouth open, eyes begging.
