“Better yet, the Beast after he’s a man again.” With literary talk from a muscular, handsome man, how was my pulse not jumping?
I went still when a rush of heat climbed up my body, the little hairs on the back of my neck stood, and I followed Hudson’s gaze to see the only man capable of provoking such a reaction.
Enzo.
“She’s Natalia Romano’s sister,” Enzo said in a gravelly voice, and he propped his palms on the exterior doorframe.
“I didn’t know,” Hudson returned in an apologetic-sounding voice.
“I need the room.” It was an order, not a request from Enzo, and I looked at Hudson, surprised to see him nodding without question.
“Have a good evening.” Hudson tipped his head goodbye, and Enzo stepped aside to allow him to exit.
Then Enzo kicked aside the anchor, and the door thudded shut.
“What just happened? Why’d he leave like that?”
Enzo’s eyes shifted to the stain on my tank top. “He’s a friend. Do you think I’d let you and your sister hang out somewhere that I didn’t—”
“That you didn’t what?” I began dabbing at the stain, remembering why I was in the office.
“Deem safe,” he bit back. “What were you thinking going into a room alone with some guy you don’t know?”
“You just said he’s your friend. Based on the military photos, I figured I was in good hands.”
“Good hands, huh?” he growled out, and for whatever reason, something I’d said had further pissed him off. “You came in here before you knew that bit of information,” he pointed out, and then he began speaking in Italian.
My parents were born in Italy, but they never taught us the language, and I had a feeling it was so they could talk in private without us knowing what they were saying.
Enzo had moved to the US when he was six, and clearly, he was still fluent, even though his accent seemed to show up only when he was upset. Like now.
Enzo stalked closer to me. One angry step after the other until he was within arm’s reach of me. “I can’t protect you if you go down dark halls with men you don’t know. What in God’s name were you planning to do with him?”
“First of all,” I said, taking a defensive tone and stance, “the bathroom was down the dark hall, and I had to pee. And secondly, he spilled his drink on me and offered the club soda.” I waved the napkin, hating that it looked like a little white flag of surrender.
Enzo might have intimidated people, but I wouldn’t let him scare me. Of course, my experience with “bad boys” and “heartbreakers” was limited to fiction.
He grunted. “He’s too old for you.”
“And what does his age have to do with anything?”
Agitated, I flicked the napkin at him, and he snatched it from the air and balled it in his hand.
When his eyes dipped to my dressy tank top, I couldn’t help but look down, noticing that the whiskey had spilled all over my right breast. The thin material of the top and my sheer bra were wet, which meant my nipple penetrated the two flimsy layers of protection.
“Hudson fucks just to fuck.” The way the f-word passed through his lips and hit the air, it was as if the man had reached out and placed his large hand between my legs and skated his finger over my sex.
Holy hell.
But then I remembered what he said and snapped out, “So you’re just going to keep riding this train of crazy, I see?”
If Constantine is the broody one . . . then what do you call this? That dark look in Enzo’s eyes was almost enough to scare me. But something told me he’d sooner lay down his own life than do anything to jeopardize mine.
Enzo’s eyes raked over the length of my body, from my slingback black heels to my black flowy skirt, and then he skipped over my tank top and found my eyes again.
“Fine, maybe I did want something from him. I’m guessing Natalia told you I’m inexperienced and a virgin to ensure you kept men away from me, but I—”
“What did you just say to me?” Enzo hissed as he stepped closer, stealing my breath as he gently cupped my chin.
His long, dark lashes remained still. His espresso-brown eyes focused on me as though I were the bane of his existence.
“Yes.” I gulped. “I’m twenty-three, and I’ve never been laid.”
Had a man tried to get me off with his hands back in college? Yeah. Had he been successful? Sadly, no. But that was the most action my body had seen aside from my vibrator.
I had high standards—like a book boyfriend in the flesh. My mom didn’t read, so she was clueless about the kind of men I’d ever want to date, which was why her matchmaking skills sucked.
“Virgin?” he mumbled, then said a word in Italian.
Note to self, google the word for virgin in Italian when home. Also, did I just stun this man into speechlessness?
He released his hold on my chin, only to run a hand over his bladed jawline, and his anger seemed to intensify based on the slant of his brows and the harsh lines cutting across his forehead.
I had to find the will to continue going head-to-head with him. And it took me channeling Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games and her fearlessness to be able to say, “I wasn’t planning to let some rando screw me in here, if that’s why you look all pissed off right now.”
“No? Just back at his penthouse? Up against his glass wall, huh? Your tits on display for all of Manhattan to see while he fuc—” He cut himself off as if realizing he was painting a vivid picture. Little did he know that was now number seven on the list of things I wanted to do with him.
My nipples hardened as a response to his dirty talk, and a little pulse of energy had me tightening my thighs together. This was new for me. I didn’t get all hot and bothered by a man unless he was written by a woman and inside a book.
His eyes fell to my skirt like he knew what was happening beneath it. The man freaking snarled at me, as if realizing I was aroused, and why’d it feel like he wanted to take me over his knee and punish me for it?
Well hell, that can be number eight.
A litany of curses left his mouth, a mix of English and Italian, while he tossed the napkin into the trash bin by the desk.
“You’re too young,” he murmured under his breath. “Too fragile.” He abruptly turned, clawing at his black hair, mussing it up.
“What are you talking about? Too young and fragile for what? Hudson?”
“For me,” he seethed, swiveling back around, breathing hard.
My mouth hung open. The words were trapped behind my shock. And the longer he stared at me with such a dark, heated look, the harder it became for me to think clearly.
He shoved back his suit jacket to draw his hands to his hips, continuing to stare me down. “What do you want, Maria?” He finally broke the silence, which had felt like the only real fragile thing in the room.
What I wanted was for him to remove his jacket and roll his sleeves up to expose the ink on his arms. Unbutton his shirt so I could see the tattoo on his chest.
I wanted to study him. Pretend I had artistic talent so I could sketch this man before me. Capture the emotion on his face. Immortalize in a drawing the way his muscles were no doubt bunched and tense beneath his clothes.
“Maria?” he repeated. “So help me, I don’t know what’s in your head, but you’re walking a tightrope right now by being alone with me.”
I swallowed and tore my eyes back to his face. “Why?” I rolled my tongue along the seam of my mouth, and he tipped his head to the side and dragged his thumb along the line of his lips as if he were touching me instead.
“Because I don’t fuck virgins, and certainly not one I vowed to their father to protect.” His hands snapped into fists at his sides, and I stumbled back, hitting the wall. He lifted his hands as if realizing what he’d done, and it was the first time I saw the muscles in his face go lax. “I would never hurt you.” His Adam’s apple moved as he carried his attention back to my eyes. “I’m trying to refrain from giving you what you seem to want.”