Lorenzo held Angel for what seemed an eternity, basking in the warmth of her slight frame resting on his. She said it had been five years since she’d had sex, but he’d bet his new club she had still been a virgin. Her tiny hand could almost fit in the palm of his much larger one, making him want to hold her close and protect her from the world, which was absurd. His Angel would smack him if she heard his thoughts, and then she’d flounce off to show them all how tough she was, just like when she’d turned eighteen.
That night would forever be engraved in his brain. Through the fog of alcohol, he remembered Candis offering to pleasure him. Seeing his dick was acting like a pole, and had pressed against his slacks in plain sight, he let her lead him into a bathroom. The next thing he knew, she had her mouth wrapped around him, and he pretended it was Angel, and then his fantasy was shattered by none other than the birthday girl walking in. He’d never felt as ashamed in his whole life as he did in that moment. After unhinging Candis from him, he went in search of Angelina, but she’d been nowhere to be found.
He’d stalked through the ballroom, asking everyone if they’d seen her, or heard from her, only to be told over and over again, no, nobody knew where she was. By the time he received a call letting him know she’d arrived home safely, it had been six o’clock the next morning. Rage at who she’d spent the night with had nearly sent him over the edge, but Angel was a good girl and wouldn’t do something so reckless. He’d decided to give it a day or two before he went over to grovel. But, in typical Angelina Rugiero style, she’d one-upped him and left for a two-week vacation in the South of France that had turned into a five-year game of avoidance. Each time she’d come home to visit, he was either out of town himself, or she’d made sure he wasn’t around, or they were always surrounded by their families. He’d found himself panting after her every time she’d come within arm’s length, but she had become a pro at keeping him at a distance.
That was over now. There was no way on God’s green earth that he was letting her go, ever again. She’d be lucky if he allowed her out of his bed, let alone Miami, without him connected to her in some way. Gia had said she was as good as engaged to another man. Picking up her hand, he saw no evidence of a ring on her finger, not even an indent from where one had been nor a tan line. If he gave her a ring, he’d make sure it was a perfect fit, and he sure as shit wouldn’t allow her to take it off. Hell, he wanted to have his and hers tattoos put on their ring fingers so there was never any doubt who they belonged to. When it came to the slight woman in his arms, he found himself wanting things he’d never thought to have.
Lorenzo carefully extricated himself, intent on cleaning Angelina, knowing she’d sleep much better. He padded into the bathroom on silent feet, having seen the evidence proving what he already knew. She’d never been with another man. So why did she think she had? Entering his bedroom with a clean cloth, amazed at the sight that met his eyes, he stopped next to the bed. As gently as he could, he used the warm towel to tend to Angelina. She stirred, grabbing his pillow and cuddling up to it. The light from the bathroom allowed him enough ability to see more proof on the once-white towel. It was twilight as he made his way back to bed and eased next to Angel. With one arm holding her in place, he reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a remote, pushed a button, and closed the curtains, cocooning them inside his room.
He let sleep claim him, knowing Angel would be there when he woke. And when they did, she would have some explaining to do. Starting with who she almost slept with and ending with who he had to kill.
Chapter Five
Light streaming in from the open windows roused Angelina from the best dream she’d ever had. She grabbed a pillow and placed it over her head, wanting to get back to the fantasy that involved a naked Lorenzo. Damn, but the man was built like a freaking God, and he could move on and off the dance floor. He truly was perfect for her, if only he thought the same thing.
The sound of a shower running finally broke through her sleepy mind. She tossed the pillow off her head, thoughts of the previous night replaying in full color. It hadn’t been a dream, after all, was her first conscious thought. What was she supposed to do now? The morning after routine had never been mapped out in her head. Should she hop up and be gone before he got out, or stay there and hope for another round? Her first choice would be option two, but common sense said not to expect a repeat performance.