Beautiful girl, indeed, but the mere fact that it is that foul bastard saying that to her makes my skin crawl.
Suddenly, she swings and slams the tray she was holding right into his face. The idiot slumps back, and it looks like she knocked him out cold.
Good girl.
Letting out a satisfied chuckle, I feel admiration toward the girl. It’s not every day I get a show like this.
Then she glances up, and her green eyes lock with mine. Awareness bleeds into my chest, curiosity mixing with admiration. The other patrons and music fade to the background until there’s only her… the fiery warrior with the face of an innocent angel.
Her green eyes stare into my soul once again. Bright, intelligent, but scared.
Apprehension shadows her features, and her lips part, drawing my attention to them. An image of the pad of my thumb brushing over her bottom lip flashes through my mind, and I begin to grow hard.
This is a girl worth claiming. Worth unwrapping to see what secrets she holds. Worth consuming again and again until she has nothing left to give.
It makes possessiveness fill my chest, which is something I have never felt before. Not for any woman, until now.
I know she feels the electric current between us. It shows on her face. She likes what she sees, even though there’s a glimmer of fear in her eyes.
Desire rumbles in my chest.
I want to claim her. I want to own every inch of her.
Then she breaks eye contact, turns tail, and flees into the dark recesses of the club, toward one of the VIP rooms. The music comes rushing back in along with the pained groans of the man she hit.
I let out a chuckle. Did she just try to escape me?
The predator in me stirs as my heartbeat speeds up with exhilaration.
Game on.
“Wait here,” I murmur to my men as I rise to my feet. “I will be back in a couple of minutes.”
Straightening my jacket, I don’t wait for an answer from any of my men as I walk toward the VIP room. I can’t fucking wait to get my hands on this pretty girl, and when I do … I will enjoy every inch of her skin with both my hands and my tongue.
“That fucking bitch…!” the drunk idiot she hit snarls as he tries to climb to his feet, stumbling into my way.
Grabbing hold of his arm, I shove him back into his seat.
Startled, he looks up at me. “Who the fuck are you…?”
Recognition flashes over one of his friend's faces, and he quickly grabs the drunk idiot. “Christ, Chuck, are you fucking insane?” He leans closer to the idiot called Chuck. “You don’t want to fuck with this man.” The friend glances at me with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry.”
Without giving them another second of my time, I resume my chase.
I stop outside the VIP room, and the corner of my mouth lifts as I push the door open. Stepping into the luxurious room, I instantly lock my eyes on my prey.
The girl lifts the tray in front of her as if she’s thinking about using it against me as well.
I let out an amused chuckle. “ Is that supposed to intimidate me?”
“Back off,” she threatens even though there’s a tremble in her voice.
Even though she’s scared, her eyes are filled with fire.
God, it’s a turn-on.
Wanting to set her at ease, I say, “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Then why did you follow me?” she demands, lifting her chin an inch.
The corner of my mouth lifts again, amused by her display of bravery. “What’s your name, kitten?”
“Why do you care?” Then she scowls at me. “And don’t call me kitten.”
“Just curious.” I step inside the room and shut the door behind me, which makes the girl stiffen.
“Who are you, and what do you want?”
“Marcello.” I let my name drift over my lips.
What do I want?
Her.
To my surprise, she lets out a burst of laughter. “Yeah, right,” she scoffs. “And I’m freaking Cleopatra.”
I tilt my head to the side, my eyes narrowing on her. “Is there something funny about my name?”
Her gaze glides over me. “The expensive suit, the accent, the name … If you’re going to cosplay as some big bad Mafia guy, I’d try to be a little more subtle about things, you know?”
Hmm … so she doesn’t even know.
Most men here would recognize me in a heartbeat, even the drunken bastards, which means this girl is not a part of this world I’m in. Yet she works at this club, the one place where all dirty deals are made. Interesting. What is she doing here?
Moving closer, I take a seat on the couch a couple of feet away from her. She stiffens again, but when I make myself comfortable, unbuttoning my jacket, she seems to relax a little. Enough to lower the tray.