“I bet that line works on all the other girls,” Nicole says.
She’s right. It doesn’t take much for them to fall at my feet. I’m blessed with good looks and a great body. Does she not notice?
“How about I buy you a drink, and if you never want to see me again—”
“Okay.”
Her response takes me by surprise.
I lead her toward the reserved booth and gesture for her to climb in first. The booth is curved, and I make sure to sit close beside her, our thighs touching.
I want to touch her, seduce her, and bring her all sorts of heightened pleasure.
“Are you sure we should be sitting here?” Nicole asks. “It did say reserved.”
I merely shrug. I don’t want to give away who I am, especially if she’s unaware of my position of power. She shouldn’t know.
“Let’s see what happens,” I say.
She raises a curious eyebrow but shuts her mouth.
The bartender from earlier comes over, and I gesture for two drinks—one for each of us. I don’t have to give the bartender my order. She gets the finest liquor, top-shelf from the collection.
“I never got your name,” Nicole says.
“Daniel,” I answer. It’s a lie. I’ve always been Dante.
It’s clear she doesn’t recognize me, and I can’t have my name triggering any further recognition.
“I’m Nikki,” she says and rests a hand on my thigh.
Her tune has changed since I met her minutes ago on the dance floor, but I’m not sure why. Do I care?
“It’s lovely to meet you, Nikki,” I say, as if I’m trying to remember her name.
I could never forget it. I’ve had my eye on her since she strolled into town and moved in with her Daddy, my number one enemy: Gino DeLuca.
All I’ve wanted is to take him down, and in the process, I’ll be forced to ruin her for other men.
Too bad.
She’s beautiful, with her long black hair and deep-set amber eyes.
Cute and sexy.
And she could have a normal life if I wasn’t at war with her old man.
The lights are dim, the bar not terribly crowded for a Friday night.
The music slows, and I’m glad we’re already in the booth. While a slow dance is nice at times, it doesn’t fit right now. Not when I want to grind against her.
The bartender returns with two drinks. One is a whiskey for me and the second a whiskey sour on the rocks for her. It’s strong but sweet, too girly for my taste, but the ladies haven’t turned it away in the past.
I don’t expect her to be any different.
But I’m wrong.
She slides her glass toward me and grabs mine before I can lift it to my lips. “I’ll have what you’re having.”