Soft globes lean into me. “Santino, I’ve never said a man’s name that many times in all my relationships. Moreover, never on the first night.”
Gina’s a professional with that mouth. We’ll see if she’s as good when it counts. I toss back, “There’s afirst timefor everything.”
I note the faintest smile before I drag her to the door. After opening it, my gaze surveys every inch of her voluptuous curves while following her inside. The restaurant is stark white with touches of red.
We’re seated at a table for two. Red tea candles twinkle in Gina’s gaze as she glances over at another table. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re not one of those New Yorkers; those flimsy ass, oily pizzas are not for me.”
“Not here. We’re gonna eat a pizza pie. Every layer is stacked like so, Bella. Tell her, Piero.” I gesture to the old man as he saunters over with leather menus.
“Sweetheart,” Piero kisses his teeth, laying it on thick. He tells her about the famous pies while handing her a menu. Gina asks if he has a ‘house red.’ Piero strikes up another conversation about his favorite wine from Tuscany. She eats up his suggestion. Minutes later, the wine is set before us.
With a smile on her face, she watches him walk away. “Santino, that’s one charismatic flirt. I might let him take me home tonight. I’m sure Piero can teach me all the thingsyou think you know.”
I raise a brow. “Try me, Bella. I’ll take you for ransom right this instance.”
She laughs softly. “I like your confidence. But you might have to come harder. I still don’t know if Piero was upselling me the wine or . . .”
“Taste it, Gina.”
My strikingly beautiful date seems to notice how I’ve pointedly chosen her name in place of Bella. She swirls a delicate fingertip over the rim of the glass. The head of my cock swells enviously.
Gina looks at me through mesmerized eyelashes. “How many times have you been here? Either you’ve known Piero all your life, or you have a way with people.”
“My first time here.”
“Liar.” She pushes her soft toes into the side of my thigh. I catch her dainty foot.
“What are you . . .”
“Inspecting it for cement.”
Laughter bubbles out of Gina’s mouth as I make quick work of the strap of her heel. The expensive stiletto falls to the ground with a thud. She glances around, shock creeping up her throat. I knead the arch of her foot.
Gina’s head tilts to the side, leaving her neck vulnerable. Licking her lips, she asks, “Your mother ever tell you . . .”
“To treasure the woman I’m going to marry.”
She chortles. “You’re worse than a hunk of cake two days after a New Year resolution. I should fuck you and get it over with. May I have my leg back?”
Massaging my way up her soft calf, I shake my head. “No. And what do you mean . . . ‘And get it over with.’”
“Alright, strike the ‘get it over with’ portion of the conversation. We both don’t want that to take an adverse hit to your confidence. So, should I fuck you, Santino?”
“Definitely. But won’t be nogetting it over with.”
“You are stuck on that? How old are you?”
“Old enough to put it down so well, you’ll forget your last name and claim mine, Bella. I’d also say about ten years older than you.”
She starts to sip her drink. “You have a ‘married woman’ fetish?”
“I have a ‘Gina will one day be my one and onlywife,’fetish.”
We pen each other under heated gazes. God, I want to place a ring on her finger, to own her in every way it matters right now. Then own her some more in the bedroom.
“I can read you, Mr. Morelli. So well . . .”
“So, well, it hurts? I’ve got something for the ache between your thighs.”