pissed. Her eyes lightened noticeably, her cheekbones became more pronounced because she pursed her lips so tightly. Her thick lashes opened and closed quicker with her frustration. “I’m in the middle of a date, Cato. You don’t belong here.”
The waitress returned with my drink, and I brought the glass to my lips. “The more, the merrier, right?”
“No.” Siena’s eyes flashed with threat. “How would you feel if I crashed one of your dates?”
I grinned. “I would love that, actually.”
Quick like a snake, she pulled her hand back and slapped me across the face.
Slapped. Me.
The hit didn’t hurt, but the shock slowly circulated in my veins until my adrenaline boiled over. No one had ever pulled a stunt like that besides my mother—and that was twenty-five years ago.
I set my glass down and examined her harder, pissed off and aroused at the same time.
Her date was still like a statue.
“I just killed someone.” My words escaped as a soft whisper. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Yes.” Just to prove her point, she slapped me again. “You think you own the world, but you’ll never own me, asshole. Now leave so Aaron and I can have dinner then have sex. Good night.”
The thought of her screwing this guy when she should be screwing me only tested my resolve even more. Without turning to her date, I commanded him. “Leave.”
He stayed put.
Siena didn’t look at him. “Don’t listen to him.”
This time, I turned in my chair and made direct eye contact with him. I gave him the same look I gave all my enemies, scaring him to death with only a subtle expression. My men were all over the place, and I could kill him with a flick of my fingers.
“You’re Cato Marino…” He seemed to be saying it to himself more than to Siena and me.
I snapped my fingers in his face. “Beat it.”
This time, he listened. He pushed his chair back and left the restaurant.
When I turned back to Siena, I couldn’t keep the smug look off my face.
Now she looked like she wanted to murder me. Hatred burned in her eyes, and her palm was getting ready for the next hit.
“Make it good, baby.” No one else would get an opportunity the way she did. No one else would survive such a strike. The only reason she did was because I allowed it to happen.
She snatched my drink and prepared to throw it in my face.
I didn’t appreciate booze on my face and clothes, so I swatted the glass across the table before she could do anything.
But she got her palm in my face, striking me just as hard as last time. “You’re such a—”
I fisted my hand in her hair, and I yanked her into me for a kiss. My cheek burned from the hits she planted on me, but it aroused me even more. I clenched her hair in my fingers and gripped her around the waist with my other arm. I pulled her tight against me and kissed her stubborn mouth.
She didn’t fight me. Instead, she kissed me back with revulsion, as if she hated herself for what she was doing but couldn’t stop herself. Her mouth wasn’t pliant like it was during our first kiss. It was harsh and aggressive, conveying all her animosity for me in a single embrace. But then her hatred softened, and her lips turned apologetic. With lips full of remorse, she kissed me, felt my mouth with hers the way she had in the bar.
The restaurant was full of people, but that didn’t seem to matter.
I’d dare them to say something.
When she pulled away, her eyes were full of self-loathing, like she hated herself for allowing that to happen. She hated herself for enjoying that kiss. She hated herself for being relieved that her pussy date was gone.
My cheek must be red from the way she’d struck me so hard, but the burn felt so good. I could feel the outline of her hand against my cheek like she’d just hit me. If I focused, I could replay it in my mind over and over. Every single flashback made my cock just a little bit harder. All the women in my life bent over backward for me, pushed away other men’s advances just in case I might notice them instead. They made out with me in clubs and shared me with strangers. They were willing to drop everything just for the mere opportunity to be with Cato Marino.