talking to the Italian but looking at me. “She doesn’t seem the sort to make idle threats. Step back.”
The smoking asshole steps back right away. Bowing his head, he makes as if to apologize. The limo man waves a hand toward the minivan, and my would-be-attacker skulks off like a dog with its tail between its legs.
“I must apologize for my friend,” the stranger says, those blue-green eyes like jewels at the bottom of a pool of water. His voice is deep, smooth, and tugs at things within me I haven’t felt for a long time.
I push it all down. New life does not equal new man. Nope. No way. I have far too much at stake to throw that kind of dynamite into the middle of things.
“I was handling that,” I tell him.
“Oh?” His lips twitch ever so slightly, threatening a smile. He seems amused. “And how, precisely, were you going to handle it?”
“What? You think I can’t deal with one handsy jerk? I’ve dealt with worse, believe me.”
“I do believe you,” he says. “Or rather, I believe that you believe it.”
“Oh, we’re doing riddles now?” I ask sarcastically. “How fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”
“I believe a ‘thank you’ is in order,” he interrupts, still standing completely still. Except for his eyes, and those lips: full, tempting, arrogant as hell. I repress a million warring urges. “Don’t you?”
I gape at him in disbelief. A thank you? Clearly, that guy and his friends are this dude’s employees or whatever. Which means this is the one who’s responsible for them being here in the first place. Which means, really, that he’s the one who’s been disrupting my class.
And this asshole wants me to thank him?
Maybe when hell freezes over.
2
Carlo
The only reason I’m here is to check in with Nario about the possibility of the Irish showing up. We could easily have these classes at my mansion, or one of my clubs. But Nario—ever the strategist—suggested that we hold them publicly, on the off chance that we could tempt the Irish out into the open. I was hoping for a fight. Something to get my blood pumping.
But now I’ve found something else to get me going instead.
The woman isn’t my normal type. Her hair is fire-red, and she has a light smattering of freckles around her cheeks. Her face is thin and her cheekbones are set high like a princess. Her body is lithe, fit, tempting. The kind of body you go to war with. Bedding her would be a fight in its own right—a fight I couldn’t possibly lose.
She is clearly not Italian. Her skin is far too pale, like snow. Fire-red hair and snow-white skin, this woman, tempting me.
“You want me to thank you?” She shakes her head, loosening more strands of hair. “You’re crazy.”
I can’t help but smile. I feel Nario watching me, but I ignore him. For the time being, the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I haven’t felt desire like this in … ever, perhaps. The base of my manhood throbs.
I incline my head. “Yes, thank me. Isn’t that what helpless maidens usually offer up to their rescuers? Among other things?”
“Helpless maiden?” she snaps. “I was—”
“Handling it, yes. You mentioned that.”
She seems surprised when I walk closer to her. She smells of strawberries and perfume and chalk and, faintly, a smell that is all her own. Perversely, it’s the last that draws me in: her distinctive odor. I want to smell more of her. I want to taste her. “But you must know something. That man, had I not arrived, would have done whatever he wanted with you. What is your name?”
“Hazel,” she answers, and then furrows her eyebrows as though annoyed at herself for saying anything. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
We are close now. Her breath is coming quickly. “My name is Carlo,” I tell her. “It is a mutual pleasure, I am sure. What are your plans for this evening, Hazel?”
“Home, bed, just generally being done with jerks for the night, really.”
She pushes past me. I feel the contour of her hip graze against my side. “I was hoping you’d join me for a drink,” I say, not moving.
She pauses. I have her, I realize. She should have kept walking, not revealed her desires so brazenly. Does she want me as badly as I want her? Her ass is a tempting curve in those tight jeans, just begging me to peel the material away and reveal the gift beneath.