make my way to the bar and set my glass down as I wait for the bartender to finish with the couple he’s currently serving. Drumming my fingers on the lacquered wood, I try to remember the last thing I said to Santino. I think it was quite cruel. But at that time in my life, I needed to be on my own. I didn’t need a man meddling and trying to take over when I had heavy stuff to sort out.
“Hiya, Trouble,” a familiar posh British accent utters from beside me, and my thoughts are instantly assaulted with a memory.
“You look like trouble,” Santino Rossi says, a flash of wickedness in his dark, soulful eyes.
“You look like you like trouble.” I take another shot before grabbing his tie and pulling his lips to mine.
I press a thumb into my palm to calm my nerves before turning to face the man whose face I can never forget, no matter how hard I try.
“Hello, Sonny,” I reply with a lift of my brows as I take in Santino leaning at the end of the bar, looking like he’s posing for a James Bond movie poster.
He laughs at my use of the nickname I gave him the first night we met as he strides toward my place at the bar. My eyes drink in his tall, broad frame because I’d hoped my memories of how attractive he was were exaggerated. I was drinking a lot of alcohol back then, and most of the places I saw Santino were dark nightclubs or low-lit bedrooms.
Unfortunately, he’s even hotter than I remembered.
Damn him.
Why is it that men get older and hotter while women continue to fight signs of aging with expensive creams and horrid things like Spanx? Life is so unfair.
He sidles up next to me at the bar, and I struggle to meet his gaze, feeling strangely exposed in the bright conference hall lighting.
“You’ll be pleased to learn that I’ve read all of the Godfather books since we met,” he says, towering over me and reminding me of the fact that he is one of the very few men in my life who manage to make me feel small.
“You actually read the books?” I lift my eyes to meet his with genuine interest. “Most men would have opted for the films.”
“Well, you wouldn’t shut up about them, so I had to see what all the fuss was about.” His dark eyes dance with mirth.
I purse my lips, trying to stop the butterflies in my belly. “And did you relate to your namesake, Santino ‘Sonny’ Corleone?”
His lips pull back into a smile, revealing his perfect white teeth that are a stunning contrast to his olive-skinned complexion. “My Italian mother isn’t the Godfather fanatic you are, so I can’t say he’s my namesake.” Santino presses his lips together to hide his amusement. “Though we do have one very big thing in common.”
I cover my mouth to conceal my giggle because I know exactly what he’s referring to. Santino “Sonny” Corleone was the eldest brother in The Godfather. He was known for being bad-tempered, violent…
…and very well endowed.
I face forward and school my features to appear uninterested. “I can’t say I remember that particular fact about you.”
Santino laughs softly, causing his arm to brush against me. He turns to look over his shoulder behind us. “Is your brother going to kick my arse if I stand too close to you?”
I follow his gaze to see Mac watching us with narrowed eyes. “You’re safe…for now.”
Santino turns his gaze back to me, and a tender look sweeps across his face. “How the bloody hell are you, Tilly Logan?”
I inhale deeply because it’s a loaded question, considering our history. “I’m not bad, Santino Rossi.”
“You look…well.” He says the last word like it pains him as his eyes drift down my body.
As my nipples harden beneath the fabric of my dress, I inwardly chastise myself because I shouldn’t be having these types of reactions around a man like Santino. Not anymore. I clear my throat to try to break this spell of sexual tension and nudge him with my elbow. “You look older.”
When he laughs, I do my best not to giggle. Again. God, how does this man shove me back into being a young, flirty twenty-something in a matter of seconds? Do I really need to remind myself who I am now?
Our attention is diverted as the cute bartender I chatted with earlier approaches. He sweeps my glass up into