17. Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Seventeen
Emilia
T he VIP balcony is pure opulence. Oversized leather swivel chairs are grouped in pairs and fours around low tables throughout the space.
The dark tinted glass from the balcony rail flows down into the floor near the edge so you can see through it, but nothing is visible when looking back up from the dancefloor below.
The dark tint does just enough to take the brightness out of the strobe lights shining down onto the dance floor below, from the other side of the room, providing us with an unobstructed view over the club from our vantage point.
Enzo guides me to vacant seats at the centre of the VIP space, then he texts our drink orders to the bouncers at the bottom of the stairs.
I watch them flag down a server as she walks by, presumably to pass instructions along.
My eyes track her across the outer edge of the dance floor and up to the side of the bar, where she delivers our order, before heading back to clear more tables.
“What do you think of the place?”
“It’s impressive,” I reply, turning in my seat to face my ‘date’. “Do you come here often?”
A lopsided grin transforms Enzo’s harshly beautiful face as he shakes his head at my cheesy pickup line.
“More often than I would like, but rarely for pleasure these days. Clients have certain expectations that go beyond just the usual wining and dining. So, we pack the balcony with the right kind of people, let the alcohol flow, and give them somewhere to party without prying eyes. Usually, we collect phones before people come up here but seeing as it will just be you and I tonight, I thought we’d be safe,” he says with a wink, which I can’t help but smile at in return.
“I guess you would like to talk about the gallery then.” I say. A statement rather than a question. We may as well get straight to it.
“Actually, I would rather not mix business with pleasure tonight. Unless you want me to put a formal offer on the table?”
“So, tonight really is just a date?” I ask, ignoring the bait of an offer he’s dangling.
“It is for me,” he says, leaning over the table between us to brush some hair behind my ear.
I have absolutely no control as my head leans into his touch, the small tilt moving his hand to my cheek.
His thumb rubs across my skin, making me close my eyes in bliss.
It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything from such simple contact.
“SHOTS!” Kayla’s voice screeches over the music, breaking the moment between Enzo and I as I jolt back into my chair. Enzo’s outstretched hand slowly drops from the air where my face was, and I see his jaw tighten as he clenches it in displeasure.
We are suddenly surrounded by squealing bimbos, bouncing up and down to the music.
A shot is placed in my hand and I throw it back without hesitation.
The burn of alcohol is a welcome distraction that does little to quell the heat in my veins.
I can’t let Enzo touch me again. He’s hot and I’m turned on.
That combination will only muddle my brain further.
I put my empty shot glass on the table, and a replacement is immediately pushed into my hand.
Kayla has somehow managed to squeeze herself over to perch on the arm of Enzo’s chair, her arm slung across the back as she not-so-subtly leans across him to grab herself a shot, all but shoving her tits in his face.
To Enzo’s credit, he leans back to put distance between his face and her chest, looking at me in clear discomfort.
“1, 2, 3, shot!” is called out by one of the random bimbos and my hand is pushed up to my mouth and quickly tilted, making me down the second shot.
I don’t even get the chance to catch my breath before I’m pulled up and over to the balcony railing by multiple hands and shoved in the middle of the posse, who all begin to gyrate against me and each other, hands flailing in the air.
Normally I would be in stitches with their ridiculous and transparent attempt to get me away from Enzo. I catch a glimpse of him through the wall of bimbos, in a heated discussion with Kayla, while she tries unsuccessfully to shove him back into the chair.
I’m spun around by someone to face out toward the club’s dance floor.
The sudden movement made me dizzy. The two quick shots probably don’t help either.
Rough hands grab my waist from behind and I’m pulled against the front of a very large, very firm body.
I’m about to protest at being man-handled when I’m spun again, locking eyes with the dark gaze of Vincenzo Rossi.
His face being so dangerously close to mine has the words flitting from my mind.
He takes my hand in his and places his other on the small of my back.
My eyebrows raise as he leads us in a simple salsa move that moves us away from the middle of the bimbo pack, and back towards our seats.
I glimpse Kayla over his shoulder, and if looks could kill, I would have expired on the spot.
I press my body a little more firmly against Enzo’s as he continues to manoeuvre us further away from the others.
A satisfied smirk lifts my lips as I watch Kayla storm back down the stairs, her groupies following closely behind.
“Those are some impressive moves, Mr Rossi,” I say, finally gazing up at Enzo’s face once the others pass back out of sight.
“My Nonna loved to dance, and as her only grandson, it was my duty to take her to the floor anytime she wanted after my Nonno passed when I was nine.” A sad smile on his face.
“She sounds like a special lady.”
“She was the only person who really cared what I wanted, and didn’t just see me as the next in line to take over the family business.”
“Was?” I feel a stab in my heart at his obvious grief.
“She passed last year. I still miss her every day.” Enzo’s head hangs between us.
I stop dancing and place my hand on his cheek, pulling his gaze back up to mine. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Enzo.”
Enzo’s eyes dart between mine, like he didn’t expect my response and is searching for an ulterior motive there.
I can’t tell you who moves first, but the next thing I know our lips crash together.
Enzo’s hands frame my face, and mine grip the sides of his suit jacket, pulling him close.
He takes the last step forward, our bodies now flush against each other, and a small moan escapes me at the feel of his obvious arousal pressed against my pelvis.
A throat is cleared somewhere behind me, and I pull away in such a rush that I almost trip over my own feet.
“We really do need to work on your timing, Eddie,” Enzo grumbles at the bartender, who takes the wine bottle and two glasses from the tray in his hand and places them on the nearby table.
“Sorry, boss. Ma’am,” he replies with a wince.
“Thank you,” I murmur as Eddie pours deep red wine into both of our glasses.
I step out of Enzo’s embrace and go to the table, picking up a glass and taking a deep sip, the bold shiraz doing absolutely nothing to cool my overheated body.
What the hell has gotten into me? One smile, a sad story, and a barely there touch and I practically climb the man, who I suspect is involved with my father’s death, like a damn tree.
“I’ve got it, thank you Eddie,” Enzo says, effectively dismissing the bartender as he reaches for the bottle between us; my favourite Barossa shiraz. I have no idea how he knows it’s my favourite, but nothing about Vincenzo makes me think it’s a coincidence.
“Yes, boss. I’ll have another bottle sent up shortly.
” Eddie nods to me as he heads back down the stairs.
The second bottle arrives shortly after, carried up by a bouncer this time.
Enzo meets him at the top of the stairs though, and after a brief discussion, the bouncer heads back down the stairs, but stops to take up a post just above the platform where Kayla and her groupies are still dancing.
I watch her notice his position, then look up to where we stand.
Her look of displeasure is obvious even from here.
“No more interruptions.” I can feel Enzo’s deep voice roll over me as he moves behind me, close but not touching, then holds my wine glass out in front of me.
I take it, turning to face him, then walk backwards a few steps, edging myself towards the stairs to put a little distance between us.
I rack my brain for an excuse to end this sham of a date without arousing his suspicions, before I do anything even more stupid, like go home with him.
Clearly my mind and my body are not on the same page when it comes to Vincenzo Rossi.