Chapter 12
DIANA
I’m dancing with a nameless stranger when I look up and see Bruno Cataldi watching me.
Part of me thinks it’s the alcohol rushing through my veins that’s playing tricks on me. Because there’s no way that he would be here, on the second level of the Hideaway, watching me. But then again, why wouldn’t he be here? It’s his club, after all. Except, that would mean he left his kids at home, definitely not unattended, and came to the same club he knew I was going to be at. Why?
My ass grinds into the crotch of the guy I’m dancing with—I think he said his name was Derek, but I could’ve definitely misheard over the thundering music, or it could be the name of the other guy I had been dancing with earlier—and his hands grip my hips. He’s as drunk as I am—as all of my friends are, who dance nearby; Willa and Cathy together since they’re in relationships, and Julie with another stranger. But as I lean my back into Derek, moving my hips to the rhythm of the song, my gaze slides up again, and I feel like it locks with Bruno once more.
I feel it in the way the heat, different than the kind that accompanies drinking liquor, spreads through my body. The heat from Bruno’s stare is electric, like no matter the distance between us, I’m his target and he’ll get a bullseye every damn time. Maybe he’s not actually looking at me; I’m amongst a crowd of people dancing and moving—maybe he’s just watching the crowd and I happen to be in his general eyesight.
But I can’t shake the feeling. Because even from where I am down here and where he is up there, those dark eyes seem to lock onto my blue. And the longer he stares, leaning forward on the banister casually, a glass in his hand, the more my stomach dips with the knowledge that he’s watching me. Despite the people around me and the flashing lights, I know it.
My heart jumps. What the fuck?
How long has he been here, watching me?
I don’t want to focus on him. I rip my gaze away, though I feel the weight of it, and try to lose myself in the music and in Derek. But even with his hands on me, my thoughts sway back to Bruno.
Through the alcohol that no doubt makes my mind hazy, I tell myself that I’m making something out of nothing. Bruno is my boss. Yes, there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me if it was any other previous client I had worked for that was watching me like this, I would be creeped out. I’d quit the next day.
But with Bruno. . . It feels different. Dangerously slow.
Derek’s mouth drops to my neck and I automatically tilt my head to give him more access. Our bodies still move to the song, heat spreading through me. But it’s not because of Derek’s kisses. It’s because, as he plants them along my neck, I look up, and the sight of Bruno’s cool stare makes my thighs clench. Purple, blue, and pink lights flash across Bruno’s face, but he never breaks our stare. He sips his drink and watches as I grind my ass against Derek’s dick, my one arm stretched up and back to loop around his neck, keeping him close.
It’s electric, being locked in a stare with Bruno as some other guy holds me close like this, kissing my skin. My head is light from the drinks I’ve consumed, but the thrum of danger feels evident, the longer Bruno simply watches. Why is he watching? Is he jealous?
The thought seems ridiculous, even to my drunken mind. What the fuck would Bruno have to be jealous of? Derek? I doubt that, but I can’t lie—Bruno’s attention is dizzying and wicked, and I wish it was him down here with me instead of Derek.
“You wanna get out of here?” Derek’s question snaps me out of my reverie.
Do I want to get out of here? With him? Not at all.
“I’m here with my friends,” I tell him, getting ready to pull away from him. If he wants to leave, then I don’t want to stick to dancing with him to give him any false ideas.
One of Derek’s hands leaves my hip, his arm winding around my waist to keep me close. Hell no. “So? They’ll be alright without you. What do you say?” he asks, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.
“Sorry, not tonight,” I say, moving to push away from him.
But his grip tightens.
“Come on,” he slurs, keeping me close. I don’t panic just yet, but my heart does pick up slightly, and I feel it over the deep bass of the music. “Don’t be like that, baby. I know you want to.”
My hand drops to grip his arm that’s around me. In the distracted, dancing crowd, no one really notices anything amiss, not that I expect any of them to. “Dude, let go of me,” I say, feeling more sober than before. To emphasize my words, I dig my nails into his arm, just as Cathy seems to look over. When our eyes meet, I mouth, “Help,” though I make sure I don’t look too panicked.
She gets the message loud and clear and breaks away from Willa, and just as Derek hisses from the pain of my nails digging into his arm, Cathy comes forward and grabs my own arm, and pulls me toward her. Once out of Derek’s grip, I turn around and shoot him a glare, uncaring as he returns it through his drunken haze. “Fuck off,” I snap before turning back to my friends and not giving the guy any more attention.
I dance with my friend from then on, but when I look up toward the second level, Bruno is gone.
*****
brUNO
When I walk into the kitchen in the morning, I’m mildly surprised to see Diana already up and ready for the day, sipping her coffee by the window like she does every morning. Her shoulder-long blonde hair is brushed, her face fresh, and she’s wearing short denim overalls with a shirt underneath. Completely put together—not at all like she’d been out drinking most of the night.
She had arrived home before I did, which I only knew because I saw her leave with her friends around one thirty in the morning and because Bastian had reported to me the moment she was through the front doors of the house.
Truthfully, I don’t know what the hell drove me to go to the Hideaway last night. But I had no reason to go there, other than to see Diana. To watch as she enjoyed her night with her friends, taking advantage of the table and bottle service I had arranged for her. It was a spur-of-the-moment type of decision when I told her to go to one of my clubs, and that I would get her through the doors. I think that’s why I had her go to my club—so I could keep an eye on her.
Even though I have no reason to. Yet, I still ended up there, watching her drink, watching her dance with her friends.
Watching her dance with random men and fighting the urge to get in between them and shove the barrel of my gun in the fuckers’ mouths. The reaction felt both extreme and not but I fought against it. I stayed up on the second floor and kept an eye on her, watching her move her lithe body, watching other men put their hands on the parts that I wanted to feel beneath my own fingers. The attraction hit me roughly, out of nowhere, and I’m not entirely sure what the fuck to do with it.
And then when Diana danced and looked right at me, letting another man put his hands all over her, kiss her skin, while her eyes never left mine. . . She knew exactly what she was doing. She was challenging me. Trying to pull a Goddamn reaction out of me. She was lucky she didn’t get it because I’m not quite sure she would have liked it.
Diana looks at me now as I walk into the kitchen. I catch the way she sits up more, like she’s on high alert, something she hasn’t really done before. “Good morning.” I’m impressed that she doesn’t sound as wary as the energy she’s giving off, her tone bright.
I head toward the coffee pot, pouring some into a mug for myself. I turn around, leaning back against the counter as I look at her where she sits near the window. “You don’t look as hungover as you probably should,” I comment.
Diana finishes the rest of her own coffee, stands up, grabbing the empty plate that also was on the table. “I went to school in L.A.,” she tells me, walking over. “I know how to go to bed drunk at four in the morning and wake up for an eight A.M. lecture the next day. This is nothing.”
The corner of my mouth lifts up slightly in a small smirk as I sip my coffee as Diana stops a few feet away from me at the sink. “I didn’t expect to see you at the club last night,” she says, though her words are slightly slow, almost careful.
I throw her a sideways glance. Is she already going to bring up last night? I hadn’t thought that she would. She continues to surprise me. “I own it,” I simply reply. “I can go whenever I want.”
Which is true; of course, I can go whenever I want. But I chose to go last night when I knew Diana would be there. I left my sleeping kids under Raf’s watch, who had been confused about where I was going but knew better than to question me. It was fucked to leave them just so I could keep an eye on Diana. It was impulsive and unlike anything I’d ever do, and it goes to show that this woman has gotten under my skin without me even realizing it.
The world has always rested in the palm of my hand. Everything that goes on in my life, I have meticulous control over. Things do not slip between my fingers, and other than the damn bakery catching on fire, I don’t let things take me by surprise. You don’t gain control over an entire city without knowing the steps of everyone in it, without knowing who the powerful people are to have in your pocket, without know who to use and who to dispose of.
And then this woman comes.
I know I’m the one who pulled her into my life when I pursued her to be my children’s nanny, but the last thing I expected was for her to get under my skin. To make me do things I normally wouldn’t do. How the fuck did she manage that? I need to fix it.
But for now, I sip my coffee again before saying, “I saw you dancing with those men.” From my peripheral vision, I see Diana tense up slightly as she washes the mug. I don’t look at her as I ask, “Did you know any of them?”
“No,” Diana answers, putting the mug on the drying rack. “How is that any of your business?”
I think she surprised herself by asking that, if the minuscule hitch of her breath was anything to go by. She hadn’t expected to give voice to her own thoughts, it seems. “You work for me and my family,” I tell her, my voice hardening. “You’re around my kids. So I need to know who you’re bringing around.”
My words are out of line, I know, but I don’t quite care. Not even when Diana stops and gapes at me incredulously, the shock evident in her eyes. What else is clear, is the blush that pinkens her cheek; she wears her embarrassment right on her face, her pale skin flushing a pretty pink color. I think of other ways to get her skin to flush like that; beneath me, above me, on her knees.
The errant thought tightens my grip on the mug.
“I—I’m not bringing around anyone,” Diana stammers, though her voice is sharp like she can’t believe I have the audacity to ask such a thing of her. She practically slams the now clean plate on the drying rack, and as she roughly dries her hand with a dish towel, she glares at me and says, “And just because I work for you, doesn’t mean I can’t have a life.”
I raise my eyebrow at her, at the tone she speaks to me with. No one would ever dare talk to me like that—not if they wanted to lose their tongue. But I see the fire in her cerulean eyes and, despite my irritation with the men she had chosen to let touch her the last night, I admire the fire in her eyes. It’s far better than the emptiness that had been in them days before.
I turn my body to face her, easily towering over her. My voice is cool and collected, as I say, “None of your letters of recommendation ever stated how you’ve got such a mouth on you.” My gaze purposefully dips to her mouth, those pink, slightly parted lips. The sight of them sends blood rushing to my cock, wondering what they’d feel like, taste like. “You talk to all of your employers like that?”
If possible, her cheeks flush even more, and I have to fight the urge to smirk. She’s embarrassed, and I see the way her throat works. I wonder if I have the kind of effect on her as she does on me. I keep my gaze locked with her blue eyes, my mind instantly flashing back to the last night – how she had watched me from the dance floor while she moved her body against someone else’s. Challenging me. Teasing me. Maybe wanting me as much as I want her.
The tension winds tightly around us, and I want to close the gap between us. My jaw clenches as I take reign of my control, refusing to give into the urges that wreak havoc without my say-so.
I can’t kiss her. I can’t fucking do anything without potentially jeopardizing my kids’ nanny situation. I don’t need her to quit on me and my kids.
“I—uhm,” Diana stammers, my words clearly catching her off guard. There’s a male sort of satisfaction that rushes through me at how flustered she appears, taking a step back. “I’m gonna wake up the kids,” she says quickly, before hurrying out of the kitchen while trying to appear like she isn’t hurrying.
I rub my jaw once she’s gone. That was a dangerous game I just played, and yet I don’t think I can entirely bring myself to stop.