Chapter 20 – Vanessa
Chapter Twenty
Vanessa
Moretti kept his word about not killing Magnum, so I keep mine about not complaining, even if going on a date is the last thing I want to do.
The women who popped up to do my hair and makeup were talented. They were friendly but professional, and I’d be happy to have them back again.
I look fierce as I make my way down the stairs to the first floor. The top of my hair is in double French braids up to the crown of my head. They’re tied off and pinned together, with the rest falling over my shoulders in cascading waves.
The dress hugs my breasts and hips, but it’s forgiving around my middle. It features a silver silky bottom layer that’s soft against my skin and a sparkly champagne-tinted see-through overlay. The colors sound like they wouldn’t work, but together the effect is magical.
I’m not sure what Moretti was hoping for when he told me to pick something short and flirty, but it falls to my knees. It still shows plenty of skin, considering the top has spaghetti straps and a low V neckline.
Moretti stands, leaning against the wall across from where the staircase ends. He has one hand in his pocket while the other adjusts his tie, and I almost stumble over my own feet.
The short hair on the top of his head falls over his forehead, and it looks like he trimmed his beard. He manages to look dangerous and sexy all at once, and things will only get more complicated once I can smell him.
He sees me watching and smirks, shoving off the wall and coming to meet me as I step onto the first-floor landing.
“Jesus, Vanessa.” His hand comes to rest on my waist, and he dips his head, kissing my temple.
The move makes it seem like we’re much more intimately acquainted than we really are, and I peek around to see if he’s putting on a show for Magnum.
Only, I don’t see Mag. “You sure know how to test a man’s resolve. ”
“Y-You look handsome,” I choke out, trying to steel my nerves.
“I have something for you.” Moretti reaches into the inside pocket of his suit coat, pulling out a necklace box.
He steps around behind me but keeps the box held in front of my chest as he moves.
It leaves him wrapped around my back, and he dips his head close to mine.
“I believe it will match that dress perfectly.” He loops his other arm around me from behind, popping the lid.
It’s a double-layered necklace, and it looks like it was made specifically to fit the neckline of my dress.
“Here, let me help you into it,” he murmurs, pulling the necklace from the box. He guides us over to a mirror that hangs above a small wall table. He drops the box and unhooks the necklace, bringing it to my throat.
I gather my hair, holding it out of the way as he clips the elegant piece of jewelry.
I’m not sure if it’s a Y necklace or possibly a lariat. There’s never been a man in my life to pamper me with jewelry, so I never put any effort into learning the difference.
I’m starting to think that giving jewelry is Moretti’s love language. Or he just has to keep up appearances.
Either way, I don’t care.
I love it.
The top layer features a single diamond that falls right between my collarbones.
The other chain hangs much lower, and it features five smaller diamonds—two on each side following it downward and one in the middle.
Another chain dangles just under the center diamond, and it hangs low enough that it falls between my breasts.
It’s thin and the diamonds aren’t huge, making the piece seem delicate rather than ostentatious.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, letting my hair fall now that the necklace is in place. “Oh God, tell me Francesca didn’t pick this. I’ll cry. You might actually have to rehire her—”
“Magnum helped me select it this afternoon when we picked up your rings,” he says, smiling at me in the mirror. “I was surprised. I didn’t think they’d be available for a few more days. Spin around for me, darling.”
I turn to face him, and he pulls a small ring box from his pants pocket.
“I’m going to save your wedding ring for a special occasion.
” He pops the box open, and an embarrassing gasp slips from my lips.
“I nearly went with the marquise cut. Something about it reminded me of you, but upon examining them in person, I decided it didn’t fit your personality.
” He plucks the ring from the box, sliding it onto my hand.
“The oval solitaire in platinum seemed like a much better fit. Anything over five carats gave off the appearance someone was trying too hard, and no one wants that. Your ring is just over four carats. Hopefully it’s up to your standards. ”
I blink as he twists my hand back and forth, allowing the light to hit the stone.
“It’s huge,” I whisper, grimacing. “I mean, it’s beautiful. I love it.”
He chuckles. “Both things can be true. It can be huge and you can love it.” It’s not his words but how he purrs them that makes the statement feel sexual, and my face heats.
My hormones have never been so out of control.
It’s going to be a long night.
Moretti refused to let me leave without a jacket, but it was unnecessary.
The rooftop restaurant is warmed by large propane heaters.
Some are built like stationary fireplaces, except they put out heat in all four directions.
Others almost look like fancy lamps, and they can be moved closer to the tables in use or moved away if someone complains it’s getting too hot.
I’m about to be the one complaining.
I’ve already taken off my coat, which should be borderline irresponsible, considering our location and the time of year, but the heaters are crushing their job.
While I’ve never been to Bella Morte, it’s beautiful and upscale and exactly the type of place women dream to be taken on a first date.
The restaurant has some type of awning that covers the tables and bar, which must come in handy when it snows.
By the looks of things, I’d bet it can be rolled back during nice weather.
Our table is near the edge of the railing, offering an excellent view of the city.
The guys Moretti is meeting with are on the opposite side of the table in chairs, while my husband and I are seated next to one another on a curved booth.
How Moretti can carry on a conversation with his associates while also teasing the backs of his fingers up my thigh is beyond me. I’m so distracted that I haven’t heard a single word of what they’ve been discussing.
He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as he hand-fed me my dinner—at first, I wondered if he thought I didn’t know how to cut my own steak, but then he was offering me bites…
I don’t know.
It just happened.
And I liked it.
In fact, I loved the way he murmured, “Good girl,” every time I took a bite.
I’ll be embarrassed about that later…maybe.
He fed me my entire meal while talking business, and then he pulled me close to his side while he ate his chicken.
Once he was done, he twisted into me and planted his hand on my thigh.
With his arm tossed over my shoulder, it makes it easy for him to run his fingers through my hair. Add in his other hand dangerously close to my vagina…
I’m overwhelmed.
His scent is everywhere, which should be impossible with how windy it is up here on the rooftop.
He’s so warm, and it’s just a lot.
He’s relaxed, yet his dominance is unmistakable.
Does that even make sense?
Holy shit.
This man is driving me crazy.
I would kill for half a glass of wine to take the edge off my frazzled nerves, but I also don’t like how much I’m craving alcohol.
It might be time to take a break. Even I can admit how much I’ve been counting on it to keep me calm recently, and I don’t ever want to be the woman who has to drink to get through daily life.
Moretti’s fingers dig into my thigh as he massages my skin for a second before he flips his hand over. The backs of his fingers brush higher, curving toward the apex of my thighs.
I peek up at him, but he’s listening to whatever Taggart is saying about a delivery of…something.
I’m not sure what.
It’s all chatter that my brain can’t comprehend with Moretti mercilessly teasing me.
Swiping my soda off the table, I take a long swig. The carbonation is nice, but it does nothing to settle my frazzled system.
Moretti hasn’t crossed any lines.
I almost wish he would.
He’s so close to giving my clit the pressure it craves, but then he’s gone again, working his way back down my thigh.
It’s a battle not to squirm.
His electric scent has me buzzing inside.
This isn’t good.
I peek around for Hawk and Magnum.
Hawk leans against the wall that frames the back side of the bar. Like always, he’s serious and focused. His gaze moves from the elevators around the room and back again.
Magnum sits at one of the tables facing me and Moretti. He catches my eye and winks, tilting his head.
I glance around, trying to figure out what he’s looking at, but there’s nothing exciting.
I’m sure my face betrays my confusion, and he raises his pointer and middle fingers. They’re together at first, but he pulls them apart, making a V as he nods at me, tilting his head even farther to the side.
I squint.
Moretti has been touching my left thigh, since it’s closer to him, but he slaps my right, making me jolt.
Oh.
I’m an idiot.
With how the guys are positioned across from us, there’s just enough space between them for Magnum to get a peek up my dress.
Moretti isn’t calculating enough to have planned that, right?
Who am I kidding?
He’s exactly that premeditated.
Moretti’s fingers dance over my right thigh, soothing the ache. Instead of working back toward my knee, he inches higher, grazing my panties as he moves to the other leg.
I stare straight ahead at Magnum, who winks.