REBECCA #2
She grins and pulls me into a quick hug.
Suzy Harper is my friend. My only friend, unless you include Charly.
She's also my former foster sister and partner in crime.
One of the few people who never stopped asking about Rachel.
We landed in the same foster home when I was fifteen and she was twelve.
Somehow, we survived both adolescence and the Hendersons' obsession with family game night, though neither of us has fully recovered.
She's also the reason I got this gig here tonight.
"You look like you saw a ghost," she says.
"Not a friendly one." I try to laugh it off, but my nervousness is palpable. Damn that man.
Her eyes narrow immediately. "What happened?"
I glance across the room. Unfortunately, he's still there. "Remember the guy I told you about?"
"The hot car guy?"
I hate that she remembers that description. "Yes."
"The guy you definitely weren't attracted to?"
I hate that she remembers that one too. "He's here."
Her eyebrows shoot upward. "Oh."
"Exactly."
Suzy follows my gaze. Then whistles. "Okay, wow."
"Suzy."
"No, seriously. Wow."
I sigh. She isn't wrong. Dark suit. Broad shoulders. An aura of power that would go unchallenged in any room. The kind of confidence that should be illegal. Alessio somehow manages to look more dangerous than he did eight months ago. Which seems unfair.
“Don't,” I warn.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're thinking."
"I'm thinking you have terrible taste in men."
"That's actually fair."
She laughs. Then reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a thick stack of cash. My eyes widen. "Jesus."
"Told you." She fans several crisp fifties and hundreds. "These people throw money around like confetti."
I stare. That stack alone would cover two weeks of expenses.
Maybe more. Charly's trip to Mexico flashes through my mind. The leads he’s chasing.
The contacts he’s trying to verify. Every mile costs money.
Every answer costs money. Every possibility costs money.
Rachel costs money. Suzy shoves the bills back into her pocket. "Smile."
I make a face. She points. "Smile."
"I am smiling."
"You look like you're planning a murder."
"That's just my face."
"Beccs."
I sigh dramatically. Then paste on my customer-service smile. "There. Happy?"
"Terrifyingly."
"Good."
She nudges me toward the ballroom. "Go charm rich people."
I hate when she's right. An hour later, my cheeks hurt.
I've smiled. Laughed. Refilled champagne.
Listened to stories about golf courses and private jets and investment portfolios.
I've earned every dollar. And despite my best efforts, I'm beginning to relax.
Then it happens. That strange sensation.
The one every woman recognizes. Being watched.
The smile slips slightly. My pulse stutters.
Slowly, carefully, I glance across the room.
And find him looking directly at me. Not casually.
Not accidentally. Not because he happened to glance my way. No.
He's watching me with an unreadable expression. His attention is totally fixed on me. My stomach performs an alarming little flip. Shit.
The ballroom is packed with hundreds of people, but somehow it feels like there's only the two of us. Like an invisible thread has stretched across the room. One I can't quite bring myself to break.
His gaze drops briefly. Then returns to my face. Heat crawls up my neck. Double shit. Now I remember exactly why staying away from Alessio Vitali seemed like such a good idea, because judging by the look in those crystal blue eyes, he remembers me too.
My tray feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, but I grip it tighter, using it like a shield I don't really want.
Alessio Vitali is walking straight toward me through the glittering crowd, cutting through silk gowns and tailored suits like they're nothing.
Every step he takes makes the air around me thicken, heavy and electric, like the charge before lightning strikes.
My skin prickles. My pulse hammers low in my throat, and heat curls deep in my belly—unwanted, undeniable.
Don't you dare run, I tell myself. But my body remembers him too well. Those crystal blue eyes that stripped me bare on the side of that mountain road. The way he looked at me like he wanted to devour me right there against the Shelby.
He stops just inches away, close enough that his cologne—dark spice and something dangerously masculine—wraps around me. The ballroom noise fades to a dull hum. There's only him. The heat rolling off his broad chest. The way his gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat before locking back on my eyes.
"I never even caught your name," his voice is low and seductively rough, like gravel under expensive boots. A slow, predatory smile curves his lips. "Fancy meeting you here, Grease Monkey."
The words hit like a spark on dry tinder. My nipples tighten against my uniform top, and I hate how easily my body betrays me. Eight months of filthy fantasies about this man, and now he's here, crowding my space like he owns it.
I tilt my chin up, refusing to step back even though every inch of me feels pulled toward him. The air between us crackles, thick, suffocating, alive with tension that makes my thighs press together on instinct.
"It's Beccs, Beccs Morgan." I fire back, keeping my tone sharp even as my breath comes a little faster. "I figured a man who calls in helicopters for a broken water pump didn't need little old me playing delivery girl across state lines."
His eyes darken; that crystal blue turns molten, and damn, my breath catches.
He leans in just a fraction, and his fingers brush the edge of my tray in a small, deliberate circle while his thumb barely touches my naked upper arm.
The light caress sends electricity racing up my arm.
The contact is barely there, but it burns.
My skin hums where his thumb traced my flesh.
God, I want more. I want his hands on my hips, pinning me down, that powerful body pressing me into the nearest shadowed corner until I can't think straight.
"Beccs," he murmurs, tasting my name like sin on his tongue.
The way he says it makes my core clench.
"Suits you. Short. Sharp. Impossible to forget.
" His gaze drags slowly down my body, lingering on the curve of my breasts, the dip of my waist, like he's remembering exactly how I looked bent over that engine.
"I've been thinking about you. Wondering if that smart mouth of yours is as filthy as I imagined while you checked my car. "
Heat floods my cheeks. I shift the tray slightly, letting my free hand brush his forearm, light, teasing, testing.
The muscle there is rock-hard under his sleeve, and he tenses at the contact.
Good. Let him feel it too. The pull between us is magnetic, dangerous, the kind of chemistry that could burn everything down.
"You never delivered my car. I waited."
"You waited?" I whisper, stepping just close enough that our bodies nearly touch.
My voice drops, laced with challenge and something breathier than I want.
"Doesn't seem like your style, Mr. Vitali.
Rich boys usually get what they want when they want it.
" I bite my lower lip, letting my eyes flick to his mouth before meeting his stare again.
"Or maybe you were scared a Grease Monkey like me would actually put you on your knees. "
Alessio's hand moves again, another small, possessive graze along the back of my wrist, and his thumb strokes once over my racing pulse.
The touch is electric, sending sparks straight to my core.
I'm wet already. Aching. The air feels thicker, heavier, like we're the only two people in the room and the rest of the world is just background noise.
"Hmm, I like it when you call me Mr. Vitali.
" His low chuckle vibrates through me. "Sweetheart, I've been hard for you since Idaho. I’m picturing you bent over that hood again…
only this time with my cock buried deep while you scream my name.
" His eyes burn into mine, dark with promise.
"Question is, you gonna keep pretending you don't want it?
Or are you finally ready to admit you've been dripping for this since the second you saw me? "
I swallow hard, my heart is pounding, every nerve ending is alive in a way I haven't felt in like…
ever. The tension coils tighter, ready to snap.
Part of me wants to drag him into the nearest hallway right now and let him ruin me against the wall.
The smarter part knows men like Alessio don't just take, they claim.
And once he does… I might never want to be free again.
But damn if the danger doesn't make me wetter.
The air between us is so thick with heat I can barely breathe.
Alessio's thumb strokes over my racing pulse again, deliberate and possessive, sending fresh sparks straight to my core.
My thighs clench involuntarily. God, this man is dangerous; his crystal blue eyes burn into me like he knows exactly how I'll sound when I come for him. I'm two seconds from giving in when—
"Hey, do you have some champagne for me too, or is this a private delivery?"
The sleazy voice slices through the moment like a cheap knife. I jerk back, my face flaming beet red as I turn toward the intruder. Some drunk asshole in an ill-fitting tux leers at me like I'm on the menu. My stomach twists with embarrassment. Of course. Of course someone would ruin this.
Before I can even muster a professional smile, Alessio moves. He steps straight into the man's space, shoulders squared, radiating pure lethal calm that makes my pussy clench hard. Fuck, he's hot. The kind of deadly that should terrify me but only makes me wetter.