Chapter Thirty-Four #3
“What’s your angle?” I asked in Spanish.
“I have no angle. You look outstanding. I like the dress too, and the purse. We’re matching.”
What the fuck?
“You wear black every day; I’m sure you match with tons of people in this world who wear black.”
He shook his head. “No, it looks different when you wear it.”
“Are you flirting with me?”
“I don’t flirt. I tell.”
“Right.”
His attention remained solely on me; while it was unnerving, it felt good.
“So, anything I should prepare for with this dinner?”
“I do not think you need to prepare.” His eyes looked between mine. “I have a gut feeling you know precisely what to do at events like these.”
“So, you’re trusting me based on a gut feeling?”
“Exactly.”
There was a challenge in his eyes, and I knew if I tried to deny anything now, he would pick out my lie, so I let it be.
And minutes later, as the plane took off, I wondered briefly if Devil had been right.
Was I walking into a trap?
We had gotten to the business dinner quite fashionably late. The event center was large, with different wafts of expensive perfumes in the air, expensive menus, and an elite orchestra band at the far end of the table where Elio and I sat.
When we arrived earlier, Elio had headed straight to the mayor of Turin, and while I didn’t pay attention to the conversation, I could tell the mayor held the man on my arm in high regard.
Elio had surprisingly introduced me as his friend, using my name. I didn’t mind; I was prepared for this evening. I had also been getting looks from women around me. Some were mostly curious, and others judged with their eyes.
Elio might not have noticed or pretended not to, but he held me to his side with pride and asked Angelo to move around and mingle.
About an hour later, an announcement and speech were made. We were seated at a dinner table with the mayor, his wife and son, Angelo, a neighboring local mayor and his family, and some minister whose name I’d forgotten, along with his wife and daughter.
Elio had gone quiet beside me, but conversations passed freely around the table.
Bringing my wineglass to my lips, I looked around the large room where conversations, laughter, and clanking of forks to plates resounded in the air.
My gaze connected with a gruff-looking man at a far-off table; it stayed for two seconds before he looked away.
I took a sip of my drink, glancing at the table two steps away from him; two men, one in a maroon suit and the other in a striped black-and-white one, turned my way before subtly looking away.
I swallowed the wine, looking up to the railing where two men stood with drinks in hand, conversing before they glanced my way, and averted their gaze seconds after.
I returned my attention to my table, stopping short when I caught Angelo staring at me. The suspicion in his eyes was so evident that I couldn’t help but curl up one side of my lips in a smirk while raising my glass to him before looking away to a tense Elio beside me.
His attention was not on the table, and when I followed his gaze, I found he was staring at a woman who sat at the table next to ours. She was laughing loudly at what someone at her table had said.
I frowned.
He was staring intently at her, which made me size her up. She was a gorgeous model-figure beauty, with a pretty feminine smile, long curly light brown hair that reached her back, and soft painted lips that could be considered charming, to say the least.
My frown deepened as I looked back at Elio, whose attention had utterly left the woman to another table.
I followed his gaze, and lo and behold, he was staring at another woman. This one was a platinum blonde, long hair straightened to perfection. She wore a strapless dress. She had a heart-shaped face and a Cupid’s bow mouth. Minimal makeup. Really beautiful.
His fingers on the table drummed absentmindedly. My gaze dropped to his knee beside me; it was bouncing rapidly underneath the table.
He seemed so tense.
I looked back at him to see his gaze on yet another woman; this one had auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail, loose strands falling down her face as she smiled at the conversation going around their table.
I wasn’t his girlfriend or anything, but fuck if I didn’t want to bash his head on the table.
But it was also strange because Elio didn’t seem like the kind of man to be this blatantly rude.
Subtly, I shifted my chair near his and placed my hand on his knee. “Hey.”
The shaking stopped, and he turned to look at me, gray eyes locking with mine.
I ran my hand up his thigh. “Focus on me, will you?”
His gaze dropped to my hand on his thigh, and I noticed how he grew more tense upon my touch.
At that moment, the mayor called his attention with a question. He looked away from me and didn’t say anything about my hand on his thigh under the table; he just conversed with the mayor with complete control in his voice.
My hand rubbed his thigh smoothly, my thumb brushing against the inner side, trying to calm his nerves … or … making it worse, because he wasn’t getting calm. His body was growing more tense, and I had an inkling that he was hard, though his voice was steady as he spoke.
I almost cursed myself for the idea that crossed my mind, but my brain had stopped transporting reasonable thoughts to my hand as it moved further up his thigh under the table until my finger brushed against his crotch.
My stomach jumped with excitement when I felt his semi-hard-on.
I should stop.
I was going against his rules.
Rules? Pfft. I’d never been one to abide by them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t start now.
So instead of stopping, I felt him up, rubbing against his erection, which grew harder by the second, thanks to the stimulation coming from my hand.
I could feel the defined outline of him, and I was grateful that his trench coat was long enough to shield any eyes from behind and in front of us.
The mayor asked him another question about something that had to do with a small town near Milan. Elio responded, voice still level, all attention on him, including mine.
I marveled at his level of control and decorum. The look on his face didn’t give away the fact that he was getting strokes from my hand underneath the table.
He went on to explain some talk that had to do with citizens’ data.
My hand skillfully brushed the outline of his cock, squeezing a little as I gave one tight rub.
His breath hitched loudly—in fact, he stopped talking altogether, and our table went silent, waiting for him to continue while wondering what had happened.
Slowly, ever so slowly, his head turned towards me, and he placed me under his very calm stare as he said in Spanish, loud enough for everyone at the table to hear, “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
My eyes widened in surprise, and I felt my cheeks heat up as he turned back to the mayor, who looked between us with amused confusion; it was almost the same look everyone at the table threw at us.
I removed my hand quickly.
Elio continued what he was saying as if he hadn’t just stopped the whole conversation to scold me.
I wasn’t embarrassed. Fuck, I was turned on. I’ve never been so turned on like I am right now.
When the conversation shifted from Elio, he stayed for about six minutes before he excused himself to the bathroom, not before sending a pointed glare at me.
I bit the inside of my lip, waited for exactly three minutes after he left, and then I excused myself too, walking the same direction he had gone.
Was that subtle? No. Did half the table know I was going after him? Yes. Did I give a fuck about what they thought?
Hell.
Fucking.
No.