The Hitman's Dancer: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Snake Eyes Book 2) (7 page)

His nose curls. “A decent ti—”

“Dad.”
I look up at him again. “Please.”

“Fine…” he huffs, his eyes dropping once to the envelope. “Take the day off. I’ll let Cynthia know you won’t be coming in.”

“I’ll be there. I don’t want to take a day off.”

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look all right.”

I sigh. “Yeah, well, you don’t look too good yourself, old man. How about
you
spend the night with the mobster next time if you’re so damn concerned.”

“I’m—” His voice drops, like a foreigner learning to speak the language for the first time. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

I look at the envelope. “I hope it was worth it for you.”

He says nothing more. He wants to, I can tell, but his face droops down to the floor instead. “I’ll see you later then,” he mutters as he pulls the door open.

“Yeah.”

The door slams, nearly shaking my picture frames off the old walls. I suppose I shouldn’t be too hard on him but I’ve never had the best rapport with him in the first place. Every conversation we’ve ever had has been about one of two things: his vices or the damn weather. I lie down and stare at the ceiling as last night replays in my head.

Who the hell was that man?

Why the fuck do I even care?

I hug a pillow against my chest, relaxing into the couch a little bit more. It’s still early. I don’t have to be in until ten so I can get in a quick nap before then.

Dante.

Holy shit, that cock.

He knew just what to do with it, too. He knew exactly what angle to hit and what speed to use to send me over the fucking edge. I’m a girl with
experiences
and I can safely say that this is the first time since
the first time
I’ve sat around feeling like a damn virgin afterward. And that
mouth
. I still feel the little blooms of pleasure breaking out on my skin everywhere he kissed me.

I think I’m actually going to miss that dick. Too bad it’s attached to a psychotic jackass.

Who the fuck leaves a girl stranded in his bed with no explanation? Who the fuck lets his butler shoo her out in the morning with a note to take home to daddy? Who the fuck thinks
“you taste like a good kill”
counts as dirty talk?

Oh, well. It’s not like I ever have to see him again.

I close my eyes, immersed in the memory of his bed until I fall asleep again.

***

I lay my foot on the beam and bend over to stretch my hamstring. It twitches with a slight, delicious pain, bringing memories of deep pleasure to my head as Cynthia drones on from the center of the room.

“Let’s keep moving, everyone. We’re burning daylight…”

My mind wanders, lingering even more on Dante’s body towering over mine. I can still feel his hips grinding against me, thrusting deep inside me, making me—

“Lucy.”

I jolt out of it as Cynthia’s harsh, old voice charges through my ear. “Sorry, Cynthia…”

She stands over my neck and stares at me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Are we somewhere else today?” she asks, her wrinkled mouth pursed in annoyance.

I shake my head and swallow the desire down my throat. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, once you’re done doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing, can you please meet the rest of us in the auditorium? We’re waiting on you.”

I glance around, suddenly realizing that I’m the only one left in the room. “Oh. Sorry.” I wince at her and she rolls her eyes at me before turning around and exiting the room without me.

I raise my other leg forward and lean farther into my stretch, this time trying not to sink too far into my fantasy. Dante Hart…

Scumbag.

Scumbag with a huge cock but still a scumbag.

I drop my leg and spin around to catch up with the others.

“Oh!” I gasp and freeze in place as my eyes catch his face in the doorway.

Dante’s lips slide into a warm smile. “Put your leg back up like that… It’s
nice,
” he says, his eyes trailing my tights all the way down to my toes.

“How the hell did you get in here?” I shout.

He steps into the room with a bouquet of roses clenched in one hand and shrugs his thick shoulders, hidden beneath a long, black coat. “I own the building.”

“My father owns this building.”

“And I own your father. Let’s not argue semantics.”

I sigh with annoyance. “What do you want?”

He stops in front of me and holds up the flowers. “Courtesy of Mr. Zappia himself.”

I stare down at them with an upturned nose, refusing to take them. “Excuse me,” I mutter, passing wide around him to avoid touching him.

“You’re right—” He steps into my path and tosses the roses to the floor. “He’s a dick.”

“Well, he’s in good company then.”

He purses his lips. “I assume that comment was directed at me?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Whatever did I do to deserve such unkind words, Lucy?”

“Ms. Vaughn.”

“Oh, so we’re back to that again, are we?” he chuckles.

“Yep.” I try to pass him again but he takes a wide stride to stop me. “I have a rehearsal. They’re waiting on me.”

“They’ll wait longer,” he says. “You’re mad at me and I want to know why.”

I seethe with impatience. “Well, for starters, you left me to wake up alone this morning.”

“I had to work.”

“It was rude.”

“Oh,
come on
…” He narrows his eyes. “You’re not that kind of woman.”

I lean back. “What kind of woman?”

“The kind that gives a shit about cuddles and butterfly kisses.”

“I’m
not
— but I expect to be treated with a certain level of respect and waking up alone with a strange man wandering around your house doesn’t exactly qualify.”

He keeps his smile. “Spencer is not strange. A little queer, maybe, but far from strange.”

I look at my feet. “It was
rude
.”

“Perhaps I misjudged you, Ms. Vaughn.”

“Perhaps you did.”

He leans in closer and that perfect cologne targets my senses again. “Let me make it up to you. Come to dinner with me tonight.”

I wince to conceal the lust charging up my spine. “Why?”

“Because I enjoyed spending time with you and I’d like to do so again.”

“Are you actually being serious right now?”

“Yes,” he answers. “Go out with me tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You didn’t enjoy spending time with me?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

My throat clenches. “I didn’t say that.”

“Then come out with me tonight.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Oh,
for fuck’s sake
—” I breathe a laugh. “You gangsters
really
aren’t accustomed to hearing the word
no
, are you?”

“No.”

I clench my teeth. “Mr. Hart—”

“Dante.”

“
Mr. Hart
, please let me pass.”

“Come on, Lucy Vaughn.” He locks his eyes with mine, forcing me to take in the shimmering shade of blue. “It’s just dinner.”

“You do realize you’re the man holding my father’s bank account hostage,
right
?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” he says, smirking.

“It’s
relevant
because I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.”

He holds up his hands. “Then we agree you have no choice. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Mr. Hart, I played my role in your arrangement with my father. I spent the night with you, I laughed at your jokes, I even put out for you, and I did it all with a smile on my face.”

He pauses.
“Debatable.”

“That is all we ever agreed to and there is no reason for this relationship to continue on in any way, shape, or form.”

“Sure, there is.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.”

“Enlighten me then,” I challenge. “Give me
one good reason
why I should go out with you tonight.”

Dante licks his lips and charges forward to take hold of me. I inhale quickly to object but his mouth finds mine, completely silencing me with a firm kiss. There’s passion on his breath and it bewitches me without a second thought. His teeth rake across my bottom lip, drawing a tender moan from the back of my throat. He strikes a fire throughout my body with a single flick of his tongue before releasing my lips.

His eyes open, reflecting a crippling desire back at me. “I’ll pick you up at seven, Ms. Vaughn,” he whispers.

“Okay,” I say, barely breathing. His hands fall from my body and he turns around to leave. “Wait — you don’t even know where I live.”

“I’ll find you.” He exits without glancing back at me once.

I reach for the balance bar and grip it tightly to keep from falling over. My lips throb, pulsing with blood, missing that phantom tug of his mouth.

Oh, now I’m in trouble…

***

So, what does a girl wear out to dinner with a mobster?

I stand in front of my closet, repeating the question over and over again, glancing quickly at the clock every few moments to be sure I still have time. My hair is ready. My make-up is done. Now, what the fuck do I wear?

Something
tight
, but easy to take off…

I chew on my thumbnail, feeling my cheeks turn pink.
Come on, Lucy. It’s just dinner. He said it’s just dinner, but…

Is it ever
really
just dinner? What else is he expecting here? Sex, obviously, but
what else
? When a girl dates an associate — or whatever — of the Zappia crime family, does that make her an accessory? By even agreeing to dinner, have I set myself up for some serious legal trouble down the road? Could I go to jail for this? What do you even wear to court these days?

Black. I’ll wear black.

I slide the hangers back, sifting through various blouses and tops until I find my dresses. My eyes stop on one near the back, something I haven’t worn in ages because it’s just too damn nice for casual outings. I don’t want to wear anything too casual and risk — you know —
disrespecting the hitman who’s picking up the tab.

I slide it over my head and wiggle until the bottom reaches my thighs. The scoop top hangs on my shoulders, attached to tight, black mesh sleeves all the way down to white cuffs that hug my wrists. I slide my hands down my body, making sure the dresses still fits like a damn glove. The bottom grazes my kneecaps.
Perfection.

My eyes rush to the clock. Six fifty-five. Any minute now, I’ll hear a knock on the door and Dante Hart will be on the other side of it. He’ll say hello and tell me how beautiful I look and I’ll drop to my knees like a good girl and unzip his—

Jesus Christ, Lucy…

“It’s just dinner,” I say at myself in the mirror.

I bend over and grab a pair of strappy, black heels to slip into before making my way out to the living room.

“Oh— god!”

My heart leaps into my throat. I nearly jolt out of my shoes and my hands fly to my cheeks as I see him there.

Dante
fucking
Hart is in my goddamn living room, sitting in my fucking chair.

“Good evening, Ms. Vaughn,” he says, calm as ever.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”

“Seven o’clock, right?” he asks, glancing at his watch. “I’m a little early.”

“What are you doing in my apartment?!”

He gestures over his shoulder. “The door was open.”

I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t!”

“Yes, it was.”

“I don’t leave my door open! I’m a single girl living alone in Chicago—” I point to the door, completely dumbfounded. “How the hell did you get through the chain?”

Dante grins and stands up from the chair. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

And just like that, my pulse normalizes as he glides across the floor towards me. He wears a suit, one much crisper than what he wore yesterday. Even his black coat looks pressed. He shaved, too…

“You look very nice,” he says. His deep voice echoes in my ears, almost as if we were standing in the center of a cave.

My eyes fall on my own body, glancing from my breasts down to my shoes. “Oh… thank you. I wasn’t sure where we were going, so—”

“It’s perfect.”

I smile. I can’t help it. “Good.”

“Shall we?” He turns around and walks to the door but he doesn’t open it. His eyes take a long sweep of me from head to toe and I swear I see his pupils dilating in his wicked blue irises from all the way back here.

I grab my clutch off the counter and join him by the door. “Sure…” He waits, standing still as a board while I stare back at him. Several seconds pass as his eyes wander my face and I fidget in my shoes. “Mr. Hart?”

“I’m sorry…” he whispers, his lips curling. “May I kiss you?”

I laugh. “You’re asking permission now?”

“Please.”

“Um…” My cheeks bleed pink. “Yeah, I guess.”

Dante steps forward and raises a rough hand to my cheek. His thumb traces a line from the center of my lip to the bottom of my jaw before he leans in closer. I freeze in place, unable to even breathe as his lips caress mine, pursing softly for several long, smooth seconds. Pleasure ignites in my womb, sending a thousand tiny tremors down my thighs.

“Thank you,” he whispers, our lips barely touching.

“Don’t mention it,” I squeak.

“Come on.” Dante pulls the door open and waits for me to step out first.

Oh, yeah. Sure.

I can totally walk after that.