Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
I hate myself for distrusting Giovanni’s motives, even more so after our awe-inspiring commute, but doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.
When I crank my neck to Giovanni, not hazed enough with lust to consider stepping out while his glistening cock is still hanging out of his pants—I’m sexually satiated, not cured of jealousy—I’m met with an empty seat.
Confused, I dart my eyes between the individuals milling in close to admire a car that would have had a hefty import fee. When a pink hue creeps up the necks of a handful of women, I realize they’re not envying a gleaming chunk of metal.
Giovanni is in their sights.
Because I raked my fingers through his hair, it’s tousled in a sexy I-woke-up-like-this way, and his pupils, dilated with lust, appear darker than usual. He screams of wealth and sexuality, and every woman eyeing him like a tiger would a steak knows he fucks like a god. His arrogant strut announces this, much less the scent pluming from him. It’s sweaty and sweet, a combination of us both.
Before I can process why I’m not gouging out the eyes of the women gawking with want, Giovanni opens the door for me. His gentlemanly act shocks the women surrounding him. I’m not at all surprised. Giovanni speaks fondly of his father, and my mother has always said to pick a man by the traits of his father.
If he’s a good, honest man, you’ve found yourself a good, honest man.
If he’s a snake in tall grass, run.
My grandfather on my father’s side was the latter.
When Giovanni holds out his hand to assist me out, I roll my eyes. It’s all an act. A smile is tugging at my lips, and I can feel my pulse raging through my body.
Confusion sideswipes my euphoria about his old-fashioned courtesy when he shuts the door behind me before he guides me under the pub’s alcove. Assuming he’s as traditional with his farewells as he is with common courtesies, I press my lips to his cheek and mouth, Bye.
Again, he doesn’t leave. He simply smirks, and the crowd flocks closer.
Although I’m seconds away from acting like a possessive jerk, I keep my tone impassive while saying, “You don’t have to stay. I can take it from here.”
He sees straight through my lie. “Do you need another detour, dolcezza?”
Detour?
My throat burns when I glance at his watch. A lot more time has passed than I believed.
Now I know why those fifteen minutes felt like the longest fifteen minutes of my life.
It was closer to an hour.
“It isn’t like we don’t have time.” Giovanni nudges his head to the closed sign hanging in the window. The opening hours are clear, and they scream in his face that I’m a big fat liar.
I still try to act nonchalant, though. “The staff always arrives early. We have to set up before the patrons arrive.”
His brow gets lost in his hair half a second before he snatches up my wrist and drags me back toward the SUV. “Second detour it is.”
Knowing I’ll never survive another hour being tormented into submission, I shout, “Fine! If you want to waste your morning priming kegs for consumption, who am I to stop you?”
After freeing my wrist from his hold and dodging the thirsty women desperate to take my place, I stab the keys I normally use to lock up into the lock, fling open the door, then gesture for Giovanni to enter first.
He scoffs, disgusted. He’d never leave me defenseless to the wolves, and the women surrounding us are out for blood.
The crowd sighs as if bestiality is attractive when I dart into the pub as per the request of Giovanni’s glare.
I set my bag behind the bar and spin to face him before giving him my best “boss” look. If he wants to babysit me like I’m a child and hide it under the guise of being helpful, I’ll put him to work.
His dark eyes follow my hand when I jerk it to the cellar door. “The kegs are in the refrigerator down there. You need to carry them up the stairs, carefully, of course, and connect a CO2 tank, regulator, gas line, and liquid line to a coupler. Then…” I wait, expecting some kind of backlash. When it never comes, I continue. “You need to connect it to a tap, which you will have to prime to ensure there are no leaks. Alcohol is expensive. We can’t waste a single drop.”
Not a hint of protest fetters Giovanni’s deliriously handsome face. He simply nods before heading in the direction I nudged. “How many kegs do you need me to bring up?”
I stagger back, a little thrown by his lack of objection. “Er… two, for now. A lager and a pale ale. The kegs have labels, so just match them up. If you get stuck, shout, and I’ll come help you.”