Page 3

Chapter 3

Catarinaflippedherheadback and downed another glass of the excellent scotch.At least, the label claimed it was excellent.She couldn’t taste it anymore.She was too busy contemplating her next move.

The only thing she was absolutely certain of?She would not—under any circumstances—marry that flat-assed buffoon who thought juggling two women at once made him impressive.Hookers, no less!Who knew what kinds of disgusting germs were crawling all over Matteo’s nether regions now?

Actually…did that even count assex?Did interaction with a hooker, or two, count as a sexual conquest?She frowned into her glass.She was too tipsy to remember what the rules were anymore.Either way, she was useless at this sort of thing.And that thought irritated her.

Suddenly, she stiffened her spine in anger.She wasn’t useless.She knew…things.She had a photographic memory.Or was it eidetic?If she hadn’t polished off half a bottle of scotch, she might have remembered the difference.

Snorting at herself, she spun slightly on her stool, deciding her pity party had lasted long enough.Except—her gaze landed on the man in the corner.

Oh.

Ohhh.

That was definitely not a picture.That was him.In the flesh.And, dear heaven, those photos she’d seen didn’t come close.

Her stomach gave a little flip.She was tipsy enough to let her legs carry her forward, heels clicking against the polished floor after she slid off her barstool.Each step felt daring, like walking into the lion’s den in satin and pearls.She lifted her chin, pretending she wasn’t wobbling just a little.

The closer she got, the larger he seemed—broad shoulders filling the dark suit, power radiating from him in a way that made the other men in the room unconsciously sit up straighter and taller, desperate to compare but falling short.Catarina forced herself to keep moving, her scotch-fueled bravado the only thing stopping her from turning back around.

“Good evening, Mr.Romano,” she greeted with a tipsy smile as she reached his table, resting one hand on the back of the chair across from him for balance before lowering herself into it.

He looked at her, dark eyes locking onto hers.Good thing she’d had that head start with the scotch.Otherwise, she might have bolted.Up close, he was even more dangerous-looking.Dangerous and absurdly handsome.

She leaned an elbow on the table for balance.“You know,” she said, her voice conspiratorial, “you really should come with a warning label.Something like—‘do not approach without alcohol in your system.’”

One dark brow arched, his mouth curving slightly.“You think I’m scary?”His voice was rough velvet, deep enough to vibrate in her bones.

Catarina shivered.Deliciously.“A little.But the good kind of scary.”

Then he smiled.And just like that, her knees gave up.No one had the right to smile like that.White teeth, tanned skin, nearly black hair, and those eyes!

“Yes,” he interrupted smoothly, amused.“You already mentioned my ‘dark, dark eyes,’ Bella.”

Her jaw dropped.“Wait—did I say all of that out loud?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

His smile widened.“Yes, you said everything out loud.”

Catarina propped her chin in her hand, squinting suspiciously at him.“Are you…a good kisser?”she whispered.

He threw his head back and laughed, the sound low and rich.

She scowled.“Are you laughing at me?”

“Not at you,” he corrected.“At the question.”

“Well, it’s a very important question,” she huffed, fumbling with the clasp of her pearls.“Damn it, I hate pearls!”She yanked them off and slapped the necklace onto the table.The ten-thousand-dollar strand slithered to the floor, but Catarina was too busy steadying her chin with her hand to notice.

He ducked beneath the table and came up a second later, the pearls in his hand.

“Oh good,” she said brightly.“You came back.”

“Of course,” he replied, slipping the necklace into his pocket before she could reclaim it.