Muttering curses, she stomped down the hall to the office where he waited. He was pacing, but stopped the moment she returned. Chin up, she handed him his jacket. His gaze had jumped immediately to her face when she entered the room. Focused. Intense. Who could look like that? She blushed. She detested blushing, but nothing controlled her color when she was embarrassed.
He slipped into his jacket and gestured toward the door. "Let's go."
Sasha stepped back and shook her head. "I'm good now. It just shook me up momentarily, but seriously, I'm all right. I'll just head home and go to bed."
There was a small silence. He didn't move. He just stared at her. Why in the world had she said "go to bed"? Now she couldn't get the picture of Giovanni naked in her bed out of her mind. Her color deepened. Worse, he looked like a predator about to leap on his prey and devour it--her. She was his prey. A little shiver crept down her spine.
"Sasha, you agreed to go out to eat with me. I'm hungry and want to talk to you about this incident. It was sexual assault. The kind that needs to be addressed. More, security should have come to my table the moment you were uncomfortable. The same with Aaron's table. We need to have that discussion. I want you to feel safe in your work environment. We may as well do both at the same time." Again, he gestured toward the door. "Let's go."
Had she agreed? She honestly didn't know. In the restroom, she'd counted up her tips for the night and she'd made a small fortune. It was more than she'd ever considered she could make in a month, let alone in a single night. She needed the money desperately and hated that she did. She didn't want to work there, surrounded by people she didn't understand. Nor did she want anyone to think she was after the owners of the club. Still, she had no choice. That money was everything right now.
He'd also mentioned security coming to his table twice, as if he was angry that they hadn't. Maybe she really did need to know more. If they tested their employees by acting a certain way to see if they did their jobs, she needed to know that to keep working there.
She went out the door ahead of Giovanni, going toward the back exit that led into the employee parking lot. She wished she had a car so that she could just drive away, but she'd taken the bus because she couldn't afford a car. She kept her head down, even when he rested his palm against the small of her back. She felt the heat right through her thin tee. That heat radiated out from his hand and spread through her body, moving like slow molasses, heating her blood until it sang with need.
She tried to outwalk his touch, but he had much longer strides than she did. Overhead lights cast numerous shadows around the lot while illuminating the cars. She stopped, uncertain of where she was going. That was a terrible mistake. He curled his arm around her waist and guided her toward the low-slung Aston Martin in the VIP-only section for family right in front.
The moment his arm was around her, heat went up a thousand degrees in her deepest core. Maybe other women wanted him for his money, but they were crazy if that's what they were thinking about. Her body went into total meltdown. There was no controlling her reaction to him. It was as if two sticks of dynamite collided and detonated together. The rush was almost beyond her ability to control.
She felt his breath hitch in his lungs, just for a moment. His arm tightened around her and he kept walking, holding her upright. Her knees weakened, so she was grateful for his strength. On the asphalt, she could see their shadows had come together, connecting with all the other shadows in the parking lot.
Giovanni opened the door for her, and she slid in without a murmur. She couldn't trust herself to speak, and she was very happy he had to let her go in order for her to get inside the car. The leather felt like soft butter against her arms and, when she sank back into it, felt as if it molded around her yet was firm enough on her back. She concentrated on doing up the seat belt while he slipped into the car, to keep from having to look at him. She was still trying to control her breathing and the scorching need that wasn't letting up.
"You live above Masci's deli, right?"
How did he know that? Yeah, she worked for him, but did the Ferraros vet every employee of each of their many businesses? The manager had been talking to him, so maybe he'd said something. Did it matter? "Yes." She sounded a little curt and tried to soften it with a small smile.
"Petrov's is still open. It's pizza, but in my defense, it's very good pizza. I'm not being cheap. If you'd rather go somewhere else, we can."
"Every single person I've talked to since I moved into my apartment has mentioned Petrov's Pizzeria. I haven't been there yet, but it's on my list," she admitted.
"Your list?"
"I make lists." Her mother had made lists. She couldn't help smiling at the memory. The lists had been everywhere in their house as she grew up. Now, they were everywhere in her house.
"Lists? As in plural?" There was a tinge of amusement in his voice.
She glanced at him, but he didn't look like he was making fun of her. "I make lists about everything. It keeps me on track, although I have to admit, I ignore the lists I don't want to do until it's almost too late."
"Such as ..." he prompted.
"Buying a car. I'm not wild about the idea of driving in the city. I'm a country girl. I grew up on a ranch, and we didn't have traffic jams. If we actually stopped at a stop sign, we complained about it." And she didn't want to spend the money. She didn't want to have to take a single cent and put it aside to buy a car. She was grateful Chicago had buses.
"What kind of ranch?"
"Cattle. We had a big spread and all of us worked, Mom, Dad, my older brother and me. We had a couple of seasonal hands, but for the most part, it was just the four of us. Sometimes only three if Sandlin had to work away from home to bring in cash for the ranch. That happened some years, then it was essentially my dad and me working the cattle by ourselves."
"Sounds nice," Giovanni said. "My family works closely together, and we like it that way. My sister-in-law, Francesca, is a wonderful cook. So is Taviano, my youngest brother. He was there tonight with me. One of my favorite things to do is to get together with my brothers and sisters--meaning Emmanuelle, my sister, and Francesca and Mariko, my two sisters-in-law--and have dinner together. It's loud and crazy, but it's always fun."
She couldn't help but be surprised. She pictured him in five-star restaurants every night. "I only have the one sibling. Sandlin. He's eight years older than me, but we were always really close. My dad doted on me, but Sandlin did as well. I think they spoiled me rotten. I went hunting and fishing with them, out with the cattle, camping at night, just about everything. When I had school dances, my dad and mother chaperoned every single one." She laughed at the memory. "It wasn't like I was ever going to get any action with the two of them breathing down my neck. If a boy did ask me out, my dad was like one of those old-school fathers you hear about, he'd take out his guns and clean them in front of my date. If it wasn't them, it was my older, very scary big brother."
"What happened to them?"
She looked at him sharply, the smile fading from her face. "How do you know something happened to them?"
"You're here, not there. There's so much love in your voice, I can't imagine you moving away from them and the ranch. You wouldn't leave them when you would think they needed you the most." His tone was very matter-of-fact.
She was such an idiot. Why would she think Giovanni Ferraro was interested in her just because he knew where she lived and now this? "My father got cancer. It was a long road."
With only Sandlin and Sasha to do the work on the ranch, the bills piled up so fast they couldn't pay them all. There was no way to sell off enough land or cattle to pay those bills.
"Just when the doctors told us Dad was in remission, he and Mom were killed in a car accident on the way home from their first dinner out in over a year." She swallowed hard. "Sandlin was driving, but he wasn't at fault. The other driver was drunk. She claimed she swerved to avoid deer, sideswiped them and sent them careening off the road i
nto rock."
"I'm so sorry, Sasha. It's strange to say those words to anyone who suffered loss. They're meant, and yet they don't convey what's really heartfelt. I lost my father a few months ago. We weren't close the way you and your parents and brother were, but it still hurt. I think about all the things I didn't say to him, or he didn't say to me, and there are so many regrets. I hope you don't have those. I hope your times with your parents and brother were good and the memories are beautiful ones."
"They are. I'm sorry about your father." She was learning quite a bit about him in the short ride to Petrov's. She should tell him Sandlin was still alive, but she didn't want to talk about her brother. In spite of the strange connection she felt with Giovanni, she really didn't know him that well, and that was a long, sad story.
He pulled the Aston Martin into a parking slot and turned off the engine. She realized she thought of the sound as purring. The engine purred right before it went off. She couldn't afford one, but she was a little in love with the car. By the time she had the seat belt off, he was around the car, her door opened and his hand was extended. How did he do that? She'd looked down for one or two seconds and then up and he was standing there. He was fast, or she was slow. Either way, she had to take his hand or look churlish.
Giovanni closed the door behind her and, retaining possession of her hand, walked her through a back entrance provided for locals. She didn't want to make a scene by pulling her hand away, so she walked with him, trying to keep space between them. Even this late at night, and it was late, nearly two in the morning, Petrov's was crowded. Heads turned toward them, and she found herself the center of attention.
"Why is everyone staring at us?" she asked. She was fairly certain she knew. Giovanni Ferraro was a big deal. He was gorgeous. Wealthy beyond most people's dreams. He was probably part of some dangerous underground crime syndicate, or maybe an aboveground one. He owned their part of the city for blocks and blocks. For all she knew, he owned the building they were in as well as the apartment she rented.
"I've never brought a woman here before," he said.
She stared up at him, shocked. He'd been with countless women. She just had to go to a supermarket to see his face plastered on all the magazines. He always had a woman on his arm. Usually it was a movie star or model. Sometimes an heiress. Always someone. She'd read the articles and looked at all the pictures. She even had a few magazines stashed in her home, just because she liked to look at his picture. That was before tonight, when she'd discovered the little game he played when he was out with his brothers and cousins. She was certain she'd throw those pictures away.
"Mr. Ferraro." A woman came right up to him, in spite of the fact that there were two couples waiting to be seated. "We have your table waiting."
"I texted them," he said, by way of explaining to Sasha. "Thanks, Berta," he added.
Keeping Sasha's hand, he followed the hostess to a large, curved booth set in the shadows of the restaurant. He stepped aside and allowed her to slide in first and then he slid in beside her. Close. Thighs touching. She didn't think she could handle touching any part of him without having a reaction. Butterflies were having a field day in her stomach and her heart was racing. She knew it was silly to have any reaction at all. Giovanni wasn't for her.
Berta handed them menus. "Wine?"
He nodded. "Ours, you know what I like. Sasha? Do you drink wine?"
She mostly drank beer or a mixed drink, but she was game to try. She shrugged. "I've not had a lot of wine. I don't like white, but I've tried a couple of reds I enjoyed." She was going to be absolutely honest with him. She didn't want him to think she was trying to be something she wasn't. Or after him. She wasn't chasing after him at all. She was going to spend a few nights thinking about him, but she wasn't going to pretend. "Back home, there wasn't much opportunity to drink wine. It was mostly beer or hard liquor."
"If she doesn't like it, Berta, bring her a beer," Giovanni ordered. "And bring the antipasto and breadsticks while we're deciding. Who's working tonight?"
There was something in his voice that had Sasha observing him carefully. She couldn't tell from his voice why, but it mattered to him who was making their pizza.
"Benito is on until closing." Berta glanced at her watch. "He closes right at three. Tito will open for lunch."
"Thanks. How's your mother doing?"
Giovanni asking after the hostess's mother shocked Sasha. The fact that he knew she had a mother, or that he cared, shocked her.
"She's much better, Mr. Ferraro. She's out of the hospital and is doing physical therapy. We really appreciate your family helping us when we needed it."
He waved that away. "Emme and Francesca said they thought she'd be able to walk without crutches soon. Anything else she needs, you let one of us know."
"They came twice a week to check on her," Berta said. "It really cheered her up, and they always brought her some little gift. That sister of yours is so sweet. And Francesca, she knew exactly what to bring mia madre. I truly don't know what we would have done without all of you. I was so worried about the bills ..." Tears swam in her eyes.
"Berta." Giovanni's voice was so gentle it turned Sasha's heart over. "The only thing that matters is your mother's recovery."
He glanced down at Sasha and smiled. That smile nearly robbed her of breath. The man was lethal.
"You want to try their meat pie? No one makes it better than Benito. There's black olives on it as well."
"With mushrooms," she supplied when she could quit staring at his mouth.
"There you go, Berta. House meat pie with mushrooms."
The hostess nodded her head and hurried away, leaving Sasha alone with him. She rested her elbow on the table, put her chin in her hand and stared at him. "How well do you know her?"
"Berta? Her parents have been here as long as mine have. She graduated a couple of years ago from high school, was going to college and then her dad was in an accident. It was industrial. He worked away from home and there was some kind of explosion. He lived about eighteen months and Berta and her mother took excellent care of him. He was a good man, and they were very devoted to him. She didn't want to go back to college and leave her mother, so she stayed home with her."
"She's around my age then," Sasha said. "Were you close to her family?" She didn't know why she had to press, but she did. She needed to understand the dynamic going on. He didn't seem the same man as the one she'd met in the nightclub.
"Not particularly, but she's from the neighborhood."
That didn't answer why his family had helped out with bills and care for Berta's mother. "Why don't you take other women here?" She felt silly calling him Mr. Ferraro when they were having dinner together, but he was technically her boss and she wasn't about to call him Giovanni. She had no idea how to address him, so she didn't call him anything.
"It's home. On my home turf, I don't have to be that man."
She wasn't about to let him get away with that. "That man?" She kept pushing because she really wanted to understand--she liked this Giovanni Ferraro.
"You saw him. The playboy. The man partying it up every night. My cousins come into town and what else would we do but go clubbing? Fly to New York, or San Francisco, or anywhere in the world, what's expected of me? Of us?"
There was the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. That didn't make sense, either. "Can't you do the unexpected?"
"For the outside world? No." That was adamant. "Here? Where I live? Where I count the people mine? Yes. I'm doing it right now."
He fascinated her, when nothing had for a long time. She was beginning to relax in his company, even with his thigh pressed tight against hers. She'd turned toward him, angling in her seat, one leg drawn up. Her denim-clad thigh rubbed against his immaculate suit. She was becoming a little fixated on his eyelashes. They were unexpectedly long and thick and even curved up on the ends. That should have softened his features, but it didn't. It only made him look more intense and compel
ling. Then there was his mouth ...
"You sounded as if you really liked Berta and her family, as if you were close friends." She knew she should quit pursuing it, but Giovanni Ferraro had secrets, and for some insane reason, she wanted to know every one of them.
She leaned closer to him, her eyes on his face. When he talked about Berta and her family, he was different--animated. Most of the time, his handsome features were set in stone, those angles and planes unreadable, but she was certain Berta's family was something very important to him because his entire demeanor lit up when he talked about them.
"I do like them," he admitted. "They're hardworking. Honest. Loyal. You can't ask for better people."
She bit back her surprise, knowing if she blurted out how shocking his statement was to her, it would tell him that she thought he was shallow--which she had. Berta arrived with the antipasto, breadsticks and wine. Expertly she took out the cork and then grinned at Giovanni, her eyes laughing.
"Nice job," he commented, a teasing note in his voice.
Sasha had to change everything she'd thought about him. She couldn't equate this man with the one in the club, hunting women for a game and money. She detested that he had been so demeaning toward women, although after listening to Mary in the employee restroom go on about how to trap one of the Ferraros, she had a better understanding of his life.
"Right?" Berta said. She poured a small amount into Giovanni's wineglass. "Do you have any idea how many corks I ruined learning to do this? Benito told me he was taking the wine bottles out of my paycheck."
The hostess was laughing, but the gorgeous smile on Giovanni's face faded. "He what?"
Sasha shivered in spite of herself. At once that got his attention. His focus had been on Berta, but he immediately put his jacket around Sasha, and then his arm, drawing her beneath his shoulder, one hand rubbing up and down her arm. He did it smoothly, accomplishing all of it in seconds, with the minimum amount of fuss, so it was done before Sasha realized what was happening.
"No, no, Mr. Ferraro," Berta hastened to explain. "He was only teasing me. Benito would never dock my pay while I was learning something."