wanted to know more about her, about what had hurt her so much, and if he could help. First, he had a night of promises to keep. He intended to make the most out of each one.
Chapter Five
Gina stretched awake, her body pleasantly achy from her night with Vincente. Her hands brushed across his hard chest. The hairs scattered across its solid planes tickled her fingers. He tweaked her nipple and she jolted.
“Good morning,” he said in his low, sexy voice. “Still hate me?” He grinned.
“No. But I need to go.” Maybe Vincente wasn’t involved in his family’s schemes, but she was still doing what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t jump right to sex when she met a man she was attracted to. People broke promises, and she was an offender.
She slid from the bed. Her disappointment was a heavy weight. Plodding to the bathroom, she stepped in, flipped on the light, and shut the door, locking it behind her. Crap, what time was it? Probably morning, if the low, grey light in the bedroom had been any indication. She looked up. There was a skylight in the ceiling. It was a hazy day, but the sun was somewhere behind those clouds. Like the truth about the DeGrazias was—hidden somewhere, obscured. She’d find it, but first she had to stop this crazy thing with Vincente. It was destroying her focus—and all her plans.
She went to the shower and turned on the hot and cold, leaving her hand in the spray until it was the right temperature. Her stomach dipped, and not just from early-morning hunger pains. She was being pretty rude. Vincente seemed sincere. But all the DeGrazias were known for their irresistible, but poisonous, charm.
Though the worst offenders lately—or the least discreet—were Lorenzo Calabra and his father. Lorenzo’s mom had been a DeGrazia, so he was one too. They were all close, and she’d heard the rest of the DeGrazias were as bad as the Calabras, only better at hiding their corruption: broken hearts—and bones—shady business deals, fixing local elections, probably money laundering and extortion. All Gina lacked was proof. Rumors, old family stories, dead-end money trails, and unexplained dead bodies weren’t enough.
She stepped into the water and slid shut the door. Leaning back, she tried to let the warm water wash away her concerns, but Vincente’s hot touch had been more effective. Here she was using the man’s body, his shower, his hospitality, and she was the one mentally accusing him of using her and her family, of being dishonest and scheming. Maybe she couldn’t find proof because there was nothing to prove.
Lathering up her hair and body, she scrubbed over legs, arms and belly with a washcloth. But it didn’t wash away the doubt. She rinsed out the cloth. Turning, she watched the white soap suds swirl down the drain. She closed her eyes. When was the last time she’d felt sure? She placed a hand over her mouth and plopped into a crouch.
When Vincente had gazed into her eyes last night while they’d had sex—that was the last time she’d felt sure. She grimaced, her mouth open, the impulse to laugh squashed by the whirl of feelings churning in her. What was wrong with her? How could she feel sure of herself, of her choices, with some guy she barely knew, when that kind of behavior was part of what had added up over the years to make her feel confused? The water stung her eyes as she leaned forward. She placed a hand on the wall and rose. And how could a corrupt thug make her feel sure…unless she was mistaken about Vincente—maybe he was a gentleman, honest and true.
She turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the bar. Its soft folds snugged around her, like the blanket in Vincente’s bed had. Couldn’t she just climb back in there? It’d be better than going home, where no doubt her parents would grill her on where she’d been last night and why she hadn’t called. Had she been thinking at
Chapter Five
Gina stretched awake, her body pleasantly achy from her night with Vincente. Her hands brushed across his hard chest. The hairs scattered across its solid planes tickled her fingers. He tweaked her nipple and she jolted.
“Good morning,” he said in his low, sexy voice. “Still hate me?” He grinned.
“No. But I need to go.” Maybe Vincente wasn’t involved in his family’s schemes, but she was still doing what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t jump right to sex when she met a man she was attracted to. People broke promises, and she was an offender.
She slid from the bed. Her disappointment was a heavy weight. Plodding to the bathroom, she stepped in, flipped on the light, and shut the door, locking it behind her. Crap, what time was it? Probably morning, if the low, grey light in the bedroom had been any indication. She looked up. There was a skylight in the ceiling. It was a hazy day, but the sun was somewhere behind those clouds. Like the truth about the DeGrazias was—hidden somewhere, obscured. She’d find it, but first she had to stop this crazy thing with Vincente. It was destroying her focus—and all her plans.
She went to the shower and turned on the hot and cold, leaving her hand in the spray until it was the right temperature. Her stomach dipped, and not just from early-morning hunger pains. She was being pretty rude. Vincente seemed sincere. But all the DeGrazias were known for their irresistible, but poisonous, charm.
Though the worst offenders lately—or the least discreet—were Lorenzo Calabra and his father. Lorenzo’s mom had been a DeGrazia, so he was one too. They were all close, and she’d heard the rest of the DeGrazias were as bad as the Calabras, only better at hiding their corruption: broken hearts—and bones—shady business deals, fixing local elections, probably money laundering and extortion. All Gina lacked was proof. Rumors, old family stories, dead-end money trails, and unexplained dead bodies weren’t enough.
She stepped into the water and slid shut the door. Leaning back, she tried to let the warm water wash away her concerns, but Vincente’s hot touch had been more effective. Here she was using the man’s body, his shower, his hospitality, and she was the one mentally accusing him of using her and her family, of being dishonest and scheming. Maybe she couldn’t find proof because there was nothing to prove.
Lathering up her hair and body, she scrubbed over legs, arms and belly with a washcloth. But it didn’t wash away the doubt. She rinsed out the cloth. Turning, she watched the white soap suds swirl down the drain. She closed her eyes. When was the last time she’d felt sure? She placed a hand over her mouth and plopped into a crouch.
When Vincente had gazed into her eyes last night while they’d had sex—that was the last time she’d felt sure. She grimaced, her mouth open, the impulse to laugh squashed by the whirl of feelings churning in her. What was wrong with her? How could she feel sure of herself, of her choices, with some guy she barely knew, when that kind of behavior was part of what had added up over the years to make her feel confused? The water stung her eyes as she leaned forward. She placed a hand on the wall and rose. And how could a corrupt thug make her feel sure…unless she was mistaken about Vincente—maybe he was a gentleman, honest and true.
She turned off the water and grabbed a towel from the bar. Its soft folds snugged around her, like the blanket in Vincente’s bed had. Couldn’t she just climb back in there? It’d be better than going home, where no doubt her parents would grill her on where she’d been last night and why she hadn’t called. Had she been thinking at
Similar Books
