Coveted: Men of Mayhem: Book Two

by Luciani, Kristen

  Why am I in such a twist over a man who’s done nothing but taunt me with innuendoes and a smile that pretty much melted off my panties?

  Okay, that last question is rhetorical.

  “Thank you,” I mumble. “That was very sweet of you to look out for me like that.”

  “Oh, I didn’t do that for you,” he says with a devious glint in his eye. “I did it for the case. You tore me apart and accused me of being a thief. But why punish the case for that?”

  A giggle tumbles out of my mouth. “I’m really sorry about that. I know I probably looked like a crazy person before, but I’m just really protective of my instrument.”

  “I mean, so am I, but if someone grabs hold of it, I tend to give them the benefit of the doubt. See how well they can play it.” He shrugs, winking at me.

  My jaw drops for the second time as I gaze at his matter-of-fact expression, unable to find words and string them together for a response.

  “I’m kidding,” he says with a quick chuckle. Then he pauses, his eyebrow quirked. “Or am I?”

  Warmth radiates from my core, and I can’t help but drop my gaze to his instrument.

  My curious gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, either.

  “You play, I play. We have so much in common already.” Then a sudden chortle of laughter makes my skin tingle. “You should see the look on your face right now.”

  “I’m sure it’s probably a cross between horror, incredulity, and curiosity,” I sputter, a ripple of laughter quaking my shoulders.

  “Curiosity. I like that one,” he murmurs.

  “Do you always say things like that to strange women?”

  “You don’t look strange to me. You look pretty normal, at least now that you have your case back. A few minutes ago, it would have been questionable.” He nods at my hand. “Violin?”

  “Very good.” A hot flush rushes into my cheeks when I realize my gaze keeps floating south.

  His knowing smile tells me he’s not offended.

  “How long have you played?”

  I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. “Pretty much since I could hold it under my chin. It’s literally my life.”

  “Are you any good?”

  I blink fast. Did he really just ask me that? I know I have a very specific audience, and I’m not exactly Taylor Swift, but I do get recognized.

  Sometimes.

  Clearly this guy has different musical tastes than my fans, but Jesus. I tour, I’m photographed and interviewed, and I have a freaking YouTube channel with hundreds of thousands of followers.

  I’m not a wannabe.

  I actually be!

  “I’m very good, as a matter of fact,” I say, my voice laced with the same innuendo he used on me earlier. It’s a little shocking that I can pull off the shameless flirt routine at all considering the fact that my experiences with men have been severely limited for one very big reason.

  My father, Giacomo Graziani.

  He wouldn’t be happy to see me right now.

  But then again, he’s not here. Nobody is, and to be honest, it’s nice to be able to spread my wings a little bit and to not be hawked over every second of every day by someone…except for the creepy guy at the concert hall earlier tonight.

  Ick. I don’t want to think about him.

  I want to think about other things…deliciously tempting things like the guy standing in front of me.

  And the fact that there is a hoard of butterflies swarming my belly right now as his heated gaze travels the length of my body.

  Every single bit of my prim, proper, and organized life is orchestrated, observed, and analyzed.

  Except this one and it makes me feel so…free. Maybe a little bit reckless.

  And I like it.

  It’s not that I don’t have fun.

  Okay, I don’t really have fun.

  Other than performing, of course.

  But socially? Not so much.

  He grins and nods toward the sofa. “You wanna sit?”

  I nod, a smile playing with my lips as I try to play coy, most likely failing miserably. “Love to.”

  In the back of my mind, I wonder how I can be so cavalier and comfortable with this strange, sexy-as-hell man when I’d been cornered by that psycho stalker not even an hour ago. I’m alone in a strange city, with nothing but my bow as a weapon.

  But something in his eyes puts me at ease.

  Or maybe that’s just my naivete trying to convince me that he has no shady intentions.

  I can guarantee if he knew who my father is he probably wouldn’t come near me with a ten-foot pole.

  And I’m not talking about his instrument.

  I slowly lower myself onto the couch, trying to look as smooth and experienced as possible. I scrunch my nose as the wet fabric of my shirt gathers at the waist. I pull it away from myself, a chill of air blasting my wet skin, and frown at my bags. I never carry a spare change of clothes ever, which is a really stupid thing considering all of the traveling that I do. Ugh, I feel like a sopping wet mess right now.

  The waitress comes rushing over with another large glass of wine for me and a towel, as a maintenance worker cleans up the mess a few feet away. She places the glass on the table in front of me and hands me the towel. “If you need to freshen up, the ladies’ lounge is in the corner behind the bar.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur with a smile. I give a quick look at the towel, briefly debating how stupid it would look if I stuffed it under my shirt. I finally decide to just lay it flat in my lap and focus my attention on the Adonis whose heated gaze is the only thing keeping me warm at this second.

  “Do you need something to change into?” he asks.

  “It’s okay,” I reply with a wave of my hand. “I’m sure the shirt will dry fast enough.”

  He nods. “Yeah, but do you really want to smell like a winery?”

  I giggle. “Not really. But I also never think ahead and prepare for collisions at bars.”

  “Hang on,” he says, jumping up and walking over to his table. He leans over, and I can’t help myself from gazing at his perfectly tight ass as he sinks to his knees and pulls something from his overnight bag. He walks back toward me, a flash of red clutched in his hand. He holds it out to me, a teasing smirk on his face. “This is a big step for me. I don’t even know your name, but yet I’m handing over my favorite soccer jersey so you can change and be comfortable.”

  “How chivalrous.”

  “Not really.” He shrugs. “It’s more selfish, really.”

  “How so?” I ask.

  “Well, I figure if I can keep you comfortable, you’ll stick around for a little longer instead of heading into duty-free to buy some tourist t-shirt that I can guarantee you’ll wanna burn as soon as you get it off later.”

  “Uh-huh.” I smile, slowly rising to my feet and slipping my shoes on this time. “So you want to keep me around?”

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  The question momentarily stuns me into silence because, yeah, it’s a little hard to believe. This guy could make any woman lift her skirt with a flash of his eyes, but here he is…with me. I know I’m pretty and have a good figure from all of the dancing and working out I do for my tours, but I’m definitely not in the league of women who would turn this guy’s head. I’ve never been into makeup and clothes. I’m not a center-of-attention kind of girl unless I’m on stage. It’s always been about music for me. I’m simple, innocent, and conservative, and he looks to be a fan of experienced, sexy, and sinful.

  But he wants to give me his shirt, so I’ll stay.

  And he has no idea who I am.

  “It’s definitely flattering,” I finally say, instantly berating myself for not coming up with a sassier answer. Damn, I really have to learn how to do the flirty thing better. A tiny shiver ripples over me as his eyes crinkle at the corners.

  My breath catches.

  Or maybe I don’t. By the looks of it, I’m doing just fine in that department.
<
br />   “I’ll, um, be right back,” I say, flashing a quick smile, and without thinking, I grab my violin case.

  He snickers. “I give you my prized jersey and you still don’t trust me enough to leave your precious case?”

  Oh, shit. I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed it. “It’s just a h-habit,” I stammer as his grin widens.

  “So much of a habit that you left it at the front desk,” he says with a teasing smile. “Sure, I get it.”

  “You don’t understand. I don’t go anywhere without this case. Ever!”

  “Except to a cozy little couch in the VIP lounge where you leave it exposed for anyone to grab.” He shakes his head in mock disappointment. “It’s fine. I’ll try not to be offended that you don’t trust me even after I saved your feet from being torn apart by glass shards.”

  I chew the inside of my mouth and make a quick decision, releasing the case. Now this is reckless, at least for me. My lips curl upward. “Would you keep an eye on it for me?”

  His eyes widen and he clutches a hand to his chest. “You mean, you do trust me?”

  “It comes as a big surprise to me, too,” I say with a giggle. “I never do this.”

  “Maybe you’d feel more comfortable if you knew my name,” he says.

  “Oohh, that’s smooth. Good segue into the introductions.” I nod. “At least I’ll have a name to give the police if my case suddenly disappears.”

  He laughs. “Okay, then. It’s Antonio Marcone. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  He lifts and eyebrow. “Your turn.”

  “Julia Loren.” I wait for some kind of recognition of my stage name, but none comes.

  Like I assumed, different musical tastes.

  Eh, whatever.

  He’s still hot as hell.

  And I need something…or rather…someone to help me pass the time.

  I take the jersey from him. “Thanks for this.”

  “Prego,” he replies, reclining in the sofa opposite mine.

  Heat rushes into my cheeks again and I turn in the direction of the ladies’ lounge, my heels clicking on the shiny floor. I have a tendency to walk fast, but something tells me he’s watching so I slow my gait, taking my time with each step, swinging my hips just enough to look sexy and not so much that I look like a complete amateur.

  I pull open the door, and as soon as it closes behind me, I bring the jersey up to my nose and breathe in his scent. Just being in his hands is enough for it to be infused with his delicious cologne. I strip off my own shirt, wash off the sticky liquid, and blot my skin before pulling on his jersey. It swims on me since I’m so petite and he’s so…mmm…big, but the shiny fabric feels so good against my chilled body. I hug myself, taking a deep breath. I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face.

  How insane is this?

  I don’t believe in fate or luck. I only believe in hard work. It’s all I’ve ever known. Things have never come easily to me. I put in the time and effort and reap the rewards. That’s how it’s always been.

  This successful solo career didn’t just get dropped into my lap. And years back, my parents didn’t have the kind of money they do now. I was only able to go to the best schools and get the best training because I had a talent which I worked endlessly to perfect and polish. Skill and scholarships got me opportunities…opportunities I never once wasted.

  I may have been born with ability, but nothing about my journey has come easily.

  So it’s a little unsettling for this man, who is pure sex on a stick, to suddenly appear in my life and get me to leave him alone with my most prized possession because I feel inexplicably at ease with him and trust that his intentions aren’t seedy.

  My inner circle is small because I want it that way. I don’t trust easily since there are too many people out there who are operating off of their own agendas. People always seem to have an angle, and when you co-chair a successful charity foundation and have a little bit of fame attached to your name, that angle gets worked a lot more frequently.

  People always want something from me.

  But nobody really wants me.

  That’s what I’ve always thought, but maybe this time, fate has decided to get in the way and finally prove me wrong. Could it be that this man was dropped into my lap to show me that there’s more to life than just performing? That not everyone has an angle or an agenda? That maybe I can have something more if I open my eyes and heart to it?

  Or am I who’s insane for even thinking these things?

  I fluff out my hair, regretting not bringing my handbag with me. I carry the very basics, but I’m almost positive there’s a hairbrush in there. Maybe some lip gloss. Marisa packed an emergency makeup touch-up kit in my bag just in case I have to do an impromptu interview and she’s not around to primp me. She hems and haws if my lips are pale. Cheeks, too. I grab my cheeks with my fingertips, pinching them hard until they turn bright pink from the pressure.

  Of course, recalling Antonio’s eyes flitting over the length of my body can heat them up really nice, too.

  I run my tongue over my teeth and pucker my lips in the mirror.

  I smile at my reflection, excitement bubbling in my veins for some crazy reason.

  Him.

  He’s the crazy reason that I can’t seem to rationalize.

  Screw it.

  Tonight, I choose reckless.

  I smooth the front of the jersey, take a deep breath, and pull open the door. I plaster a bright smile on my face as I walk back into the lounge and saunter…at least, I hope it’s a saunter…back to our cozy little corner spot.

  But the smile fades bit by bit as an empty couch comes into my line of sight.

  My eyes dart around, left and right, and I hate myself for looking as desperate as I must to anyone watching me. I swallow hard.

  He’s gone.

  I let out a little snort as I reach my violin case, my shoulders sagging. I feel like a helium balloon that someone just slashed a hole in…wheezing out all of the life in me…completely depleting me of the most excitement I’ve had in a damn long time.

  He left…without my case.

  I guess being a violinist isn’t nearly as sexy as the type of women he’s used to.

  He must have come to that same conclusion.

  Fuck you, fate.

  And fuck you, too, Antonio.

  I’m going to shred and burn your prized jersey.

  Chapter Two

  Antonio

  “So lemme get this straight,” my brother Tommy says in a terse voice as I pace outside of the VIP lounge. “You come to the airport to pick me up from a very long and agonizing flight, decide to get yourself a drink in the lounge while you wait, hook up with a violinist, and call me as I’m staggering off the fucking plane to tell me to find my own way home? Do I have all that right, Ant?”

  “Look, you can take my car if you want. It’s in short-term parking. But I’m not leaving yet.” My eyes dart back toward the entrance of the lounge. I can’t leave. Not yet. I hate leaving Tommy in the lurch, but this girl…she’s making me question a hell of a lot right now since she’s completely out of my league. She’s gorgeous, but it’s a natural beauty. No makeup, and yet she glows like a candle. She’s smart, too. I can tell just by hearing her talk. But it’s something else. I’m so used to the exhibitionist type of woman, the one who wants to stand out in a crowd, the attention-whore. And this girl…Julia…is a performer but clearly not a spotlight kind of girl. She’s got an innocence about her, a kind of pure aura. It’s bright. Blinding, almost. And on the flip side, she’s got a deep-seeded ferocity that is hot as hell. That’s something I witnessed first-hand with the violin case. I liked it. A lot. That was passion — deep, raw, and real.

  Real.

  Yeah, like I said, nothing like the women I typically date.

  Actually, date is a strong word.

  Let’s say fuck.

  “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

  I run
a hand through my hair and smile. “Yeah, but I’m not apologizing for it this time.”

  “Oh, shit, I must have missed all of the other apologies,” Tommy snips. “And now you’re dragging me to fucking Departures so I can get your damn keys?”

  “Yeah, sorry, bro. It’s not that far.”

  “It’s like two miles.”

  “You probably need some exercise after that trip anyway.” I snicker.

  “Trust me, I got plenty of exercise,” he grumbles. “There were plenty of women who wanted to take turns working me out.”

  “Why don’t you find one more who’s willing to give you a ride…and then you can return the favor?”

  “Fuck off, Ant.” Tommy lets out a sigh, and I can hear a lot of rustling behind him. I feel a little bit bad about screwing him over, but it’s really the tiniest bit. He’d do the same to me if he felt what I did. I’d stake my life on it. “So, a violinist, huh? Sounds insanely hot.”

  I smirk, his sarcasm not lost on me. “You’d change your tune if you saw the videos of her on YouTube.”

  Tommy chuckles. “Change your tune. Dude, are you trying to be funny right now or does the hope of sex have that effect on your otherwise shitty sense of humor?”

  “I don’t expect you to get it. Hell, I don’t get it myself. But she’s just…I don’t know. Something else.”

  “What, like three tits?”

  I roll my eyes. “No, dumbass. Something inside, unlike all of the other women who are all for show and completely fucking empty.”

  “You like empty. You’ve made a career out of empty. Empty is simple and easy and neat. No strings. No expectations. No morning-after phone calls.”

  “I know all of that. And yeah, it’s fine. But not great.” I look back at the entrance to the lounge. “I never cared about great before.”

  “And now you do because you met a deeply complicated violinist who may or may not have more than two tits — that alone would be great, just saying.” He snickers. “Fuck me, Ant. How long have you been sitting in that goddamn lounge and how much booze have you guzzled?”

  “You know what? Get your own goddamn car, asshat.” I let out a snort, crossing my legs and leaning back against a wall.