The room’s air conditioner hums in the background. Various floor noises thump from the room above his. Even the regular sounds here seem incohesive and strange to him. Nothing like the nighttime quiet punctuated with distant gunfire he’d somehow grown accustomed to.
The most surreal thing of all is Lindsay. He still can’t take his eyes off her. He’s too aware of her, of how soft she’d feel beneath him, how her cries of ecstasy would soothe him and bring him back to normalcy. A part of him wants that because he knows it would work. It would do the trick like it does every time. He wonders if she’d give him that gift again, but then he stops that line of thinking, shakes it off.
He licks his lips. “So, how about you explain the poker to me. Anthony told me you were an artist.”
“I am an artist.”
She starts describing how she’s in Berlin as part of some artist’s program, but he cuts her off. “Give me a break. You’re obviously a professional poker player.”
“No, I’m not. I just told you I’m an artist.”
“A card shark might be a better description,” he mutters.
“That’s ridiculous!”
“I watched you tonight, so don’t lie to me.”
She moves away from him and sits down in the chair, starts examining some of the objects on the desk. “I was only having fun. It’s a hobby.”
“You bled that poor bastard dry. The whole table was losing to you. Were you cheating?”
“Of course not!” She glares at him. “Could you be more insulting? It’s one thing after another with you. I don’t need to cheat to win.”
“Then how did you do it?”
She doesn’t answer right away. Pulling out a piece of hotel stationery, she folds it in half, then shrugs. “It was mostly luck.”
“Come on, do you really think I’m that dumb? You purposefully cleaned that guy out.”
“Hey, I always play a straight game. It’s not my fault he was playing on tilt.”
“What does that mean?”
She sniffs. “It means he was emotionally compromised and making poor decisions.”
“And that’s your rationale?”
“If it wasn’t me winning against him, it would have been somebody else. I didn’t cheat.”
“Maybe not, but you were obviously working some angle.” He thinks back over the evening. “And it’s clear you hang out at that casino all the time.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Like I said, it’s a hobby. And if it earns me a little extra money on the side, so what?” She meets his eyes. “I am an artist. A damn good one.”
“So, why did you ask me not to tell my brother about you playing poker?”
Lindsay considers him for a long moment, probably trying to figure out the best way to play him. Her beautiful features grow thoughtful.
He still can’t believe the crazy thing he said to her in the cab—how her face could be improved. He doesn’t even know what possessed him to say something so asinine.
“I don’t want my sister to find out I’m playing cards,” she finally admits. She tears a piece of the stationery off, starts manipulating it.
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Give me the condensed version.”
“You were right about my dad.” She avoids his eyes. “He played cards professionally. He also had a gambling addiction.”
“Do you have a gambling problem?”
Lindsay looks up at him. “No, I don’t.”
“Then why would it bother your sister so much if she found out?”
“I don’t normally keep secrets from Natalie, but this is different.” Her voice lowers. “We didn’t have the greatest childhood, and I don’t want to bring it back for her.”
He tries to imagine Lindsay as a child. She would have been clever, smart-mouthed, and hard to contain. Just like she is now. There’s a reckless quality to her. A part of him wants to protect her, but at the same time he wants to lecture her.
“All right, you have my silence.”
Her brows go up. “I do?”
“Yeah, but do me a favor. Stay away from that casino for a while.”
“Look, you can’t just show up here and tell me how to live my life.”
“Of course I can. I just did.”
She rolls her eyes. “This must be part of that God complex people are always saying surgeons have.”
“Just stay away for a few days at least.”
She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, but then closes it. “All right, fine.”
He wonders if it might be a good time to bring up the reason he flew to Berlin in the first place. “Listen, I want talk to you about something else.”
“What now?” She glances up from the paper she’s still fiddling with and gives him a wary look.
He shifts position then leans forward with his forearms resting on his thighs. He’s almost ready to say it, but then, just like earlier, something stops him. It’s not every day you ask a woman this kind of question, and he feels nervous, though it makes no sense.
“Forget it.” He sits up again, noticing the purse Lindsay’s still wearing across her body. “So, how much money are you carrying around in there anyway?”
She hesitates. “A couple thousand.”
He suspects it’s more than that, but decides not to give her a hard time about it. “Maybe you do need a bodyguard. Is it all poker winnings?”
Her only reply is to rise from the desk chair, come over, and stand in front of him. She’s tall for a woman, slender and athletic like a cat burglar, or a thief. It’s not hard to imagine her staking out the Hope Diamond in a black leotard. The thought makes him want to smile for some reason.
“Hold out your hand,” she tells him.
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Giovanni holds his left hand out.
“Not like that.” Lindsay lays her cool fingers over the top of his hand and turns it over, so his palm faces upward.
Her scent drifts toward him. She’s wearing some kind of light perfume, but it’s her he smells beneath it.
Desire stirs. He doesn’t want it, tries to stop it even, but it’s happening against his will. A cobra slowly uncoiling itself within him. He wants her, but for all the wrong reasons. He knows she’d calm him, bring him down from the danger high he’s been on these past months.
I’m done using women like that.
He told himself he was going to stop, and he meant it. It wasn’t healthy, not in any way.
Lindsay places a lightweight object in the center of his palm. It’s the hotel stationery, except she’s folded it into something else. “What’s this?”
“I made you a fox.”
He lifts his hand and sees that she’s turned the paper into a simple origami fox with triangular ears and a pointed tail. Its face is blank, but it appears to be watching him nevertheless.
Giovanni studies it for a long moment.
There are places inside him, places wound so tight he can barely breathe sometimes. He’s convinced himself it doesn’t matter, but to his surprise as he studies the little fox, some of those places relax.
“I’m leaving now,” she tells him. “I’m going back to my studio.”
He pulls his eyes away from the paper fox and up to Lindsay again.
It would be so easy to reach for her. Touch her soft skin, feel her breath on him. Taste her. Because she wasn’t just any elixir. She was exactly what she said she was—one hundred proof. The hard stuff.
“I’ll take you back.” His voice sounds hoarse as he places the fox gently on his nightstand.
“That’s not necessary. I’ll just grab a taxi.”
He snorts. “Christ, it’s almost two in the morning. I’m not letting you run around alone at this hour.”
She cocks her head. And he knows from the expression on her face that she runs around alone at this hour all the time. “That’s very gallant of you.”
They head down
to the lobby and Lindsay has to admit she’s a little surprised Giovanni didn’t try to seduce her. For a moment, it almost seemed like he was considering it, but apparently he was too busy insulting her.
“How much longer will you be in Berlin?” he wants to know.
They’re standing in front of the hotel, waiting for a taxi to unload its passengers who, by all appearances, have come back from a night of partying.
“Only a couple more weeks.”
“And then you’re going back to Seattle?”
“Yes, then I’m going back home. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“How much longer will you be here?” she asks.
“Not long. I have a meeting tomorrow, and then I’m flying to Roma to visit family.”
“But what about all those relatives in Norway? Aren’t you going to visit them too?”
Giovanni raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know anybody in Norway.”
“Sure you do. Your real parents, Sven and Greta? I’m sure they miss you.”
He shakes his head. “You think you’re so damn funny, don’t you?”
“Hey, I’m not the one pretending to be Italian. Though, let’s face it, I look more Italian than you do.”
He leans closer and lowers his voice. “Penso che tu sia abbastanza sexy per essere italiana.”
Lindsay’s breath catches, swaying toward him. She recovers quickly though and feigns curiosity. “What’s that strange language? Some kind of Norwegian dialect?”
Giovanni chuckles.
“What did you say to me?”
“Sorry.” He shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to learn how to speak Norwegian if you want to find out.”
Lindsay is glad to see his mood has lightened. She doesn’t like being told how to live her life though. Not to mention the way he accused her of cheating at cards or said that her face could be improved? Seriously? Who says shit like that?
But then she thinks about the way he ripped into Werner and has to smile.
That was nice.
He leans toward her as the cab driver waves them over. “What I said was ‘I have a particular weakness for brown-eyed brunettes.’”
“Really? Well, I’m sure you’ll find one if you look hard enough.”
She hears him chuckle some more as they climb into the back of the taxi together. Like last time, Lindsay is careful not to let their bodies touch, though she can’t stop her eyes from enjoying how muscular his thighs look beneath those dark corduroy pants. She’s always liked nice thighs on a man. There’s so much fuss made about a guy’s chest, and she certainly enjoys a nice chest, but strong thighs are under appreciated. Though, as she recalls, Giovanni had a nice everything.
She wishes she were less attracted to him. Almost wishes she could lie to herself about it and take a free pass, but she never lies to herself.
I need sex, that’s all. Real sex.
She desperately needs to get her mojo back. To rid herself of this chronic dissatisfaction. It’s not that she’s lacking in male attention either—three marriage proposals have proved that. She already knows the problem isn’t with men at all—it’s with her. It’s like something within her has changed and none of the guys she dates are turning her on anymore.
They all seem like boys, but she doesn’t want a boy.
I need a man.
In the meantime, she’s been taking care of things herself, though her vibrator is getting worn out from overuse. She’s pretty sure she heard it complaining last time. Give me a break, will you, lady? I’m exhausted.
“Did you really just fly here from Africa?” Lindsay asks to distract herself from leaning over and trying to get a better look at what he has going on between those muscular thighs.
“Yes, I arrived yesterday afternoon.”
“That must be a weird transition, traveling between two places so different.”
“It is,” he agrees. “Very weird.”
He goes quiet again like he did back upstairs, wearing that same tense expression. There’s strain on his face, the lines around his mouth pronounced. She realizes he’s different than the last time she saw him. He’s still arrogant and overbearing, but there’s something serious beneath it all.
It occurs to her that he’s seen things far beyond her ordinary life. Terrible things. Things she probably doesn’t even want to imagine.
“When was the last time you slept?” she asks.
“It’s been a while. I don’t always sleep well when I’m transitioning back from an assignment.”
For a moment, his gaze is so weary that a part of her wants to comfort him. The mighty Thor can swing a hammer, but he’s not invincible, as much as he likes to think he is. She’s glad she made that fox for him. She suspects Giovanni could use some whimsy in his life.
When the taxi arrives in front of her building, he gets out and holds the door open for her. She slides over and climbs out too, but then stops and stands in front of him. He’s watching her, the same way he’s been watching her all night.
“It was interesting seeing you again.” Lindsay glances toward her building. It’s late enough now that the streets are quiet, though there are still some cars on the road.
“Same here. I can’t believe I’d forgotten what you were like.”
Her eyes go back to him. “And what am I like?”
“Unique.”
“Hmm, I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“A little bit of both, I think.”
She gives him a flirty smile. “Lucky for you, my ego can handle that. I am an artist, after all. Now, aren’t you going to ask what I think of you?”
“I’m not sure I want to know. My ego might not be able to take the hit.”
“Come on, we both know your ego is the size of Norway.”
His lips twitch. “Okay, so tell me, Lindsay, what do you think of me?”
She pauses to consider him. “I think you’re the kind of man who tries to do the right thing, though you often suffer for it.”
Giovanni blinks. Seems startled even. Apparently, it wasn’t the flippant answer he was expecting.
And while she still has him off balance, she steps in closer. Being an artist isn’t the only thing she’s talented at and she decides it’s time to leave him with a reminder.
Silently, she puts her palm out to touch his face. His skin is warm beneath her fingers, rough with stubble. She’s surprised how good he feels.
He goes completely still, like an animal struggling with something. She can see it in his eyes.
He doesn’t move, so she goes to him. She slips her arms around his neck and presses her body against his, enjoying the solid feel of him. His masculine scent drifts over her like musky incense. Luckily, she’s wearing heels, but even with her high-heeled sandals, she discovers it’s a stretch to reach him.
At first, she only licks his lower lip, her tongue running along the edge where it’s smooth, then lower to where his skin is salty and rough like sandpaper.
His breath hitches.
She licks him again, and he shudders.
Lindsay draws back. Giovanni’s mouth is open slightly, but his eyes are closed. There’s something undeniably raw in his expression. Unguarded. It stirs a place within her, beckoning like the mysteries of a deep ocean.
“It’s only a kiss,” she whispers.
His eyes open at her words. They’re dark—inky blue. His hands grip her waist, and this time, it’s Giovanni pulling her close, his mouth slamming down hungrily on hers.
She gasps at the need rolling off him. The bruising way he’s kissing her. She shouldn’t want him, but the pleasure rolling through her won’t stop. It’s been ages since she’s felt like this, possibly years. Maybe never.
They break apart only because the cab driver is yelling at them in German.
“I can’t invite you up,” she tells him, her voice shaking, though she tries to hide it.
“I know.” His gaze is hot, lingering on hers, but then
he looks away. “It’s a bad idea.”
They’re in agreement, though neither of them makes a move to separate. Finally, Lindsay forces herself to break contact and pull away.
His eyes, still dark, go back to her.
She’s not sure what to make of his intensity. A part of her is tempted to explore those waters, but then she remembers what happened last time she swam in them. How she felt like a prostitute afterward, abandoned in a hotel room.
No one is allowed to make me feel like that. Ever.
It could be years until their paths cross again—it’s possible they never will.
“Have a great life,” she says. It’s one of her standard lines, and she uses it with most men after she’s done with them.
He nods. “You too.”
She hopes Giovanni does have a great life.
Far away from mine.
Lindsay doesn’t wake up until noon the next day and lounges in bed for a bit before deciding to spend some quality time with her vibrator.
Of course, it complains again, grousing just like last time. The damn thing is barely vibrating at all.
“Come on, seriously?” She fiddles with it, shaking it around before hitting it against the mattress.
Lady, you need a man, not an appliance.
You think I don’t know that?
She finally gets it to work, but then all she can think about is Giovanni. She doesn’t want to think about him, but he won’t leave her alone, still harassing her even in her vibrator sex fantasies.
It’s the way he felt against her last night—solid and strong, as big as Thor with those muscular thighs. And, of course, she already knows what he has going on between those thighs. A big cock, and if memory serves, he knows exactly how to use it.
I refuse to have sex fantasies about Giovanni.
But it isn’t just those thighs and the memory of that large package that has her going. She keeps seeing his face, the raw emotion on it after she kissed him. The need.
God. Her breath grows shaky.
The need is what’s getting to her. The way he looked at her, like a sinner finally offered salvation. It was lust, but something more too. What would it be like to assuage him? Intense, that’s for sure. It was intense last time, but something tells her this would be even more so.
Some Like It Hotter (Sweet Life in Seattle #3) Page 5