The logical part of me didn’t like him. But the carnal part—God, did it want to give him anything he wanted.
Which was a serious problem.
Only made all the more serious by the fact that his statement had sounded suspiciously like jealousy. The idea had left a thrill behind even as he slammed the door in my face.
It left a dangerous, dangerous desire to know for sure.
What I was doing was manipulative and slightly juvenile, but I didn’t have time to spare. I wanted this new man’s interest and I wanted it fast. Although, I might have been challenging the possibility of Nicolas’s jealousy more than anything.
I had to know if this wasn’t embarrassingly one-sided.
I didn’t know what I would do with the results, but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. All I knew was that I needed to know.
So I was testing it.
Teasing it.
Taunting it.
It included a bathing suit, a scene inspired by Fast Times at Ridgemont High, minus the nudity unfortunately, and a certain male’s attention.
Water dripped down my body as I pulled myself out of the pool, wrung my hair out, and sat on a lounge chair.
A light breeze blew through the yard, and the radio played seventies rock quietly. As I leaned back on my hands and let the sun warm my skin, I realized I was as weak as my face was symmetrical. What I was doing could have been innocent enough, but why I was doing it was for all the wrong reasons.
I’d wanted to swim before Christian, Nicolas, and Papà came out to sit at the patio table with paperwork before them, but it became a priority after I’d noticed they had.
I wore a light pink one-piece. Papà would kill me if I strutted around in a bikini while he had guests over. But I liked to push it, especially because it was the only thing I could get away with. It was the most risqué one-piece I owned, with only two strings crisscrossing my back, and it was slightly too small, the fabric often riding up my ass.
Papà sat with his back to me, Christian at the end of the table, and Nicolas facing me. The latter’s gaze was warm and thrilling each time it touched my skin. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on his papers, his eyes coasting to me every once in a while.
I didn’t know what I was doing. I’d never tried my seductive wiles before now. Before I met Nicolas, I only wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.
Truly, I wasn’t acting on rational thought.
I was running on some kind of innate feeling that pulsated in my chest and manipulated my actions.
Occasionally, Christian would glance my way, though it was more detached, as if he appreciated a woman’s form but that was all. I guessed I would have to win him over with my personality, then. Cop or not, he was intriguing enough to get to know. With Christian, the darkness lingered under the cold, whereas Nicolas wore his on his sleeve. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
They knew one another. I could tell by the way they sat near each other, how easily they communicated. They were friends. I couldn’t envision anyone volunteering to be Nicolas Russo’s friend, but Christian did look the part if I had to imagine one.
As I stood and pulled my hair out of my ponytail, the heat of two gazes settled on my back. It was most likely due to the fact I had a wedgie baring half my ass. A shiver coasted down my spine.
This probably wasn’t doing anything for the women’s movement, but there really wasn’t one of those in the Cosa Nostra.
With the warmth of their eyes still touching me, Papà’s voice trailed off as if he’d noticed. He was going to yell at me any minute. I could feel it in the air.
I sighed, grabbed my towel, and started for the door, neglecting to fix my wedgie. Glancing at Nicolas before I headed inside, I swallowed. His pen rested against his lips, and his gaze followed me, simmering with anger.
I wasn’t sure what that reaction meant. He could be annoyed I was splashing around while he was trying to work. God, what was I even doing? Once I was in the safety of the house, away from my distracting future brother-in-law, my actions felt ridiculous.
The house was quiet. Adriana was at her last class of summer theater, Mamma was probably in her room bingeing on soap operas, Nonna on Jerry Springer, and the boys were in the basement, their laughter filtering up the stairs and into the kitchen.
Tony was always involved with Papà’s work, but my father was probably giving him the day off, considering the good beating he’d taken last night and the fact that Nico had been the one to give it to him.
I paused. Nico?
Merda.
I padded barefoot to the counter to grab a glass. Swimming always made me feel like I was dying of dehydration.