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  I nod like a bobblehead, feeling claustrophobic in the small space alone with him.

  When the doors open again at the next floor and a group of people shuffle into the elevator, I’m forced to step closer to Cannon. With his body only an inch from mine, he radiates heat like a furnace. It penetrates my dress, making me clench my legs together. “There was nothing in that restaurant I wanted to eat for dinner tonight, except for you.”

  No. Stop thinking about that. But I can’t. I don’t want to. Because it’s the ultimate distraction from my gut punch of grief. I allow the image of him lifting me out of my seat and onto the table to spread my thighs and rip off my thong with his teeth before making a meal out of me to roll through my brain like frames of a perfectly filmed movie.

  One of the men in the group shuffles his feet, and Cannon’s hand slides around my waist, pulling me back against his hard body and away from the antsy man.

  The seductive scent of cedar, bergamot, and a hint of cigar smoke wraps around me like a blanket, and my nipples peak against the bodice of my dress. Hell. I can’t handle this. Not even a little.

  I don’t know how I managed to avoid smelling him before, but now that I know he smells absolutely decadent, my body is out of control.

  Wetness blooms between my legs, and I’m afraid I won’t last one more floor in this elevator without turning around to attack him.

  As soon as the doors open and the group spills out into the lobby, Cannon’s hand drops from my belly and I rush forward, tripping over the slight gap in the floor.

  Once again, he’s there. Strong arms wrap around me and keep me from smashing face-first into the marble.

  “Careful. You’re going to give me the impression you’re running from me . . . which will only make me want to chase you.”

  Cannon turns me in his arms, and I stare at his mouth, wishing I didn’t have to hate him. Wishing this could be a real date and I didn’t have hidden motives. But I do, and I always will. He doesn’t even know my real name, and if I do my part right, he won’t know it until I testify against him in court.

  As I pull away from his hold, he glances over my shoulder and a hard look crosses his face before he pins me with his hazel eyes.

  “Hold on. I have to prove a point.”

  I open my mouth to ask, What? But there’s no time to get the word out.

  His grip tightens around me and his lips collide with mine. When Cannon’s tongue steals inside, I’m too shocked to do anything but hang on as he plunders my mouth, tasting of wine and all things forbidden.

  One of his hands drags my hips closer to him, and the bulge of his erection presses against my belly.

  Sweet Jesus. That can’t be real.

  I lose myself in the kiss, not caring that my fingernails are digging into the shoulders of his suit jacket, or that we’re definitely causing a scene. At least, not until Cannon pulls back and glances over my shoulder with thunderclouds forming in his eyes.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  I turn to see what he was looking at with such a fierce expression, but he stops me with one word.

  “Don’t.”

  What the hell did I miss?

  21

  Cannon

  I should have expected Dom to have us tailed. Hell, I did expect it. But somehow, I fucking forgot why we were even having dinner at Per Se. Even if my lapse lasted only a few seconds, it was unforgivable.

  Fuck me. I knew Drew was dangerous, but I had no clue how much until she made me forget that everything we’re doing tonight is to put on a show for Dom. I also knew there was a chance he’d have someone watching us and reporting back to him so he could be sure I was telling the truth about being interested in her, and not just trying to keep her away from him.

  Because even though I share his blood, I’ll never have his full trust. I know that. Everyone knows it.

  And even with that knowledge, I managed to let that key detail slip my mind because I’m drowning in this woman whose hand I’m gripping like a lifeline. I’ve never let this happen before. Ever.

  When I glance at her, Drew’s eyebrows strain up toward her hairline and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “What’s going on?” she asks quietly as I pull her toward where the Bentley idles at the curb without concern for the traffic cops giving tickets, and away from the man leaning against a lamppost only a hundred feet away.

  Not just any man. Lorenzo Angelini. My father’s number two, and someone who would be more than happy to execute an order to take me out. At least, if he could get away with it.

  We’re nearly the same age. Same height. Same coloring. If I hadn’t been told by Dom himself that Lorenzo wasn’t his son, I’d be convinced he was another bastard Casso offspring. And unless something else changes, when Dom passes on or decides to bow out, Lorenzo is the one dying to take charge of the family.

  Feeling his gaze bore into the back of my head like a laser sight soon to be followed by a double tap from a .45, I pretend I didn’t notice him. One thing I don’t have to pretend about, though? That I want to get this woman away from here as fast as possible.

  Warren alights from the Bentley as we approach and opens the back. We both slide in, and as soon as the heavy door shuts and before he can return to the driver’s seat, I turn to Drew to tell her as much of the truth as I can manage, but she speaks first.

  “Tanya is going to kill me, isn’t she?”

  I blink twice, staring at her expertly made-up face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Tanya. She’s . . . staked her claim on you. She’s going to be pissed that you kissed me.” Drew scoots toward the window, as if putting distance between us.

  Because she thinks I give a damn about Tanya, or that Tanya wants me? I have no idea where she got that impression, but before I can ask for an explanation, Warren slips back into the car.

  “Where to, Mr. Freeman?” he asks with a glance in the rearview mirror.

  Drew and I need more time together. Not just because of Lorenzo or because I don’t understand her comment about Tanya, but also because I’m not ready to let her go tonight.

  “The Halal Guys. Fifty-Third and Sixth.”

  Warren nods approvingly and a smile sneaks onto his face. “Yes, sir.”

  As soon as he pulls away from the curb and into traffic, I turn to Drew.

  “What the hell are you talking about? Tanya has no claim on me.”

  Drew stares at me, her lower lip dropped like she’s truly shocked. Her collarbones flare red and color creeps up her neck.

  “But . . . but I thought you had a thing, and she wasn’t over it . . . and that’s why she’s given me so much grief from day one. I thought that’s why . . .” She trails off but her dark gaze is fixed on mine, confusion rife.

  “Because you’re taking her sister’s job,” I tell Drew, and she blinks rapidly. Once again, I catch the flicker of a lighter color in her eyes, and I open my mouth to ask her if she’s wearing colored contacts, but Drew gapes at me in shock.

  “This is about the job? And her sister?” With an expression that could easily be featured in an exhibit called Mind Blown, Drew glances from side to side, like she’s piecing together everything Tanya told her from the first moment they met.

  For the life of me, I can’t imagine how she came to the conclusion that Tanya and I had or were having an affair. It had to be someone giving her information on me before or after she came to interview for the job, because there’s no way in hell any of my staff would give her that impression.

  “Yes,” I reply carefully, watching her expression as I explain. “Teal is two years younger than Tanya, whose name, by the way, was Tangerine due to her hippie mother, and Tanya changed it when she was eighteen. Don’t tell her I told you that.” I’m not sure why I’m giving Drew this extra information, but her shock makes me want to reassure her.

  Drew’s eyes widen further. “Tangerine? Oh my God. You’re joking.”

  “No, but as you might imagine, she’ll probably kill us both if she knew I told you that. Tanya and Teal didn’t have the easiest life, but Teal got mixed up with the wrong people. She’s more reckless, despite Tanya being wildly overprotective, because she basically raised her sister. Tanya managed to get Teal out of some trouble through sheer force of will, and when she hired on at the club, it was on the condition that Teal also be given a job.”

  “But if Teal wasn’t a good employee . . .”

  With a shrug, I give her a little more backstory as Warren changes lanes and the Bentley’s thick glass mutes the horns of the cabbies just beyond the car. “I wasn’t the manager of the club when they hired on. I used to . . . I had another job for a long time.”

  Something that looks like knowledge flickers in Drew’s eyes. Wondering how much she knows about me, I test the waters.

  “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

  It’s really quite impressive to see her features turn instantly placid—like she’s smoothing on a mask of indifference instead of being questioned about how much digging she did before she took her job at the Upper Ten.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Drew answers obliquely, her hands curling in her lap as she gives me a polite smile.

  “You wouldn’t have thought Tanya and I were together—or had been—if someone hadn’t given you dirt on me. You might as well tell me the rest of it, so we can find out how accurate your source was. I have a feeling you were fed a line of bullshit.”

  22

  Drew

  Oh shit. Oh hell. This isn’t good.

  I don’t know how Cannon has such an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth, but his astute questions are forcing me to use my best I have no idea what you’re talking about guise. Except, there’s one big problem. Those hazel eyes of his see right through it.

  I have two choices. Continue to play dumb, a technique that has worked wonders in the past. Or give him enough of the truth that he doesn’t dig any further.

  All it takes is one look at his face to know option two is the only real choice.

  “A friend of mine. She told me everything she knew about you after I told her where I got a job. Or at least,” I flick a glance at him from beneath my lashes, “everything she thought she knew.”

  Cannon leans back against the plush camel-colored leather of the luxury car and one dark eyebrow goes up. “You might as well enlighten me so I can tell you how wrong she was.”

  It’s an invite to get more information from him, but . . . is it a trap?

  I hesitate, but only for a second. If I really only knew what Randi had told me, I’d be eager to find out if it were true, so that’s the role I’m going to play.

  I glance down at my lap like I’m embarrassed to be having this conversation, which doesn’t take any acting, because I am.

  “She told me that you sleep with every woman who works at the club. But only one night. Only one night with anyone, related to the club or not.” I lift my gaze to his face, and the expectant look is still there, so I continue. “She also said they all want more, but you have a strict rule and won’t touch them again.”

  As I get the last word out, the entire cabin of the car fills with laughter, and once again, it’s that full-bodied, uncaring laughter just like my father’s. Cannon practically doubles over in his seat as he laughs, and from the front, Warren chimes in.

  The flush I felt earlier spreads, wrapping me in embarrassment. In a small voice, I add, “I take it she wasn’t completely right?”

  When I look straight forward, I catch Warren’s gaze in the rearview mirror as he chortles.

  “Got it. Good to know.” My mouth presses into a tight line as both men continue to laugh until Cannon is seconds away from needing a tissue to wipe the tears from his eyes.

  “I don’t know who your friend is, but I owe her a drink. Goddamn, it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed this much.”

  “I’m so happy I’m able to entertain you,” I tell him with my tone so brittle, it’s nearly to the point of cracking.

  With a shake of his head, Cannon turns to look at me. “I’m not laughing at you. Just . . . the idea that I would touch someone who worked for me—and limit myself to one night with every single woman I’ve ever met, if I even had time to date—is ludicrous. Your friend can’t know jack shit about men.”

  I puff up, throwing my shoulders back, and immediately defend Randi. “I’ll have you know that Downtown Randi Brown is actually quite the expert when it comes to men.”

  As soon as I say her name, I want to yank it back. Oh my God. I’m a journalist. A journalist never names her source. What the hell am I thinking? I could kick myself right out of the damn car as it goes so silent you can hear the pounding of my heart.

  Cannon’s expression morphs from mirthful to serious in the space of one beat. “Downtown Randi Brown, the woman who applied for a job six times, and then on the seventh, I had to tell her that there was no way she was going to work at the Upper Ten?”

  “Wait. What?” The question bursts from my lips, fueled by shock.

  A slight smile curves Cannon’s lips once more. “Yeah, and now this explains a hell of a lot.”

  Inside, I’m reeling because Randi never told me about any of that. And now it makes sense. Randi wanted to sleep with Cannon.

  “I had no idea,” I whisper.

  Instead of mocking me, Cannon softens his expression. “You didn’t have any way to know. Randi’s an interesting woman, and not one to take no for an answer.”

  “She calls herself a dude with tits,” I say, my voice turning wooden.

  Cannon coughs out another laugh. “She gets high marks for self-awareness then.” He shakes his head, absorbing the information we’ve just exchanged, and I start to relax into the seat. “And now I know why she was so insistent she get the job.”

  Warren maneuvers the Bentley into a parking spot, and Cannon nods to the food cart on the sidewalk.

  “You want to start this date over with New York’s best gyros?”

  Eager for a reprieve, I nod. “Absolutely.”

  23

  Cannon

  We both have beef gyros wrapped in our hands when I spot a blacked-out Mercedes that looks out of place. As soon as Warren parked and let us out to get food, the Mercedes made an abrupt turn to park crooked in a loading zone across the street and about fifty feet down.

  Come on, Enzo. You gotta be better than that if you want to watch me without being seen.

  Then again, maybe he doesn’t give a shit about stealth. Maybe he wants me to see him so I know he was given orders by Dom to make sure this date was the real thing. There’s even a chance the orders didn’t come from Dom. It’s possible Lorenzo is trying to prove I’m full of shit, and he’s the better man for the job when Dom steps down.

  Either way, he’s not going to get the information he’s looking for.

  This date, regardless of how it started out, is turning into one of the best nights I’ve had in years. And not only because the woman I’m with is smart, funny, and beautiful, and I want to peel that black dress off her and exhaust her in bed until she curls against me and finally lets her guard down.

  But despite what Randi Brown told her, I don’t shit where I eat. I never have. That lesson has been pounded into my head by Dom.

  Is that why he sent Enzo for recon? Because he knows I’ve got a rule about never touching an employee? It would explain his skepticism and forcing us out on this date.

  And now that I’ve spent time alone with Drew, it’s only whetted my appetite for more. Good thing rules are meant to be broken.

  Instead of moving back to the car where Warren waits near the back door, I lead Drew to a bench vacated by a woman who pushes her stroller down the sidewalk.

  “Let’s sit for a second. That dress is too pretty to end up with white sauce down the front.”

  Drew glances at me as we take a seat, but doesn’t speak because she’s still chewing on her first bite. A dab of the same white sauce I just mentioned sits just on the corner of her mouth.

  “You’ve got a little—” I start to say, and then just decide fuck it.

  You want to see real, Enzo? I’ll show you real.

  I lean forward and use my tongue to lick it off her lip.

  Drew’s big brown eyes, which I’m more and more convinced aren’t brown at all, widen as she freezes.

  “Couldn’t resist,” I tell her. “And it makes for a good show because we’re being watched.”

  I have to give her credit. She doesn’t panic, just relaxes her stiffened posture and leans toward me like she’s going to whisper in my ear.

  “By whom?”

  I don’t know why it’s sexy to hear her use the word “whom,” but it is. I mimic her body position and turn toward her.

  “By someone who doesn’t believe what we’re doing tonight is real.”

  Her mask, the one I’ve noticed she slides on and off with ease, morphs into a sweet, curious expression, one that I’d like to see on her face for real someday.

  “You mean the gentleman who prompted this entire outing in the first place?”

  “This one’s definitely no gentleman and would like nothing more than to prove to my fath—” I almost say the word I don’t allow myself to use out loud, but cut myself off. “He’d like to prove to Frank that I’m full of shit, because there’s nothing he enjoys more than seeing me out of favor.”

  From her intelligent gaze, I can tell Drew picks up on exactly what I’m skating around saying.

  “So, how do we prove him wrong?”

  Her question prompts the thought I’ve been trying to keep out of my head since the moment she walked out of the salon at Barneys. The image of her, tangled up in my rumpled sheets, her hair a mess and her body languid.

  I cut my gaze to the sidewalk, focusing on the years’ worth of gum that’s been ground into the concrete.

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