Page 29 of The Hitman
I have to look away to regroup for a second before I can make eye contact with him again. I also need a moment to remember how to speak. “You look like a man who knows better than to bang on a stranger’s hotel room and tell her to shut up.” I smile at him with much more confidence than I feel. I don’t want him to see me sweat. Figuratively. If he says yes, he’s absolutely about to see me sweat all over this damn vineyard, the forecast for today is hot as hell.
He steps out into the hallway, crowding me again. His five o’clock shadow looks darker — sexier — this morning. I have the unexpected urge to bite him.
“And you look,” he says, eyes dipping to my mouth, “like the kind of woman who’d never watch a stranger jack himself off for you. Apparently, looks are deceiving.”
His words are a gentle tease — seductive, even — and also a little bit of a challenge. It takes my mind away from my insecurities, and my shoulders relax. “It seems so.”
He smiles warmly at me, and our gentle flirtation feels almost comfortable. “Buongiorno, Zahra. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I like the way he says my name. It’s not quite right. The first ‘a’ is too long, and he’s made a two-syllable name stretch to three, maybe even four. It sounds almost like a moan on his lips. It’s shocking and a little dirty, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows that; that he’s said my name this way on purpose. This man’s voice makes the hair on my arms stand up, but the feeling is fleeting.
Unfortunately, his question is like a bucket of cold water dumped all over my mood. It extinguishes the heat between us. Well, at least on my end.
I spent a lot of time figuring out what to wear and choosing my lipstick color, but did I give even a second of thought to how I was going to ask him to be my…date?
“Fuck,” I mutter to myself.
Giulio’s eyebrows lift nearly to his very healthy hairline, and his eyes squint with interest.
“No, wait, no. That’s not what I meant.”
He laughs in my face. Like, laughs his ass off. He flattens his hand over his chest, his head falls back, and the formerly quiet hallway is filled with his deep, melodic chuckling. Asshole.
“Never mind,” I say and turn away. I’m definitely going to crawl back into bed now.
“Oh, tesora,” he laughs around the words.
I hear his footsteps behind me, but I still gasp when his arm circles my waist and pulls me back into his strong body.
“Zahra,” he moans into my left ear.
Shiver is not a strong enough word for what my body does when he says my name in that way and so intimately.
“Don’t run away,” he says. “Or at least walk slowly, so I can admire the view.”
His cologne is warm, something like… I don’t know, what does teakwood smell like? Sandalwood? Musk? Whatever it is, I like it. I like it so much that my stomach is doing all the flips right now.
“Why did you come to see me?” he asks.
I have to take another one of those slow, deep breaths. “I… I have a reservation for a tour at the vineyard, and I…” My words trail off as the arm around my waist moves. His hand flattens across my stomach in a possessive hold. I should be turned off, but I’m not. I sigh internally, weary at my overactive libido.
“I like wine,” he says. I recall that image of his lips around the wine bottle again.
“S-so do I.”
He chuckles. I feel myself getting wet, like turn-my-pussy-on-like-a-fountain wet. “I know.” His lips brush my ear, but there’s no judgment. “Are you inviting me to tour the vineyard with you?”
I sag into his arms, and that feels…dangerous…but good. Great, even. “I—” I start speaking, but I have to stop and swallow the lump in my throat at the feeling of his warm, minty breath on my ear. “I don’t want to go alone,” I admit in a tiny whisper. “I can’t.” It’s easier to say these words now that I’m not looking at him.
He’s silent behind me, and I think he’s going to tell me no. Maybe he’s trying to figure out a nice way to let me down.
“Andiamo,” he whispers. “Let’s go, tesora.”
And we do.
12Zahra
The carthey send for us is actually a golf cart.