Читать книгу Serpent Song - Toni Grant - Страница 15

Nicholas was late. The negotiations had lasted longer than he’d expected and as he raced to the waterfront venue he hoped his cousin would understand. A tempestuous bitch, she was likely to cause a dramatic scene regardless, ensuring she remained the centre of attention.

To his pleasant surprise, she was so caught up with the half-naked men gyrating around her on the dancefloor she almost forgot her manners and who was, or not, in attendance.

He slid into an isolated booth at the far end of the club, downing a good measure of scotch. Neat. No ice. Happy to be alone for a few moments, he watched the humping scene of partygoers moving as one on the dance floor with the bass beat.

He saw her watching him from across the room, her smoky blackrimmed eyes assessing him. Nic averted his gaze. He could spot a high-class hooker from a hundred yards. He’d never had to pay for sex and he wasn’t about to start tonight. Nonetheless, she made her way to him, standing close and facing the band. His cousin teetered over and collapsed in the booth across from him.

“Allora, Bella. Happy 21st birthday, little one.” Nicholas leaned in to kiss each cheek.

“Nicci! How do you like my party? Isn’t it awesome?” Allora scanned the crowd of heaving bodies through a sweaty haze. “This DJ is the best. And even though it is MY birthday, I have not forgotten you, my cousin.”

Nicholas furrowed his brow in question. “I’m not sure what you mean.” He sucked in the last mouthful of his drink, beckoning the waiter for another.

“Well, my darling cousin. Daddy says you’ve been working too hard. I thought I’d buy you a present.” Allora gestured to the hooker standing nearby. “When she found out you were the client, she said no payment necessary.” She raised a pretty questioning eyebrow. “Now, I had better get back to my boys. I see they’re waiting for me. Ciao Bello. Enjoy.”

Allora kissed him on both cheeks and tripped across the room to ‘her boys’.

Nic eyed the hooker. His gaze travelled between Allora and the girl as the conversation filtered through. He shook his head. Allora turned to face him, blowing a kiss in his direction from the dance floor before disappearing into the centre of the crowd.

Nic shook his head again. He should be insulted by such a gesture. Allora obviously thought he needed a good fuck after his intensive work load. It was her answer to everything.

Maybe she was right.

He watched the hooker’s tight arse as it moved rhythmically to a tribal drum beat. His fascination roused as she pushed it in his direction. She moved closer to him and he noticed the skirt of her short gauzy dress did nothing to hide the skimpy lace underwear. Heavy breasts pressed against the deep V of her neckline. He wasn’t mistaken. Maybe he would take that fuck after all.

He remained seated, sliding is hand up her lean thigh, beneath the flimsy skirt. He felt the quiver ripple through her as he traced her tattoo, his fingers following the outline of the lace underwear. As she spread her legs to take him, those five inch heels anchored into the floor. He stood, taking his place behind her, so she could feel his cock pressing against her arse. He felt her hold her breath.

Pulling her hair to one side, practiced fingers slid around her neck tracing the valley between the silk top and skin at her breast. She leant against him. It was too easy. And he wasn’t in the mood.

His thumb traced the circular tattoo. Three bent legs centred by the head of the Gorgon and crowned in snakes with corn leaf ears. The Trinacria. The ancient symbol of Sicily.

The girl belonged to Nero. The tramp stamp proved her ownership.

“Not tonight honey,” he said and stalked towards the exit.

~

N ic punched the alarm code and made his way through the apartment’s plush interior to his favourite room. He poured another drink and settled into the high-backed single chair facing the eastern seaboard. A slight sea breeze ruffled the gauzy curtains revealing the lights of the Gold Coast horizon glittering beyond the dark window frame.

Resting his head against the leather headrest, he breathed out deeply. It had been another taxing day at the end of an equally manic week. He wondered how much longer he could withstand the pace. But he’d expected nothing less after issuing the aggressive challenge. Deliberately he’d pushed his father into a corner and true to form, the old man had come out swinging.

Unrealistic schedules and near impossible business negotiations were only the start of a stubborn rebuttal. Nic closed his eyes. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top two of his shirt.

The son remained adamant. It was time to take control of the offshore business interests. He glanced around the apartment. He was ready to leave this place too. He’d spared no expense during the renovations. Vast spaces of masculinity gave the home a gentlemen’s club feel. Rooms of grand proportions displayed rare finds and original pieces. A home dedicated to relaxation and pleasurable pursuits. The exclusive apartment was the envy of his peers.

And yet it was the smallest, most private room that gave him the greatest pleasure. Sparsely furnished with only essentials it overlooked a parkland which was studded with frangipani trees. On the damp air of the Gold Coast evenings, they gave the room a unique fragrance. He had insisted on the plants, they reminded him of a time when life was less complicated. At the heart of those memories, there was a girl he used to know. Francesca Salucci.

Feeling unsettled, he crossed the room to stand in the shadows of the balcony reaching over the garden. He breathed deeply at the salty air, slowly exhaling as he waited, watching the moonlight wash over the bare branches and thick trunks.

Predictably his thoughts were filled with her and his skin prickled. He wondered how often she thought of him and their secret nights together. She had distanced herself from him and his family some years ago. Resisting the invitations to events that would bring her close to him. He could find her if he wanted. A simple phone call would have her back in his bed. But he would never do it.

An old-fashioned ringtone roused Nic from his thoughts. He answered huskily, “Pronto?”

“Ciao Nicholas. It’s Silvio. Come to lunch tomorrow. Sophia is here with the children and Paul will come too after he finishes at the church. We will see you, Si?”

“Of course. Yes.” His father’s tone underpinned their tension. As always with him, a phone call was a demand for mandatory attendance thinly veiled as an invitation.

“Bene. Your mama is cooking your favourite. See you at midday.”