Just a Bit Heartless (Straight Guys 13)

“We had better things to do last evening than gossip about you,” Jordan said. He wasn’t trying to be subtle at all: he needed to erase any suspicion caused by their sleeping arrangements, and Nate wasn’t really a subtle guy.

Damiano stared at him in a way that made Jordan feel uncomfortably transparent. He suddenly remembered Ferrara’s words—his astounding claim that this man was perfect at everything. Even if it was an exaggeration, there was little doubt how intelligent Damiano had to be to excel at most things. This was a very smart man. Not an easily fooled one.

“Andrea attempted to kill me,” Damiano said in a low voice, actually answering his question, to Jordan’s astonishment. “He’s been taught a lesson.”

It was Jordan’s turn to stare. “You let him live after he attempted to kill you?” He barely knew this man, but showing mercy seemed uncharacteristic for him, considering everything Ferrara had told him. “Why?”

Damiano cocked his head, studying him. “Why do you think?”

Rubbing his chin and lips in thought, Jordan looked down. He hated that a part of him wanted to get the answer right, to show off for this man, to make him respect him. It was utterly revolting. He didn’t need this man’s respect.

“Killing him would have been easy,” he said slowly, looking up to watch Damiano’s reaction. “You don’t really think of him as a threat. By letting him live you can have him followed and can find out who his co-conspirators are.”

Damiano’s expression didn’t change. “You’re not incorrect,” he said at last. “But that’s not the only reason I let him live.”

Jordan let out a fake yawn and looked away, hoping he looked disinterested. He’d be damned if he let this arrogant man see that he was burning with curiosity. Come on, tell me, tell me, tell me.

Damiano chuckled. “You’re positively adorable.”

Maybe he’d misheard.

“Pardon?” Jordan said, without looking at him. It took everything in him not to look at him.

He felt the other man lean closer to him and then murmur close to his ear, “It’s adorable how you pretend not to be interested when spying on me is the main reason you’re here.”

Jordan’s heart jumped into his throat, or at least attempted to. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed with a dry mouth, still not looking at him.

“Let’s cut the bullshit,” Damiano said, his voice still soft and nice. “I know Raffaele. I know how possessive of his things he is. He would never let us speak alone like this if he didn’t bring you here with an ulterior motive.”

Inwardly, Jordan breathed out. So Damiano didn’t know that he wasn’t Nate. Sure, it wasn’t ideal that he suspected him, but at least he didn’t suspect that he was the wrong guy. He could work with that.

Jordan turned his head and nearly flinched as he ended up nose to nose with Damiano. “All right, fine,” he said, refusing to be the one to pull away, no matter how much this man unnerved him. He wasn’t going to be intimidated that easily, damn it. “You’re right: Raffaele told me to keep my guard up around you. To keep an eye on you. He doesn’t trust you. But that doesn’t make me a spy. That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Damiano murmured, holding his gaze unblinkingly. Like a snake.

Jesus, it was incredibly hard to keep eye contact with this man, especially when their faces were less than two inches apart.

“Yes,” Jordan said belatedly, unsure what he was even replying to. He’d lost track of the conversation, his thoughts scattering, his heart beating fast and his palms sweaty. He’d never been so unnerved by a man.

Just a man, he told himself.

A high-functioning sociopath, Ferrara’s voice said in his head.

“Sure,” Damiano said dryly, finally pulling back a little and allowing him to breathe. “You can report to Raffaele that I didn’t kill Andrea because of Emma.”

“Emma?” Jordan repeated, watching Damiano pull out a cigarette and light it.

Firm lips curled around the cigarette. “Andrea’s wife. Real beauty, but she looks dreadful in black.”

Jordan laughed a little. “Right. I’m sure that’s the reason you didn’t kill him. And don’t smoke indoors.”

Damiano shrugged, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Believe what you want. I don’t care. But tell Raffaele he can ask me questions himself instead of making his sugar baby make doe eyes at me.”

“Fuck you,” Jordan said. Doe eyes? He never fucking made doe eyes, much less at this creep. But on the bright side, that proved that he was convincing enough as Nate—it proved that he had this arrogant dick utterly fooled.

Chuckling, Damiano got to his feet and patted him on the head condescendingly, like one would pat a dog. “You’re pretty enough, for a guy, but I don’t swing that way, so your doe eyes are wasted on me, bello.”