Dead Man's Hand (Vegas Underground 7)

“I’m disappointed in you, Marissa.” He stares down at me with dark, glittering eyes. “Like, heartbreakingly disappointed.”

I rub my lips together, heart beating as fast as a hummingbird’s.

He cocks his head to the side. “Was it pride?”

“What?”

“That kept you from just asking?” He trails a finger over the cap sleeve of my blouse thoughtfully. “Feminism?”

He really wants to know. I think I genuinely offended him by not asking for the favor. He wanted to be that guy who granted it. Wanted to be sugar daddy to me and I denied him the pleasure.

Why did I? He’s right. It would’ve been easy. I knew he would’ve given me the money. I guess I just wanted some measure of control in this interaction. Which is like the gazelle trying to dominate the lion.

I swallow past the band of dread around my throat and nod. “Something like that,” I admit.

He leans against his desk, facing me, arms folded casually over his chest. He’s downright debonair in his expensive suit pants and button-down shirt, open at the throat. He sweeps a cool glance down my body, making me acutely aware of the fact that I’m in my panties, with the full length of my legs on display for him.

“How’s that working out for you?”

Hot tears spill down my cheeks. He pushes away from the desk and wipes one with his thumb. “You don’t need to cry. A guy like me might let anything slide when it comes to a woman as beautiful as you. Especially considering our family history.”

Might.

He might let anything slide.

And that’s when I admit to myself that I knew that all along. I knew he wouldn’t kill me. I know I wouldn’t get the control I so desperately wanted. I knew it would come to this. Him demanding sexual favors from me.

And the stupid part of it all is that the idea isn’t abhorrent because he disgusts me. Or that I don’t want to have sex with him.

Because honestly?

I do.

He’s sexy as hell.

It’s because I’m afraid I’ll like it.

That, and I don’t want to belong to the devil himself.

“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt.

I think he’s going to scowl or worse, tell me coolly why I am. Instead, his smile stretches wide. “Thanks for the clarification, doll, but I’m not interested. I don’t have to force or pay for sex, babygirl.”

My face flushes hot, even as a similar tingle puckers my nipples and pools in my belly. I still feel his hands all over my body. Everywhere those large, rough palms traveled over my bare skin.

He puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his. “But what am I going to do with you? That’s the question.”

I blink rapidly at the tears forming on my lashes.

“How much do you need?”

I go still. Is he going to give me the money? After I royally fucked this up? “Thirty thousand.” My voice cracks.

“What for?”

I gulp. “My little cousin needs a surgery. She’s scheduled for it Monday, but insurance refused to pay and the hospital called and said if they don’t get a check by close of business today, they won’t do it.”

I swear Gio looks a little sad. “That’s all you had to tell me, you know.”

Heaviness descends down to my belly. Like I’m taking his disappointment in me to heart. Which is stupid.

“You didn’t have to show the legs or the cleavage. You didn’t have to fucking blackmail me.” He raises his voice on the last three words, and I see the Tacone temper that I expected.

The trembling starts up again. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He folds his arms over his chest, his gaze suddenly hard. “You should be.”

He walks behind his desk and takes a painting off the wall. Behind it lies a safe. He opens it, pulls out three stacks of hundred-dollar bills, and tosses them into my lap.

Gio

I shouldn’t be so butthurt. I’m the guy people come to when they need money. Usually, if they have nothing to offer, there’s begging and pleading. The promise of any favor I demand. Threats are far less common.

Marissa was beyond stupid to go there with me.

Still, it sours everything for me. Doesn’t make me any less hard for her, but it sours things.

Here I’d been attaching some mythical importance to her—the girl in every nightmare. I sensed her attraction to me. Wondered if maybe it all meant something.

Something bigger.

Like my second chance has something to do with her.

Fucking ha.

She needs thirty grand just like every other sorry ass applicant for a Tacone loan. And instead of asking, she comes in and demands it with a threat.

Yeah, I’m still pissed. I want to slap her ass red for it.

As if she reads my mind, she looks up at me, not touching the bundles of money I threw in her lap. “I’m sorry. I really fucked this up. Fucked up with you.” Her lips tremble, but she meets my gaze with courage. I enjoy the way her chest rises and falls, causing the opening in her silk blouse to shift over her breasts. “I can’t believe you’re still giving me the money.”