Dancer in Lingerie (Lingerie 13)

“Tell me something that I wouldn’t be able to figure out.” He drank from his glass again, and just when he returned it to the table, the waiter arrived with our entrees. The plates were set in front of us, along with the new silverware and a fresh basket of bread. Bosco held my gaze the entire time, indifferent to everything going on around us.

When we were alone again, I spoke. “I want to fall in love and sleep beside the same man every single night for the rest of my life. I want four children and a place here in Florence, so I can walk to work every day. When I’m meant to meet that man, I will. In the meantime, I’m having fun until that moment arrives.”

Bosco’s face didn’t show a hint of reaction to my statement. “Four kids?”

“Four.”

“Wow. Ambitious.”

“I’m up for the challenge.”

He gave me a half smile in response. “You have the right hips for birthing babies—and making babies.”

Every time he complimented me, my heart skipped a beat. He was transparent in his desire, and his masculinity made me feel deeply feminine. His narrow hips would fit perfectly between my thighs. His broad shoulders would cover my body as he lay on top of me, his weight sinking me deep into the sheets as he thrust inside me. “How many children do you want to have?”

The corner of his mouth rose in a smile. “You know how many.”

I’d met guys like him before, smug and good-looking. They would never settle down until their beautiful looks started to fade and their promiscuity started to become pathetic. Bosco had nothing but symmetrical features, a perfect jawline, cheekbone structure, and eyes so cold they were actually hot. As he aged, he would probably be even better-looking, like a fine painting.

“Tell me about your flower shop.”

“I’ve been running it for three years. I always knew I wanted to be a florist—and now I am.”

“Impressive.”

“It’s not that impressive. My father bought the shop for me—but I’m paying him back.”

“Not any different from getting a loan from a bank. Still impressive.”

“My job doesn’t feel like work. I create beautiful things all day long. I design arrangements for weddings and showers. I make the perfect display for funerals. It’s very fulfilling. I hope I can do it for the rest of my life.”

Unlike Samuel, Bosco seemed genuinely interested in what I was saying. His eyes were glued to mine as he listened, never straying to my chest or my hair. His gaze on my eyes, he listened attentively. “I’m sure you will.”

“My cousin Vanessa owns her own gallery a few blocks away. It seems like we both inherited the creative gene.”

“I agree.”

“She’s the one who married Bones.”

“Which means he’s your cousin-in-law, not your brother-in-law.”

I shrugged. “Vanessa feels like a sister, and that’s how I see her. And Bones treats me like a brother would, being protective even when I ask him not to be.”

“You should be grateful you have someone like that in your corner. A lot of women would give anything to feel protected like that.”

That was one of the reasons Vanessa fell in love with him. She said she never felt safer than she did when she was with him. I never wanted him to walk me home because I wasn’t his responsibility. “One day I’ll meet a man for the job. But for now, I can handle myself.”

He didn’t tell me otherwise, even though he was the one who’d saved me. “I noticed you’ve been taking a taxi everywhere you go.”

I wasn’t surprised that he was spying on me, judging by the way he infiltrated the restaurant so easily.

“Smart.”

“Bones requested it.”

“You have a lot of respect for him.”

“I do. But he’s also family…and you do things for family.”

He picked up his fork and started to eat, not having a reaction to my comment about family. He managed to keep his gaze on me as he ate, having control of everything in his vicinity.

My food was warm again and much more delicious than it’d been before. “What did you do with Samuel?”

“Told him I was your husband.”

I almost spat out my food. “You did what?”

“And threatened to kill him if he ever came near you again.” He said it nonchalantly, like it was no big deal.

“Wow. So you made me look like a cheater. And then you threatened a man whose only crime was asking me out?”

“You didn’t like him anyway, so what does it matter?” He took a break from his food and sipped his wine.

“I’m starting not to like you.” I set my fork down and grabbed my clutch from the table. I liked a confident man, but I didn’t like a controlling psychopath. “Good night, Bosco.” I rose to my feet, the backs of my knees pushing the chair out.