Filthy (A Bad Boy Romance)(34)

“You barely know me.” Also true.

“Do I need to know anything more than that you turn me on?”

She tosses her head in a movement that would have tossed her hair behind her back if it wasn’t in that fancy up-do.

“Well.”

Her voice is tight now. She’s chastising me. I like it.

“It’d be nice, don’t you think, to know you have something in common with the person you’re planning to carry home to your caveman cave?”

I just laugh. I wonder if she’s this sassy with Sal. Probably not. I can’t picture Sal putting up with it. Honestly, that just makes me sad. A woman with this kind of spunk ought to be allowed to show it.

My smile fades, and I lift a hand to stroke her face, run the tips of my fingers along the hair that’s pulled back along her head. “You in love with Sal?”

Her lips thin. “Sure.”

Of course she isn’t. A woman like this wouldn’t be in love with Sal. I’m not convinced anybody loves Sal, not even his mama. I give a sigh and tilt my head back, laying it on thick. “I wish I could find a nice girl like you, settle down, maybe have some kids. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

I’m just putting on a show for her, I tell myself, but the words hit a little too close to home even as I’m saying them. It would be nice to have someone like her waiting for me at home. A regular, everyday woman instead of the once-in-a-while girls I’ve satisfied myself with in the past. Or, worse, the only-for-a-night girls, many of whom collect their fee off the dresser before they slip out the next morning. And yeah. Married, with kids—I’d like that someday. No, not someday. Soon.

God, what’s wrong with me? I’m turning into a fucking sap. Worse—a fucking woman. I shake my head at myself.

“How soon?” Sarah asks, and it takes me a second to remember what we were talking about.

“You mean for the settling down and kid-having?” I ask.

“Yeah. That.”

“I don’t know. In a year or two, maybe?”

“So you’ve got the lady all picked out? You’re engaged, maybe?”

I shake my head. “No. Nobody picked out.”

She’s still looking right into my eyes. It looks for all the world like she might be warming up to me a little. “That’s an awfully tight timeframe, then. You sure you can pull it off?”

I lean close to her, whispering again into her ear. “I can pull anything off, baby. That’s what I do. So what do you think?”

She stiffens suddenly in my half-embrace, and for a second I’m sure I’ve offended her. She’s going to push me away and head off the dance floor, and take along with her any chance I have of cutting Sal off at the knees. But that’s not what’s going on.

Her body jerks away from mine, and not at her own volition. I look away from Sarah’s face to see Sal looming over us, his mouth twisted into an ugly snarl.

“The fuck you think you’re doing with this guy, Sarah?” he asks her, half spitting it. “I told you to wait at the bar.”

“We were just dancing,” Sarah says.

“Yeah, well, you dance with me, not with this piece of shit.” He yanks at her arm. “C’mon.”

“Sal, lay off,” I tell him, my voice almost a snarl. It’s not my business what he does with his woman, I know, but the way he’s jerking her around is pissing me off. There’s something about her…something more than just beauty and soft skin and that body, which I’d like to get hot and naked right up next to me in bed. I don’t know what it is. Not sure I want to know. But I do know I don’t like seeing Sal treat her like that.

Sal gets up in my face now. “Don’t you tell me what to do with my woman, Angelino,” he snarls. Then he looks back at Sarah, shaking her arm. “You been cozying up to this asshole, you stupid little slut?”

“Sal…” she starts, but I’ve had enough. I crowd Sal toward the edge of the dance floor, looking down my nose at him.

“You want me to give you a lesson in manners, you mother fucking little—”

“Nicholas.” The voice breaks me off immediately, mostly because I recognize it, and partly because I’ve been trained the last few years to respond to it automatically. I turn, backing down from my confrontation with Sal.

“Mr. Spada.”

Phil Spada is standing right behind me, a bland smile on his bland face. “I haven’t seen you in a while,” he tells me, and sets a hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you come on over to the bar? Let me get you a drink. We can catch up.”

I give Sal one last glare, but I can’t exactly put my fist in his face with Spada standing right here. “Sure, Mr. Spada.”

I go with him. There’s a stab of damn near physical pain in the middle of my chest at leaving Sarah alone with that asshole, but I go with him.

She’s used to him. She knows how to deal with him. She’ll be all right. The words repeat in my head, and I know that’s probably true, but I can’t convince myself to believe them.

Spada drops an arm over my shoulders, steering me toward the bar. “Enjoying the party, Nick? You win anything? Blackjack? Slots?”

“No, sir. Nothing. Yet.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. I told them to ease up on us tonight, let some of my boys take a few bills home.”

I shrug. “I’m just not lucky tonight, I guess.”

He scoots up to the bar and takes a stool. I sit next to him. “Happens to the best of us,” he offers as condolence, and waves down the bartender. A few seconds later, I’ve got a tumbler with a finger of fifty-year-old Glenfiddich single malt in my hand. Spada swirls his in his glass, takes a careful sniff, then a sip. Then he lifts his glass, inviting a toast.

I answer, tapping my glass against his. “To your dad,” Spada says, catching me off guard. I mumbled a response and take a drink of the whiskey. It’s so smooth I can barely tell when I swallow it.

“I was truly sorry to hear about your father,” Spada goes on. I nod, trying to seem gracious even though this is the last thing I want to talk about right now.

“Thanks. It’s been a rough time for the family.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to attend the funeral. I had a previous engagement last weekend.”

I nod, not sure what to say. As many condolences as I’ve accepted over the last two weeks, I’m still not sure how to respond to them. “Thanks.”

“Cancer, was it?”

I nod again. “He was sick for a while.”

Spada shakes his head. “Fucking awful disease. Can’t just take your life—it has to take all your dignity, too.” He takes another drink from the tumbler, then lifts it for another, wordless toast. I tap my glass against his, take another sip. It seems like a waste to drink this stuff too fast. “Damn shame,” he finishes, shaking his head.

I can’t tell if he’s serious or just saying what he thinks I want to hear. “Yes,” I say. “He was a good man.”

“That he was.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence. I take another sip of the scotch.

I’m not sure if it’s the movement I see out of the corner of my eye, or if my ears somehow manage to pick up the sound of Sarah’s voice, but I turn quickly, just in time to see Sal backhand her. She flinches, taking a step back. Instantly, I start to move toward her. No fucking way I’m letting him get away with that shit. That’s no way to treat a woman—

“Let it go.” Spada’s hand on my arm stops me. I try to jerk away from him, but his fingers tighten, hard enough to leave bruises.

“You’re kidding me,” I grit out.

He gives me a look of quiet tolerance, like I’m a three-year-old throwing a tantrum in the middle of a Walmart. “Nick. Nick, I know you want to jump to her rescue, but it’s not your business. You don’t tell a man how to deal with his woman.”

I look back toward where Sal and Sarah are standing, my teeth clenched so hard it aches into my temples. She has the back of her hand pressed against her mouth, and Sal is still up in her face, his mouth twisted and ugly as he spits words at her. Spada’s hand loosens slightly on mine, and then tightens again when I move closer.

“Seriously? You let him act like that here in front of everybody? Wives? Girlfriends? Daughters? You’re gonna stand here and let him do that like it’s okay?”

Spada glances toward the two of them. I can see his eyes tighten just a bit in response, like maybe deep down, somewhere, Sal’s actions do have an affect on him. Then I remember seeing Sal’s wife, back in the day, one time when she had on too much make-up and it still didn’t cover the dark blotch under her eye. And in that moment I want to backhand Sal, himself, or pull out a gun and pop him one between the eyes.

I don’t have a gun, though, which is probably fortunate for both of us. Spada drags his gaze back to me and says in a low voice, “Sal brings in good money. He’s one of my top earners, and he deals with things.” He turns back toward the bar. “He can do whatever he wants.”

I clench my teeth again. This time I hold back the words that want to come out. They won’t do any of us any good. Instead I just nod and down the rest of the scotch. I don’t dare turn to see what’s up with Sarah; if Sal’s hitting her again I won’t be able to control myself this time, no matter what Spada has to say about it.