And then he’s kissing me yet again, his hands moving up to cup my face, holding me still. I want to melt. His thumbs brush across my cheeks, his touch gentle, the way he cups my face almost as if he . . . cherishes me. No man has ever held me like this, kissed me like this before. I wrap my arms around his waist, clinging to him, whispering against his lips please don’t stop, don’t ever stop, when he stills. Lifts his head from mine and cocks his ear toward the window.
“Did you hear that?” he asks, his voice hushed.
Beyond the roaring in my ears brought on by his skilled mouth and my own pleading words, I can’t really hear anything. Oh, there’s the partygoers outside, their chatter a low hum in the quiet confines of his office. A hint of music coming from the hired band but that’s it.
“I swear I heard someone yell my name.” He kisses the tip of my nose, one cheek, then the other. “Sounded like my father,” he whispers.
“Really?” He kisses my forehead, my temple, my ear, my chin. Sweet, soft little kisses that make my lips tingle in anticipation. “I didn’t realize he was coming.”
“I forgot to tell you about it.” He kisses me this time, his lips lingering on mine for long, delicious moments before he finally breaks it. “I didn’t think he’d show up. More like I hoped he wouldn’t show up.”
I’m surprised that he would even invite him. Last I heard from Ivy, their relationship was strained at best.
And then I hear it. A loud, rough bellow:
“Matthew DeLuca, where the f**k are you, son?”
Matt hears it too—who couldn’t? His entire body goes still and he pulls away, leaving me. I’m immediately cold without him near.
“That’s him,” he says grimly. “I should go.”
“I’ll go with you. Do you want my help?” I reach for him, but he’s still backing up, pulling completely away from my grip.
He’s withdrawing into himself right before me, and I hate seeing it, though I can’t blame him.
He needs to go subdue his father and quick.
“Just mingle and make sure everyone’s having a good time. I need to go and make sure he doesn’t make an ass out of himself and me and ruin everything,” Matt mutters before he turns tail and flees.
I slump against the wall, my heart thumping wildly, my lips still tingling from his delicious kisses. I need to compose myself. Gather my thoughts and emotions and put on the hostess mask.
I need to help Matt. He’s stressed. The last thing he needs to deal with is his volatile father making a scene.
Putting aside my tumultuous emotions and locking my still-wobbly knees, I stand up straight, smooth my hands over my skirt and head for the courtyard.
Chapter Seven
Matt
“SON! THERE YOU are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” my father says as he stumbles toward me.
“Well, you found me.” I grab hold of my dad’s arm to keep him steady. Smells like someone already hit up a bar before arriving here and disgust fills me. I’m pissed that he would show up to one of the most important nights of my life and my career, drunk as hell.
But what did I expect? Not like he cares about me, or my reputation; he’s such a selfish old bastard.
“Where’s the wine?” he asks loudly, drawing the attention of more than one partygoer. “I want a sample of that shit you’re brewing.”
He can’t even get the terms right. “I think you should lay off the booze for a while,” I say as I try and steer him toward the table laden with food. He needs to eat something and drink some black coffee, anything to soak up all that alcohol coursing through his system and sober him up somewhat.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” He jerks his arm out of my hold and heads toward the table I wanted him to go to in the first place, grabs a small plate and starts loading up on endless appetizers.
I follow after him, keeping close, smiling and chatting with everyone I recognize or know. I feel like I can’t leave my father’s side, which is such total bullshit, especially because I had to leave a perfectly willing woman back in my office.
Not that I should’ve been fooling around with a woman in my office when I had a party going on out here but . . .
My mind drifts to Bryn and how good she’d felt in my arms. I’d had my hand beneath her dress only moments ago, touching her breast, playing with her nipple, and she hadn’t protested. No, she’d arched into my touch, little sounds of pleasure escaping her. She looked amazing in that dress, her long hair down, her lips parted as she gasped when I gently pinched.
Hell. I want more. I wanted to take her back to my place, strip her out of that dress and kiss every inch of her naked skin. Instead, I’m babysitting my drunken dad.
Fuck, life is really unfair sometimes.
“Quite the spread you got here,” Dad says, clutching his already overflowing plate. “How much did this cost you anyway?”
Damn it, I want to die of embarrassment, his voice is so loud. “Don’t worry Dad, I have it under control,” I reassure him.
“Little snot, won’t tell me how much money you’re spending on this fancy, good-for-nothing shindig. Not that it matters. I don’t care what you do with your money. I already gave you your piece of my pie but that’s it. I’m cutting you off. You’ll have to earn everything else, fair and square.” He lurches toward me, his plate nearly goes flying, and I take it from him, wait while he readjusts himself and stands up straighter.
White hot anger flows through my veins, setting my blood on fire. I want to kill him. Wrap my hands around his neck and squeeze until he’s not breathing any longer. Not that I could do such a thing, but every time he acts like this, which is pretty much every time I see him, he makes me hate him more.
It’s a lot more complicated than that though, my relationship with my dad. I also love him. Still seek out his approval despite how much trouble he causes.
And Vinnie DeLuca causes an enormous amount of trouble everywhere he goes.
“Let’s find you somewhere to sit,” I tell my dad, grabbing hold of his arm again and leading him toward the tables where guests sit and eat. He jerks against my hold, muttering a string of curse words in protest, but I ignore him. The old man might be the same size as me, but I’m younger and stronger.
“You’re manhandling me like you’re gonna kick me out of here, son,” he says when I push him into a seat. Thank God this table is empty. I don’t need him spouting off to other guests.