Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 209(@300wpm)
I search in my purse and produce them. “Are you going to tell my dad?”
He snatches the keyring from my hand. “Of course, I’m going to tell him. I’m going to drive you to his house right now, so he can straighten you out.”
The thought of my father’s reaction brings on a wave of panic. It’s not that I’m afraid of him. It’s what this would do to him. I’m his little princess. His perfect girl—the ballerina, the straight-A dance major whose parents hoped would someday marry a doctor or lawyer and be as straight-laced and square as they are marginal. I don’t want to ruin my parents’ little fantasy.
I block Carlo when he reaches to open the car door, getting a whiff of his cologne and, underneath it, his decidedly masculine scent. He towers over me, his hard-muscled body so close heat registers along my skin. “Don’t tell him.”
Carlo
Gesù, if it wasn’t so wrong, seeing Summer LaTorre on that stage would’ve been a wet dream come true. Her legs look impossibly long under the miniscule skirt, her breasts lush and ripe, pushed up by the tiny bikini top under her white blouse. This can’t be the same princess I sit across from on Sunday meals at her father’s house.
She grips my shirt, her beautiful copper-flecked eyes bright with tears. “You can’t tell him. Please don’t tell him.”
If she had any idea how much her tearful begging turns me on, she’d run back for the protection of that jackass bouncer in a heartbeat. Or she should, anyway.
I force myself to ignore my growing hard-on. Her skimpy outfit doesn’t help matters. But then, I’ve always had a difficult time keeping my thoughts pure when it comes to Summer LaTorre. Gesù, when I saw her thrashing her hips around up on that stage…
But turned on or not, the fact that the don’s daughter is taking her clothes off for money concerns me. I suspect the reason behind it is even more unsettling than catching her in the act.
I cover her fists with my hands, resisting the urge to bring one to my lips to kiss. “Summer, you know where my loyalty lies. I can’t keep this from him.”
“Please, Carlo, you have to.”
Damn, she’s cute when she turns those puppy dog eyes on me. But no, I can’t let this go. “Listen, doll, what you were doing in there” —I jerk my thumb toward the strip club— “isn’t right. You need someone to straighten you the fuck out.”
Summer blinks rapidly.
“You’ve been a hot mess ever since you broke up with your douchebag boyfriend.”
Her eyes widen as if shocked that I noticed she hasn’t been herself for the past few months. Tears spill from her eyes and streak down her face, and I want to kill that douchebag a hundred times over for hurting her.
The damn bouncer stands in the doorway, watching us.
“I don’t want my dad to know. Please don’t tell him.” The puppy-dog eyes plead. “I quit, okay? You heard me quit, right? I won’t go back, I promise.”
I shake my head, steeling myself against the urge to give her anything and everything she asks for. Don Alberto would kill me for keeping something important like this from him. Hell, Don Alberto would kill me just for having seen his daughter practically nude.
Besides, Summer probably needs help. I have no judgement of strippers, but I know Summer well enough to suspect she’s looking for attention from the customers at a strip club to fill some void. Allowing her to keep going down this path of self-destruction won’t do her any favors. She needs someone to sort her out.
“I’m sorry, doll. You need guidance. If you ask me, someone needs to spank your ass to teach you a lesson in self-respect.” Okay, I don’t even know where that came from. It must be the Catholic school-girl outfit tweaking my inner dom.
Unbelievably, she gazes up at me with her big doe eyes and says, “Okay.”
I cock a brow. “Okay?”
She swallows. “You can do it.”
Why does she actually look hopeful about the prospect?
My cock surges against my pants, and my suit jacket suddenly feels too hot.
No. I can’t be considering it.
I stare at her, trying to deny the appeal of bending her over and lifting that minuscule plaid skirt of hers to deliver a spanking. “You want me to punish you?”
She nods.
I push her back against the car, pinning her supple body between the BMW and my larger frame. She releases my shirt, and I grasp her wrists, pulling them together, tucked against my chest.
She stops breathing. Her nipples protrude through her blouse, and her lush lips part.
Christ. I want to take that mouth, possess her glossy lips. Own her. Show her what attention from a real man feels like.
I force some self-control. Her father is the don. The man I owe everything to. I can’t degrade his daughter that way.