Page 25 of His Kidnapped Queen
I draw in a breath as the woman with a different shade of blue in her eyes flashes a slight smile.
“My name is Maria.”
“Luca.” I don’t give her a last name, but then again, I don’t have to. People know me around here, and it’s getting more and more obvious that I’m taking over my father’s empire.
But Father doesn’t want to publicly announce it. Not yet. He’s biding his time. For what?
Let him keep his secrets. It’s the last bit of control he has.
I force a smile as I look down at the blonde. It isn’t a true blonde, she’s got black roots, but it’s well done, not box dye. It’s a honey blonde instead of that white blonde that’s so popular these days.
She’s pretty, as pretty goes. Not particularly Italian, but that’s not a problem for me. I like women, and something as simple as ethnicity or hair color isn’t going to sway me. And god knows, it’s been a while.
Three years.
I remember trying, one lonely, drunken night, taking a couple women back to my hotel room. I drank too much and kicked them out. Almost felt bad about it after. Their only crime was not being her.
Sophia Bianchi. It’s the only lead I had as I tried to track her. But a week later, she moved out of her apartment, the only link I had to her. She didn’t leave a forwarding address.
Chicago is a big city, but some part of me kept hoping I’d run into her. She’d probably be high up now, wouldn’t she? Lieutenant? Sergeant?
If I did run into her, it would be bad news, but I know a big part of me would just feel excitement.
“Thought your brother was running this,” Maria’s voice is flat, with very little affect.
“Are you disappointed?” I ask, smirking at her over the lip of my glass as I sip my scotch.
She twirls a piece of her honey blonde hair between her manicured fingers, giving me a patented wicked grin.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she drawls, leaning in closer.
She smells floral, all over. An almost cloying scent of roses and lavender.
I could take her home. It’d be easy. Simple. And she doesn’t seem like the type of woman who’d want to go to breakfast after.
I look down at her thin form and suddenly in my mind’s eye there’s a pair of wider hips in my hands.
“Luca,” she moans, turning her head to look at me, a sheen of sweat across her forehead, mouth pouty and parted. I’m buried inside of her, to the hilt, and gritting my teeth so hard I think they might crack.
All I want to do is spill inside her but also, I want to keep going. Want to stay inside her as long as I can, feel this feeling for as long as I can.
Maria frowns and I blink, shaking my head.
“Are you alright?” she asks, and I nod sharply.
“Yeah. Fine. Just need to mingle. You know how it is.”
She looks me up and down, processing the clear rejection with not much emotion. She shrugs.
“Perhaps some other time, then.”
“Perhaps.”
But there won’t be another time. My mind, my body, my soul—it’s filled with nothing but Sophia. A woman with one name. A fucking cop.
It’s been three years. When will I ever move past it?
I make my way to the bathroom, even though I don’t have to go. It’s an excuse to get away from Maria, away from the crowd. As I slip by the throng of people, I catch sight of a pair of wide hips.
