"Aria, you had me hooked the moment you stood in front of me in the VIP booth back at Volt. Then you had me whipped when you were sprawled across my desk a panting mess." His lips brush mine and I want nothing more than to lean forward and close the...
While dancing with Alessia, I could feel eyes burning into the side of my head, and I could tell Alessia sensed it too.
After about 30 minutes of dancing to the beat of the music. We both go back to the bar and order ourselves a drink each. I open my clutch to pull out my card and just to my luck a strobe light hits the blade of the knife in my clutch and immediately grabs the attention of my sister.
"Should I ask why there's a knife in your clutch?" Alessia says in my ear. Over the volume of the music, it practically came out a whisper.
"No, no you should not," I say in Alessia's ear, thanking the bartender who just gave us our drinks, I pay for them and then take a sip of my martini. And then I feel it again.
"Hey, do you feel as if someone staring at you?" I ask Alessia, who's looking around the room.
"I did when we were dancing but not right now. Why?" She mutters behind the rim of her martini glass.
"I can feel someone looking at me right now, but I kinda don't want to look around and find out in case it's some creep."
Alessia hums in agreement. After a few minutes of talking and sipping on our drinks, we are interrupted by two men who are very drunk.
"Well hello, pretty ladies. Mind if we buy you a drink?"
One of them says rather loudly in my ear. I'm sure the people in the VIP lounge can hear him. His breath reeks of tequila and his hairline is receding. I think I can even see flecks of grey through his hair.
"No thanks, we already have a drink." My sweet sister says, trying to be polite.
"Yeah, yeah alright. How about a dance? Make us the happiest men in Italy and come dance with us." The other guy pleads, almost stumbling onto Alessia's lap. This guy just has a goatee that isn't sitting right with me. Just as I was about to say something I'm interrupted.
"I'm sorry, are these men bothering you?"
Both me and Alessia turn around to see a very handsome man around the age of what I would assume is 25. His deep olive skin complexion and strong accent show he's definitely Italian, making him even more appealing. His dark long lashes frame some of the lightest brown eyes I've ever seen.
"Yes." I don't try to hide the bitterness in my tone and one of the guys seems to take offence, putting his hand to his chest as if I wounded him. If I had a heart I might feel bad.
The guy who just saved us flags down the bartender.
"Hey, do you think you could get security to escort these men out? They've had a bit too much to drink and they're bothering these ladies." When the bartender looks at him as if he's speaking gibberish the man continues. "If it makes any difference I'm Riccardo Berlusconi."
