I walk into the restaurant and the hostess informs me that Joaquin and Violet are waiting for me at the bar. As soon as I turn the corner, my eyes scan the room and I immediately spot Violet. It appears that my Bug brought her A-game. Dressed in a skin-tight black dress with a very low-cut back, she’s got the attention of every man in the joint—including mine. I wonder if Uncle Vic would mind much if I skipped dinner and took her into the bathroom for a quick game of show and tell.
Clearing my throat, I ignore the tightness in my pants and step behind Violet as she leans over the bar and orders a drink.
“A dirty martini…extra dirty.”
“Just the way I like things,” I murmur as my eyes leisurely trail up her bare back. Her olive skin calls to every part of my body and I almost trail a finger down her spine, but out of the corner of my eye, I spot Joaquin glaring at me. Feigning indifference, I peel my eyes away from Violet’s silky skin and look to her brother, giving him an innocent shrug. There’s no sense in denying my wandering eye…so long as he doesn’t know the filthy thoughts accompanying it.
“Where did you come from?” Violet questions as she spins around on the stool. Ignoring her brother, I smirk at her and signal for the bartender. I order the birthday girl her dirty martini and two shots of bourbon for me and Joaquin, who rags on Violet about her dress.
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Half of it is missing,” Joaquin says.
“Don’t be lame. It’s bad enough I have to sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you two have some fancy dinner…” I tune out the rest of her sentence as a frown ticks the corners of my mouth. While she’s twiddling her thumbs, I definitely won’t be enjoying dinner because my mind will be on her, wondering how many guys are trying to take her home with them.
Our drinks arrive and I shake the thoughts from my head.
“I suppose we should toast you,” Joaquin growls as he snatches one of the shots from the bar.
“Yes,” Violet says, plucking the olive from the little plastic sword with her teeth.
Jesus Christ.
“Go on, boys, tell me how much you love me and how wonderful it is to have me in your lives.”
Yeah, she’s trouble all right.
“They’re inflating your ego at that dancing school, Bug,” I comment.
Must be the men in tights.
“It’s the New York Academy of Ballet,” she corrects. “Not a dancing school.” Her eyes hold mine for a moment and something flashes in those big blue orbs—something that tells me her nights moonlighting as a stripper are long behind her.
A thank you would be nice.
But I like my balls where they are, so I don’t tell her that. Instead, I say, “Isn’t that the same shit?”
“It is so not the same thing and to be clear, they don’t inflate my ego. It’s quite the opposite.” Setting her glass on top of the bar, she turns back to me and I forget all about my own drink as she goes on a tangent. “I’m constantly told I’m not good enough, that I don’t have what it takes to make it onto the stage. I’m five pounds heavier than every girl in my class, and my hips lock entirely too much. My frame needs work…” Her voice trails as she glances over her shoulder to look at her brother.
“And what?” he snaps.
It’s good that he says something because the only thing I can think of is the million different ways I can get her hips to unlock.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, shaking her head. The tone of her voice jars me, and I scrutinize her for a moment, taking in the look of defeat that flickers in her eyes.
“Bug,” I call.
She sighs, reaching for her drink once again and twirls the plastic sword around as a frown ticks the corners of her full lips.
“I told you not to call me that,” she murmurs, purposely avoiding my eyes.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen. If you hate the school so much, why are you still there?”
Her eyes cut to me.
“I never said I hate the school. They’re only hard on me because they’ve taught the best and if I want to be in their company, I need to do better…be better. I will be on that stage.” Determination flares in her blue eyes and she raises her glass. “And you two assholes better be in the front row with flowers, cheering me on.”
Having witnessed her talent firsthand, I have no doubt Violet will be on a stage—clothed, of course—and when that day finally comes, I’m going to fill every inch of her dressing room with flowers.
“To the determined ballerina I have the privilege of calling my sister, may all your dreams come true.”
A smile spreads across her lips as she locks eyes with her brother and clinks her glass against his. There is no mistaking the pride shining in Joaquin’s eyes as he says, “Proud of you, Vi.”
For a split second, a pang of jealously hits me in my gut and I think of Gina. Sadly, I don’t think my sister and I will ever have a moment like the one I’m witnessing. That being said, as wrong as it may be, I’m glad I didn’t say anything to Joaquin about Violet dancing at Delilah’s.
“Happy birthday, Bug.”
Those three words draw her attention back to me and I wink at her. I can feel the heavy weight of Joaquin’s cautious stare, but I ignore him. The truth is, even if I want to pretend like there wasn’t something brewing between me and his sister, I can’t. I’m starting to realize I’m completely powerless to Violet Cabrera and like I’m going to have to get used to it, so will the rest of the fucking world.
“We’ll celebrate at the club,” I promise as I lean over her and set my empty tumbler on top of the bar. My phone vibrates inside my suit pocket and while Joaquin informs the bartender to keep his tab open for Violet, I pull it out and see a text from my uncle’s bodyguard.
“He’s here.”
“Who?” Violet questions.
“No one,” Joaquin answers. “We won’t be long. Stay out of trouble and don’t move from this fucking chair.”
“You know, I was just starting to like you again,” she teases.
“I mean it, Vi. Stay put,” he warns.
Her eyes shoot to me and I give a silent jerk of my head.
Don’t fucking move.
“Fine, but don’t be long. I want to dance.”
Yeah, I want her to dance too.
Ain’t nothing like it in the world.
We leave her at the bar and start down the narrow hallway that leads to the back room of the restaurant reserved for private parties. Reaching the door, Joaquin pauses and scratches the side of his jaw.
“How much trouble do you think she can get into in the time it takes for Victor to eat a porterhouse?”
My lips quirk slightly as I reach into my back pocket and pull out a tie. Tucking it under the collar of my shirt, I peer at him from the corner of my eye.
“You don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it anyway so maybe you get used to the idea…I’m gonna marry her.”
I say it to bust his balls but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I decide I like the way they sound.
“The hell you are.”
And I like a challenge even more.
“You’ll see.”