Page 9 of Breaking Rosalind
“Why would a beautiful woman like you harass a man who’s moved onto someone else?” he growls in my ear.
My pulse quickens. I have one of my targets within my grasp. Why the fuck am I bothering with Leroi? If I can get Cesare to take me home, I could gather intel on the Montesano estate and get Gunther off my back.
I run through everything I know about Cesare. He’s the baby of the family. Always at his mother’s side until she left. Since he dropped out of medical school, he’s been surrounded by bodyguards, which is why he only ever fucks his employees. I wonder if that will ease off, now that the oldest brother is out of prison.
My mind runs through tactics. Which persona would work best on Leroi’s cousin? Simpering only works until the cum has cooled. Bitter experience has taught me that these types of men love the chase. They’re just like cats. Making things too easy for them will get you dropped like a broken toy.
If I’m going to get Cesare to fuck me, then I’ll have to make him sweat.
“Hey.” He squeezes me around the middle. “I’m talking to you.”
“Men who know how to please a woman are hard to find,” I say over the sound of the music. “Let go of me. I want a screaming orgasm, not a few lackluster pumps.”
Cesare flashes his teeth. “I could make you scream.”
“You wish,” I say with a grin. “My pussy aches for a man who knows what he’s doing. Not some kid.”
His smile falters, and I know I’ve struck a chord. There’s almost a decade’s age difference between Roman and Cesare. As the youngest brother, he’s probably had enough of being treated like a child.
“Younger men have shorter refractory periods,” he says.
“What does that even mean?” I reply with what I hope is a ditsy smile.
His chest inflates. It’s a sign that he enjoys my attention or loves being the source of information. Either way, he’s giving me plenty to manipulate. “A short refractory period means I can fuck you all night before I’m spent.”
My gaze drops to his full lips. “Promises, promises.”
His eyes darken. “Think I’m lying?”
“Men will say anything to get their dick wet.”
All traces of amusement vanish. “If it’s a screaming orgasm you want, I’m your man.”
“Prove it.” I lick my lips.
He frowns. “Prove what?”
“Let’s see what you’re working with.” I run my hands down his chest.
His pectoral muscles tighten beneath my touch, telling me he’s eager to impress. I trail my fingers down his tight abs and stop at his waistband.
“Why did you stop?” He wraps his hand around my wrist.
“I’m looking for something more filling.” My gaze wanders to the dance floor, where there’s no sign of Leroi.
Cesare leans in close and brushes his lips against my earlobe. “Come with me.”
My heart soars. “Where to?”
His grip around my wrist tightens, and he marches me through the VIP section toward an exit secured by a hulking guard. When he opens the door for Cesare and steps aside, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to hold back my triumph.
I saunter alongside Cesare in my stilettos, making sure to stumble. Magazines say that men love women in heels because they make a woman arch her spine and give the illusion of longer legs.
Experience says otherwise.
Fourteen years of working as an assassin has taught me that men love heels because they make a woman vulnerable. Hell, any sign of weakness works on carnivorous men like catnip. The quickest way to catch a predator at night is to walk in a zigzag and stumble. They’ll crawl out of the shadows like hungry hyenas.
Cesare holds me steady with an arm around my waist. “Careful sweetheart.”