Rubbing her temples as she already felt a headache coming on, she met his gaze. “Positive. But thanks for asking.”
“You’re welcome.”
A few seconds passed, and then he said, “All right then. Do you want to talk about it?”
She dropped her hand down in her lap and couldn’t help the smile that touched her lips. Sam would always tell them how whenever she got in trouble about anything, Angelo would begin their discussion by asking that question. Do you want to talk about it?
“There’s really nothing to discuss, Angelo.” Bottom line, she’d made a fool of herself tonight. No big deal. No harm done. She drew in a deep breath knowing that it was a big deal since it was so unlike her. She glanced down at herself and decided to blame it on the dress.
She had found enough courage to wear one of the outfits she’d bought shopping with Mac and Sam last week. For once, she had let Sam talk her into buying a couple of things she normally wouldn’t have purchased.
She wasn’t vain, but she had to admit the dress looked pretty damn good on her. When she had walked into the ballroom and noticed the attention several men had given her, her head had swelled a little. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn something that had turned a man’s head, mainly because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone out of her way to impress anyone. That wasn’t her style.
She could only assume the reason the attention had gotten to her was because she was going through this almost-over-the-hill, turning-thirty crisis. She was enjoying her last few days in her twenties, and it had been pretty heady stuff to draw the attention away from women a few years younger than she was.
“You are aware that that man was deliberately trying to get you drunk?”
Yes, she knew and would have eventually called him out on it. But dammit, she had enjoyed being the center of attention. And the Scotch had brought her out of her shell and made the never-have-anything-to-say-except-in-the-courtroom Peyton Mahoney more sociable. Besides, she figured she could handle the amount of Scotch he’d been giving her. She hadn’t expected her system to react so adversely, so soon.
“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you, Peyton?”
She chuckled at the thought and rested her head back against the sofa cushions. What woman in her right mind would fall asleep on DeAngelo Antonio Di Meglio, the “Italian Hellion,” and one of the most gorgeous men to walk the face of the earth?
“No, I’m wide-awake,” she said, glancing over at him.
He was still standing, and she couldn’t help the way her gaze scanned him up and down. He was amazingly tall and so well-built that when he walked into a room, women did a double take before going slack-jawed and drooling. She’d done that very thing the first time Sam had taken her and Mac home for the holidays. As soon as she’d seen Angelo, she’d immediately thought that Sam had one fine brother. The Di Meglio cousins, Damon and Maddox, were eye candy as well, but there had been something about Angelo that had managed to swoosh air from her lungs whenever she saw him. The man was so incredibly handsome it made her eyes hurt just looking at him.
It might have been the beautiful, even tone of his chestnut-colored skin, or the gorgeous dark eyes that could hypnotize anyone. Or it could be the sharp angle of his nose, which bore his Italian ancestry, or his luscious-looking lips. His face was clean-shaven and his hair was cut low in the front but longer in the back so that the silky strands of his hair grazed the collar of his shirt. Tonight his hair had a rugged, unkempt look that made him appear even sexier. And last but not least, there was that diamond stud in his ear.
“Maybe I need to undress you, after all, and get you in the bed.”
She swallowed, knowing he hadn’t meant it the way it had sounded. He was playing the big brother role and quite naturally, since she was Sam’s friend, it would extend to her. It wouldn’t be the first time. She chuckled as she remembered when she, Sam and Mac had gone partying in Manhattan one year and had gotten plastered.
“I’m glad one of us can find humor in tonight, Peyton.”
She wiped the smile off her face. “Lay off, Angelo,” she said, straightening herself in the chair. “I told you I’m fine. So please forget about the big brother role. I can manage. Thanks for seeing me to my room.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But you never did answer my question about what you’re doing here.”
He paused a moment. “I come here often.”
She nodded. And why wouldn’t he, with so many beautiful, single women in one place? Angelo was extremely rich just as he was extremely handsome. He would be a good catch for any woman.
Even if he didn’t work a day in his life, he could still live off the trust fund he’d inherited once he turned thirty. Since she was one of Sam’s best friends she knew all about it. She knew that his paternal great-grandparents had come to this country from Sicily with little more than the clothes on their backs. They had worked hard, educated their sons and were proud when they went into practice together, opening the first Di Meglio law firm in the Bronx office above their father’s little Italian restaurant so many years ago. One of Angelo’s cousins still owned and operated the restaurant today.
The Di Meglio brothers made a name for themselves and pretty soon had made enough money to open an office in Manhattan and build the twenty-five-story Di Meglio Building. It was widely suspected that his family had had ties to the Mafia, especially since they were Sicilians—every last one of them. And they had money and plenty of it. Peyton had always thought the family spent money frivolously, especially when you considered the people who didn’t have any.
“It’s a nice place,” she said, deciding to keep the conversation going. The room suddenly felt hot and stuffy, which was odd since the air-conditioning was on full blast.
“I think so, too. Hopefully, you can see more of it tomorrow.”
She frowned, not sure what that meant. She might decide to sleep off the hangover she’d probably have. She blinked when he walked over and eased down into the chair across from her in a move that was ultra-sexy. She couldn’t help noticing how the fabric of his slacks stretched across his taut thighs when he did so. She’d always thought he had a way about him that was smooth and ultra-cool.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
Her eyes moved from his thighs back to his face.
“No, I’m fine.”
When he just sat there and stared at her, she suddenly felt her entire body heat up. What on earth was wrong with her? She had gotten over her stupid crush on Angelo ages ago, she was sure of it. She’d stopped getting those funny butterflies in her stomach whenever he came within ten feet of her years ago. So why was her composure—the little she had left—weakening around him now? And what was this hot rush of desire that was overtaking her, prickling her skin, stroking her insides?
She cleared her throat. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“Not until you answer my question.”
She frowned. What question was that? Then she remembered. “No, I don’t want to talk about it.” She’d almost made a major blunder by celebrating too much. It happened. She realized that some men were still assholes who would try to take advantage of a woman if given the chance.
And then, because she felt a little put out by Angelo’s presence, by the way his being here was making her feel, she all but snapped. “And you don’t have to babysit me. I’m not Sam. You’re her brother, not mine.”
Evidently her words hadn’t offended him, if the smile that suddenly curved his luscious-looking lips was anything to go by. “Yes, you’re right. You aren’t Sam, and I am not your brother.”
Peyton blinked. She might be wrong, but