Dark Shadows (Gia Santella Crime Thrillers Book 11), Kristi Belcamino [ereader with dictionary .TXT] 📗

worry about was me. When I could spend long, lazy hours lying by the pool reading books, sipping wine, letting the sun soak into my bones, and not having a care in the world.

And now that I had it? Snorefest.

I would give anything to be back in Nico’s tiny bedroom, snuggled up beside him on his bed with his arm wrapped around me while he still knew who I was. Even if it meant helping him get up to go to the bathroom. God, I missed that man so much.

And before that, our life in Mexico and San Diego and Barcelona… It all seemed like a dream now. Or rather, a book I’d read a long time ago.

But I refused to cry about it. Instead, I would hold those memories tight and cherish them.

Why should I mourn a life that most people only dream of having? I was damn lucky, and I would never let myself forget that. Never.

But that didn’t mean I wasn’t dying for company.

And sex.

Oh, God—to feel a man inside me. I was practically ravenous for a man’s touch. I was like a horny teenager again. I hadn’t had sex for years. It was insane.

I mean, Jesus, look at my reaction to Dante’s bodyguard. I mean, if I really was honest with myself, I’d wanted to jump his bones. Looking at his tattooed forearms and tight ass in those jeans had stirred something up I hadn’t felt in a long time—pure, unbridled lust.

And he wasn’t even my type.

Hell, did I even have a type anymore?

I guess I’d find out tonight. Because I was going out. I had cabin fever in a villa in the South of France. I’d go out, find a hot guy and blot all my thoughts out with mind-blowing sex. I deserved it. I was done being celibate.

Smiling, I downed a glass of tequila and headed for the bathroom.

After a shower, I dressed in a sleeveless leather dress with a square neckline that fell to mid-thigh and hugged my curves but was loose enough for me to move because I was going to find a club and dance until I dropped. And then I was going to find a hot fuckboy and go back to his hotel and rock his world. Yup. That was the plan.

I grabbed my phone and cigarette case and headed downstairs.

I found what I was looking for on the counter next to a binder with information about the villa—keys to the vehicles that came with the villa. Cars. Bingo.

Inside the garage, I spotted it—a white Jeep—nestled among a few other obnoxious vehicles, including a Rolls Royce Dawn convertible.

I keyed the ignition of the Jeep and revved the engine. Perfection.

Out on the open road, I stepped on the accelerator and hugged every dangerous curve down to the strip, loving the wind whipping my still damp hair, cranking my dance music, and singing along.

Once I was down on flat ground, it didn’t take me long to find the happening clubs. There was a strip that had sidewalks filled with people lined up to get into one club after the other. I cruised slowly, eyeing the crowds out front before I chose one.

It was a white brick building with a neon purple sign that said “Depravity.” Yup. That said it all. I stopped the Jeep near the door. The crowd looked a little young, but the music was what I was going for. I wanted to dance.

The door opened and I heard pounding music and loud laughter.

I yanked the steering wheel and headed toward the valet stand.

6

The valet escorted me to the front of the line, past the long lines of hopefuls on the other side of the red velvet rope waiting to get into the club. The doorman was about to let a group in but as soon as he saw us approaching he held up a big meaty palm.

One of the girls in the front of the line who had to wait scowled and turned to see what the problem was.

Her eyes landed on me and narrowed.

“Who the fuck is that?” she hissed.

She had thick, shoulder-length blonde hair, huge sky-blue eyes in a round face, and cantaloupe-sized tits squeezed into a white scoop neck dress. She was American Pie gorgeous. Except for the nasty look on her face.

“Amanda!” her friend said.

I sized her up in an instant. While she was actually even prettier than her blonde friend—with silky reddish-brown hair, piercing green eyes with doll lashes, and a light sprinkling of freckles across a perfect nose—she was hunched over as if trying not to draw attention to herself.

I wondered why. The insecure posture deflected attention. Was it because she thought she was heavy? She might have been a little chubby, but it was hard to tell since she seemed to be trying to hide her curves by wearing a silky, unstructured lime-green dress that hung mid-calf.

All of this was taken in within seconds as I breezed past.

The blonde sputtered her outrage even more.

The brunette spoke out again. “We’re next anyway.”

I could tell the comment cost her. She sort of winced after she said it, as if she wasn’t used to standing up to her friend. It pissed me off. And then I got even angrier as the blonde glared at her.

Let it go, I told myself.

As I passed, I met the brunette’s eyes and winked at her. The girl blushed.

Once I was inside the club, I ordered three shots of tequila at the bar. I downed them quickly and then headed to the dance floor, weaving in between the hot, sweaty bodies, swiveling my hips with my hands in the air above me and feeling the music seep into my body, touching my core.

I immediately infiltrated a group of young men with all the moves and big smiles. They were seriously good dancers. Soon, I lost myself in the music, closing my eyes and feeling bodies move with and against me and wishing the moment would never stop. It was