Chapter 63

• Luciana's POV:
• The leather couch was cool against my thighs, the whiskey warm in my hand, and the air between me and Hans buzzed with something electric. We were sprawled out, legs brushing, the dim glow of the chandelier casting shadows across his rugged face. His laugh rumbled deep, rough around the edges, as I tossed out some dumb joke about a runway model tripping in heels—half-made-up, half-true, just to keep him grinning. My glass clinked against my teeth as I sipped, the burn of the whiskey sliding down my throat, loosening me up just enough to keep this game going.
• He threw his head back, chuckling at my story, his beard twitching with every laugh. “You’re a riot, Luciana,” he said, his voice thick with that accent, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he swirled his drink. “Bet you’ve got ‘em all fallin’ over you—models, designers, the whole damn lot.” His gaze flicked over me, lingering on the way my bikini peeked out from the open robe, and I caught the heat in it—hungry, but not rushing. Perfect.