Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“Is everything all right?” Anya asks in a panicked tone, glancing at the gun I hold on my thigh with the barrel pointing toward the opposite door.
“It’s Jordan.” My voice is clipped. “He’s tailing us.”
Knowing that a deal is going down at Rusty’s tonight when some high-end players are meeting there, I tell Kevin, “Go left here.”
He doesn’t question the change of direction. He turns, and when I look through the back window, Jordan’s headlights creep up behind the second car in my convoy.
I give Kevin the name of a high-end restaurant in Manhattan. They’re always fully booked, but they’ll give me a table.
While we drive, I slide my fingers to the junction of Anya’s legs. She’s wearing a lace thong. The fabric is rough beneath my fingertips. And damp. My good little girl is always wet for me, even when I threaten to kill any man who’d dare to touch her. Even when there’s a gun on my lap. Especially when there’s a gun on my lap.
She won’t admit it, but she loves the high that comes with danger. It turns her wetter beneath my probing hand. It makes me reckless, not caring that I’m all but fingering her underneath the meagre protection of her dress.
I press my fingers together and turn my palm sideways, parting her folds and shoving the lace between her pussy lips. She grabs my wrist and flattens her back against the seat. When I rub up and down, dragging rough lace and slick arousal over her clit and through her slit, she bites her lip and throws back her head.
Her fingers remain locked around my wrist, but I’m not sure if she’s holding on or urging me to move faster. She’s definitely not pushing me away. So I go faster. Harder. I watch her come undone right there beside me, her pussy clenching around nothing while my driver is none the wiser.
She’s breathing hard when we reach our destination. Holding her gaze, I lift my hand to my nose and inhale her scent. She’s musky and ripe summer fruit and a beautiful Indian summer. An unexpected, prolonged stretch of balmy days and perfect sunshine. A gift I don’t deserve.
I put away the gun and get out to open her door.
The restaurant sits in the middle of art galleries on a trendy street. It’s one of the places to be seen. I only come here because I like the food. The menu is an eclectic selection of dishes from around the world, featuring spicy curries and richly flavored tagines. The slow-cooked tomato bredie is one of the best I’ve had. Anya will like it.
The hostess smiles when she opens the door. “Welcome back, Mr. De Luca.” She takes Anya’s coat. “Will it be just the two of you or do you expect a bigger party?”
I flash Anya a smile. “Just me and my fiancée.”
“Oh.” The hostess glances at Anya, trying to but not succeeding in hiding her surprise. “Congratulations.” She hangs the coat on a stand. “Please go through to the bar while I prepare your table. Drinks are on the house.”
“Thank you,” I say, taking Anya’s hand and pulling her behind me as I weave through the tables to the bar on the raised platform at the back.
“Do you always get what you want?” Anya asks when I seat her at the counter.
I slide onto a stool next to her. “No.”
She averts her gaze, and I know exactly what’s going through her mind.
Rachele.
My father’s affection.
Yes, there’s a lot I wanted that I didn’t get, but nothing is more important than her. It’s how she makes me feel—invincible, always hard for her, as if I can’t breathe when I’m without her.
The barman adds the finishing touches to a cocktail, and once a waiter takes it away, he comes over. “Champagne?”
I order still water, which he serves with slices of lemon in chilled glasses.
In a prime spot by the window, the hostess whispers something to the occupants of the table. The man and the woman put down the menus they’ve been studying, their expressions pinched into frowns.
The man purses his lips, looking as if he may argue, but then the hostess points in our direction, and his gaze clashes with mine. I lift a hand and wave, my lips splitting into a grin. His cheeks pale. Yeah. Thanks to word of mouth, my reputation precedes me. He puts down his menu and says something to his wife. The hostess replies with a smile. This is the point where she offers them a free meal for the inconvenience of kicking them out to give me the best table in the house.
The couple get to their feet and shuffle to the door, the man staring straight ahead and the woman stealing glances at me.
Anya, who’s been watching the exchange, shakes her head. “That’s low, Saverio, even for you.”