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I cluck my tongue. “Maybe, or maybe not, Miss Maisy. But I am a man who makes my own fate.”
Max pulls up in front of her brownstone a few minutes later, her home a short drive from Central Park on a pristine, tree-lined street. Despite residing in a very desirable area, I hate the idea of her living alone in that enormous townhouse.
Jasper is a twisted fuck, and though I doubt he’d return with the authorities and the Kings on his ass, one never can be sure.
Before Maisy can argue, I scoop her into my arms and carry her out of the backseat. Jimmy is already at her door when I make it up the red brick stairs. I know she hides a spare key under the potted plant on her windowsill, but I decide to keep that tidbit of knowledge to myself for now and wait for her to rifle through her purse for the keys.
She finally finds them and hands them to Max begrudgingly.
“Stay outside,” I bark at my driver once the door is opened.
“Sure thing, boss.”
“You can stay outside too,” Maisy hisses as I walk her through the threshold.
“Not until I get you settled. Where do you prefer, couch or bed?”
“Well, I don’t want you anywhere near my bedroom so definitely the couch.”
A smirk pulls at my lips. “Oh, Maisy, I can’t wait for the day you beg me to fuck you on your fancy four-poster bed.”
Her lips curve into an O, and her cheeks burn a tempting deep crimson. “How do you know what my bed looks like?”
I drop her onto the couch and ignore her question. She doesn’t need to know I had my tech guy hack into her home security system a few days ago. Instead, I march into the kitchen and take out the container of ibuprofen from the cabinet, then fill a glass with water and bring it to her.
She watches me, lips parted. God, I want to see my cock between those luscious lips. I offer her the pills and the water, and she downs it all in one go like a good girl.
I settle down beside her on the floral sofa. The scent of orchids fills the air; she has at least three of them in this room alone. “Can I get you anything else before I go?”
“No, thank you.” She eyes me, like a lamb watches a lion.
“If you need anything else, call me. I’ve already programmed my number in your phone.”
“What? How?” She searches her purse for her cell.
“I have a guy who’s very adept with technology.”
She gulps and eyes the camera perched atop her bookshelf. “Please go, Nico.”
“Fine. For now.” I dip my head and offer her a wicked grin. “I’ll see you again soon, little fox.”
CHAPTER 6
IN LUST
Maisy
A faint click draws me from a fitful sleep, and my heavy lids snap wide open. My living room coalesces, and I draw in a breath. I’m home and safe. The grand room is a blend of historic charm with modern comforts and had taken me months to achieve. Back when I was so intent on being the perfect wife to Jasper Whitaker. Now it only reminds me of our failed marriage. And that’s putting it lightly. Was the whole thing a sham?
Shaking my head, I focus on the warm glow of natural light as it spills across hardwood floors, enhancing the richness of the room. I love this house, and my disastrous marriage shouldn’t take away from that. I glance up at the high ceilings, accentuating the sense of space and elaborate molding adorning the walls, adding a touch of classic elegance.
Then my gaze travels to the fireplace with the ornate marble mantelpiece. It’s my favorite part of the house, providing both warmth and a nod to the brownstone's historic roots. My heart kicks against my ribcage as I focus on the portrait sitting next to the orchid atop the mantel.
Of me.
At Central Park, sitting on a bench, my auburn locks cascading down my shoulders.
I shoot up off the couch and mutter a curse, as a pang streaks across my ankle. Dang it. I’d totally forgotten about it. Limping over to the hearth, my pulse is like a battering ram. With a shaky hand, I reach for the painting and my eyes lock on the initials slashed across the bottom righthand corner.
