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He’s good at what he does.
I’m an abject failure.
"Fine," I whisper, and the smile that spreads across his face has a thrill running through me. He pulls the door open, and the shopgirl smiles at him, and a wave of jealousy goes through me. Not of her, or her attentions on him, but how easy he seems to glide through life. We leave not even twenty minutes later, the dress in a bag, that is whisked out of my sight before we step out of the store again.
"Ice-cream?" He offers, and I laugh because the day is becoming overcast.
"It’s a little cold," I point out, and then pause, "also, where are all the bags going?"
"Back to the apartment," he says with a casual shrug. I pause, for a moment, and glance around us. That implies there’s someone out here with us, following us, to collect the bags as we leave each store. He says nothing, but just waits for me to decide if I want to ask my questions.
I don’t.
Of course he has someone following us, probably several someones. He’s the king-pin of a major crime family. I’d be stupid, in his shoes, to go out on a casual date, and not have careful watchers, and some runners, to do my errands and keep me safe.
Somehow the fact he’s done all of this without even telling me makes me feel a rush of warmth, even as the sky overhead grumbles with thunder, and two seconds later the rain begins to fall.
He looks up, laughs, and pulls me close, under an overhang.
"Maybe a raincheck on the ice-cream," he murmurs, and when he leans down to kiss me, I let myself relax into it, his lips closing over mine.
And over his shoulder, far down the street, movement catches my eye.
The Viper.
Standing, by a lamp-post, in the sudden downpour, his eyes locked on Luca and me.
CHAPTER 13
luca
Ash is quiet on the way back to my penthouse, sitting still in the back of the town-car. She’s surrounded by bags from our shopping trip, since they’d been handily brought to the car after we left each store, and yet...
Any other woman, a real sugar baby, a kept woman, would be pawing through the bags and tissue paper, giggling madly. A woman more urbane than that might be able to keep the smirk off of her face, but barely. All would be on their phones, taking selfies,
Instead, she looks like she’s about to throw up.
I’ve done something wrong.
"What’s the matter?" I ask, and she flinches.
"Nothing, just the storm," she replies, and I glance out the window. Fat drops are streaking down the glass, although I know that isn’t it. She’s practically got her knees tucked up under her chin on the seat, the posture of a child, not the head-strong grown woman I’m coming to know her to be.
"I don’t believe you," I say, and her mouth presses into a thin line, before she swallows, her throat moving.
"It’s just the storm," she insists, her green eyes flickering and I sit back. Head-strong in-fuckin’-deed. But she has no idea how much more stubborn I am. I didn’t get where I am by taking the first answer offered. I tap out a few rapid instructions on my phone, and the car, headed toward home, takes a right turn at the next light instead of a left, but Ashley wouldn’t know the change.
"If that’s what you say," I murmur, and she shoots me an angry, hot look, before staring out the window again. This time, she really does pull her feet up onto the expensive leather seats as if they’re nothing, and tucks her knees under her chin. I say nothing. Let her do as she pleases, as what makes her comfortable. I will have answers, but not now. She doesn’t trust me to hear her, or for whatever reason, I’ve offended her, and I have no idea how.
It’s frustrating, and I have to remind myself that this is all new to her. If it’s a game, it’s a game she didn’t grow up knowing.
She’s a pawn.
But, I think, my eyes sweeping over her, she’s a beautiful pawn.
When the car finally arrives at our destination, she’s silent. When I open the door and let her out, she stands on the sidewalk, a strange, lost look on her face.
"You know where you are?"
