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He rolls over to look at me. “At least they didn’t get me in the bollocks, so I’m good.”
I smirk. “Your arm?”
He rolls his shoulder. “This one’s fine. Tasha did a good job.”
“I bet she did.”
A stretch of silence follows in which I swear Burley sniffs out her body’s scent on me. He fucking knows that I’ve been messing with the merch.
“You spoke to Rosalia?”
“Yep,” Burley says, taking my segue in his stride. “She’s good.”
It helps that Rosalia is from our world. That’s one thing Tasha will never be. “You’re good to stick around until we fly back together on the jet? Or do you want to go home earlier? You can fly over with the jet, and it can be back in time to pick us up.”
He scoots up to be more upright and puts a pillow under his lower back and leg to ease the pressure off his butt. “I know you don’t need me in Cannes, what with Stephano and his men there, but hell, I want to stick around and see how this unfolds.”
“How what unfolds?”
“You know…” He rolls a hand in the air as if he isn’t committed to a straight answer. “This thing with Armstrong’s daughter.”
I’d be an idiot to think these two haven’t formed some bond. She’s been in his company a lot, got him on this yacht by the looks of it and not the other way around. She even apologized for jumping off a cliff on his watch.
The only reason why he’d refer to Tasha as Armstrong’s daughter is because he wants to remind me why we’re on this mission.
The Don’s second request.
I’m the guy who gets the job done, whatever it takes.
I need to focus. Tasha Armstrong is just another job that I’ll wrap up and deliver, completed. No more getting my kitten off whenever she asks for it. Fuck, not caving in to her earlier when she asked me to make her come again had been one of the hardest walk-aways in my life.
And who decides what you’re allowed to have and not have?
I don’t want to dissect her question now, or the whiplash that came with the underlying accusation in her words. I’m not the one who decides what I’m allowed to have or not have. Like her, I’m just a pawn.
“If you’re asking for a bullet in the other buttcheek,” I say, inwardly shrugging off her words, “know that I don’t aim that well.”
Burley chuckles; a good laugh at my expense.
I harden my resolve and steel myself for the inevitable. “The plans are made and going ahead.” Right on cue, the yacht’s engines switch on with a low hum. “We’ll be in Cannes by tomorrow night as scheduled.”
I walk out, not wanting to hear another word from him. He can read me like a fucking book and that’s the last thing I need right now.
Once in the corridor, I make my way back to the main deck. There’s more crew around as the yacht is set to cruise. I can stick around here until daybreak, catch some sleep on a sofa somewhere, but I’ve left Tasha unguarded.
Without a doubt, she’s probably awake and plotting her next escape. With the yacht’s engines going, I wouldn’t put it past her to jump butt naked into the ocean, with only those rings on her fingers, to get away from me.
I rip a whole string of curses as I make my way back to my wife’s cabin. This is the last night I’ll ever have with her. I open the door softly and push it open. In the moonlight that comes through the windows, I see her body etched under the covers.
She stirs, then looks up at me. “You’re back?”
Her tone says it all. I’m something that the cat dragged in. Definitely awake and plotting then. I pad over to the other side of the bed and toe off my loafers. “I went to check up on Burley.” I consider taking my T-shirt off and hesitate. The jeans can go, the jocks must stay.
Maybe not get naked with her at all.
“Oh.” She lifts onto her elbow. “How’s he doing?”
“He’s fine.”
