Chapter 22
Lorenzo
It’s ten minutes past five, and Elizabeth still hasn’t come downstairs. I’m just about to go get her when I hear the bedroom door open overhead. Then she appears at the top of the stairs wearing one of those fucking sundresses.
For one raw second, all I can do is look.
The dress is soft and pale pink and made for sunlight, not for a house filled with armed guards. It skims over her body in a way that feels deliberately cruel, reminding me of the boutique.
I have to resist the urge to adjust myself.
So.
That’s how she wants to play this.
Well, two can play that game.
She starts down the stairs slowly, one hand wrapped around the railing, careful with each step.
The sight reaches into me and twists something I don’t like having touched.
She’s still pale and weaker than she wants me to notice.
The dress might be a provocation, but the hand on the railing is not.
Neither is the way she pauses on the landing to steady herself.
My mouth hardens.
Whatever sharp remark I was preparing dies before it reaches my tongue.
By the time she reaches the last step, I’ve rebuilt my expression into something cool enough to hide the damage.
“Late,” I say.
Her gaze flickers to me.
“Good evening to you too, Dave.”
My eyes drift over her once, slowly, because if she’s going to bait me, I’m going to make sure she feels me noticing. Her chin lifts by half an inch. Good. Let her know I noticed the dress.
“That what you chose for the trip?” I ask.
Her mouth curves. Not sweetly. “Do you hate it?”
“Yes.”
The smile deepens. “Then it was an excellent choice.”
She moves toward the front door, and I step aside to let her pass. The skirt brushes my trouser leg in the narrow space between us. A whisper of fabric. Barely anything. It still feels like a dare.
Outside, the evening air makes her shiver, but it’s the two cars that make her pause.
“Why are there two cars?”
“I’m being cautious.”
Her brows rise. “How dramatic.”
I open the door to the car Cesaro isn’t driving and motion for her to slide inside. She does and goes as far from me as she can. I purposely sit closer than I need.
The first car takes off followed by five men on motorcycles. A moment later ours does the same.
“Armed guards?”
“Yes.”
She tips her head. “Do I get my own set of handcuffs, or are we skipping straight to the kidnapping aesthetic this morning?”
“Have a kidnapping fetish, eh?” I let my gaze travel over her, slow enough to be insulting. “Because the dress and the mouth are sending very mixed messages.”
Color rises at her throat.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet you wore that in front of me.”
She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Because we both know I’m right. Not about why. Maybe not even about what it means. But right that the dress is not accidental. Not after the boutique. Not after the way I looked at her in those mirrors. Not after she saw exactly what it did to me.
She looks away first.
“Save your energy, Birdie,” I say. “It’s going to be a long flight.”
I could try to entertain her as we go to the airport, but I don’t.
Instead, I pull out my phone and get to work.
There’s a penthouse near the building I own that I’ve been looking at ever since the thought of bringing Elizabeth home crossed my mind.
It’s private, new, and won’t have ghosts of our past haunting it.
I put in a bid that I know no one will be able to outdo.
Then I get to work on seeing what Russo has been up to. He’s been gathering information for me, which is to be expected, and has even reached out to the local crime families in London. Too bad I already beat him to it. He won’t get anywhere, and even if he does, we’ll already be gone.
The SUV slows as we enter the grounds of Heathrow Airport.
Elizabeth turns to me. “I thought we were taking your jet?”
“Think you’re too good to fly commercial?” I wait a beat. “My jet is being watched.”
Understanding flashes in her eyes. “You were afraid Dante would know we were leaving and save me.”
Save me.
Those two words should not get under my skin. They do anyway.
I laugh once. “Something like that.”
She looks out the tinted window after that, but I can feel the satisfaction coming off her in waves. Like she enjoyed landing the blow. Like she wants me irritated before we even board.
Too bad for her.
I’m better irritated.
By the time we’re seated in first class, the cabin lights are low and golden, the air cold enough to make goosebumps lift on her skin. The dress that annoyed the hell out of me in the house is somehow worse here. Confined space. Soft lighting. Nowhere for either of us to go.
She settles into the seat by the window without a word. I take the one beside her. Two of my men sit several rows up, and another behind us.
A flight attendant stops beside Elizabeth with a professional smile. “Can I bring you anything, miss?”
Before Elizabeth can answer, I say, “A blanket.”
The attendant nods and returns a moment later with a dark cashmere throw, laying it over Elizabeth’s lap with practiced care. Elizabeth murmurs a thank-you that is sweet enough to make me suspicious on instinct.
Then the attendant turns to me. “And for you, sir?”
“Nothing.”
Elizabeth glances sideways at me once the woman is gone. “How thoughtful of you to think of me.”
“You’re cold.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
The plane begins to taxi. She looks out the window, fingers smoothing absently over the blanket on her lap. The movement draws my eye before I can stop it. Pale hand. Soft fabric. That damned dress skimming over her thighs beneath it.
I drag my gaze away and open my phone.
A minute later, I feel it. Her fingers. Lightly brushing the back of my hand where it rests against the armrest between us. I don’t look at her. Not yet.
Maybe it’s accidental.
Then her hand closes over mine. Definitely not accidental, then Slowly, she lifts my hand and tucks it beneath the blanket spread over her lap.
Every muscle in my body locks as I turn my head.
She’s still looking forward, expression perfectly composed, as though she has not just done something reckless enough to get us both into trouble in a cabin full of witnesses.
Under the blanket, her fingers keep mine pinned where she wants it. And right now it’s high on her thigh. I can feel the warmth through the thin fabric of her dress. A deliberate, taunting pressure that tells me exactly what she’s doing.
My voice comes out very quiet. “Birdie.”
She finally turns her head, blue eyes wide and falsely angelic. “Yes?”
“You’re making a mistake.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “Am I?”
Under the blanket, she shifts my hand a fraction higher.
I lower my voice further. “Do you enjoy provoking men who are already in a bad mood?”
“Only specific men.”
My jaw tightens. She is playing with fire and knows it. Maybe that is the point.
Under the blanket, her thumb strokes once over my knuckles.
“You wore the dress for this,” I say.
She gives me a look of mock surprise. “I wore the dress because it annoys you.”
“It does more than annoy me.”
Her eyes flicker.
I keep my face cold anyway. “And if you intend to spend the flight proving that, you should think carefully.”
“Why?” she asks softly. “Afraid of mixed messages?”
I should take my hand back. Instead I let it stay where she has put it and slowly drag her skirt up. When I can slide my hand between her legs, I lean closer, just enough that my voice won’t carry.
“You want the truth?”
Her pulse jumps in her throat.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“I think you’re doing this because you hate the fact that I still affect you.” My gaze drops briefly to the blanket where I’m now stroking her very wet panties, then returns to her face. “And you hate it even more because you know you affect me right back.”
Color rises slowly along her throat.
“You’re very sure of yourself.”
“No,” I murmur. “I’m very sure of you.”
To prove a point, I slip a finger past her panties, rubbing her clit in slow circles.
Her exhale is ragged as engines grow louder.
The plane turns. The cabin hum deepens as it lines up for takeoff.
Under the blanket, she tries to slide my hand away.
Instead, I add another finger and watch as her eyes widen.
“Too late,” I say.
The plane surges forward.
She inhales sharply as our bodies press back into the seats.
The blanket hides everything except the war in her face as I rush her toward an orgasm.
When the wheels leave the ground, she looks away first, biting her lip to cover the sound of her whimper.
I keep my hand exactly where it is until the seatbelt sign dings off.
Then I release her and lick the evidence of what just happened off my fingers.
“Don’t toy with me,” I whisper. “Unless you want more.”
“And if I did?”
“Then I’m happy to give it to you, cara. Just not on a plane surrounded by strangers.”
Shame flashes across her face as if she’s just remembered where we are, and she looks away from me.
A few minutes later, the attendant returns with drinks. Water for Elizabeth, whisky for me.
Elizabeth accepts hers without looking at me. “Thank you.”
The attendant smiles. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Once she’s gone, I lift my glass. “No blanket this time?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, irritated that I noticed.
She takes a sip of water and then asks, “Why didn’t you stop me.”
Because I have not been able to pull away from you since the first time you looked at me like I was both the answer and the problem. Because under all this fury, my body still knows yours too well. Because I wanted to see how far you’d take it.
Instead I say, “Because I wanted something to use against Russo.”
That hits hard enough to silence her. I lean back in my seat, whisky in hand, and watch her absorb it.
“You’re such an asshole.” She sets her water down and stands. “I need to use the bathroom.”