8. Zane
8
ZANE
I regard Willow in my gym clothes. I like the way my shorts seem oversized, rucked at the waist where she’s tied the strings, and my T-shirt is so big on her I can only see a few inches of those shorts anyway.
“Suits you.”
She rolls her eyes. “I look like a puppy got into a laundry basket.”
“You do look cute, I’ll give you that. But not like a puppy.”
“I think that’s an insult,” she replies, mock offended. “Puppies are great.”
“Yes, but I don’t get hard-ons for puppies.”
“Not even this type?” She flattens the T-shirt over her breasts, revealing that her nipples are pebbled.
Fuck, this girl. She’s going to match me at every turn. “I like that type, yeah. Though I’m distracted by your legs at the moment.”
She shakes her head and gives a huff of sceptical laughter as I lead her into the kitchen.
I pull out a chair at the table, and wait while she peeks from under her eyelashes, taking in the black-grey cabinets with brass fittings. The darkness makes her look angelic by comparison.
She sits, and although I intend to push in her chair like a gentleman—making the attempt, anyway—she pulls up one knee protectively.
“Are you hungry? I am.” Mainly for her rather than food.
“Kidnap is hard work, huh?” She watches me with cautious eyes.
“I asked because orgasms can give you the munchies.”
“So does trying to escape.”
“What would you like?” I ask. Let’s move the conversation away from why she’s here, and onto why she’ll love being here.
“What are my choices?”
“Anything. You can have anything you want.” I’d present this girl with her enemy’s head on a plate without a blink.
She narrows her eyes, as she thinks. “We could go to a restaurant?”
“You want a formal dinner? We’ll go to Bethnal and there’s any cuisine you fancy.” I open the fridge to hide my smile, and I’m pleased to find it well stocked. “But don’t you need a snack beforehand, to keep your energy up for your next escape attempt?”
I glance over my shoulder and yes, that was definitely a twitch of her lips upwards. “Wow,” she deadpans. “Might be almost a date, rather than a kidnap.”
“First date?” I ask, though I think I know the answer, and I’m waiting like it’s Christmas.
“Yes.” Her voice is softer for that acknowledgement. “Are you going to cook?”
“Yeah.” I lean my hip against the black marble counter. “I had a decent kitchen installed when I bought this house. I’ll make you something you’ll like.”
She hesitates, then nods, and fuck that glimmer of trust lights me up. I busy myself by selecting what I need from the cupboards, then chop the juicy fresh tomatoes I found and set them neatly aside.
“You clear up as you go,” she says as I give the chopping board a quick rinse, then dry it and cut the bread.
“Yeah, force of habit. I didn’t always have staff to do everything.”
She watches curiously, as though I’m very odd to her. “What are you making?”
“Poor man’s pizza.”
“What?” She laughs with disbelief.
“Bread, chopped tomatoes, grated cheese.” I point at the ingredients in turn. I’ll sprinkle some herbs on too. “It’s like pizza, but very low budget.”
Wriggling to get more comfortable on the chair, she examines me as though I’m a puzzle she’d like to solve. “I thought you said you were rich.”
“Mmm,” I agree, and continue putting it all together, slathering the whole thing in cheese. “I am very wealthy, but I wasn’t when I was a kid.”
“So poor you couldn’t afford pizza?”
I nod and stand back once the food is under the grill. “Yeah. And I still make my own snacks sometimes.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off me as I put out plates and toast the cheese to perfection—no walking away or getting distracted when I’m making food for Willow. I have this urge I’ve never felt for a woman before. I want to care for Willow, and impress her. I want her to approve of everything I am, and decide to stay.
Bit of a problem, since I’m a grumpy homicidal mafia boss. But for her, maybe I could be something else… Just for her .
Our plates aren’t fancy when I place them on the table. Salad on the side, and what amounts to cheese on toast. I sit opposite her and dig in, picking it up with my fingers, and she copies me.
“This is very informal. I didn’t think that was a London mafia boss’ style.” She takes the first bite as though the food might hurt her, then her eyes go wide as she chews.
“Good?”
She wordlessly takes another mouthful, then another, and I think that’s a yes. We stuff our faces with carbohydrates and fat and that tangy acidicness that makes the whole thing irresistible.
“Not what you get in Maldon?” I ask lightly.
“Huh, none of my family would lower themselves to eat something called poor . Never mind cook for themselves.”
“Missing out.” I finish eating only just before Willow.
“You wolfed that down, little bunny,” I tease. “I told you. Hungry work.”
She blushes prettily and for a second, I think she’s going to acknowledge the chemistry that fizzes between us.
“Boss,” a voice interrupts from behind me.
Fuck.
Willow looks across at Agombar, the manager of my affairs when I’m in Suffolk.
“Miss, your clothes have arrived.”
“My clothes?” She turns to me.
I’m not ready to give up this time with her and me relaxing, with my girl in my T-shirt, but like an idiot, the consequences of my own decisions are here.
So I rise and hold out my hand to her, and although I half expect her to ignore it, she slips her little fingers over mine, and doesn’t let go as I lead her through the house. I’m not sure what I’ll see when I throw open the doors to the ballroom, but Willow’s gasp is gratifying.
“What is this?” Her eyes flash white as she stares around the room, that’s full of racks of clothes.
“You needed something to wear,” I say. “A local boutique was happy to help.”
“Happy?” she echoes sceptically.
“Well paid.”
She shakes her head, but approaches the nearest rail, and picks up a top. “You did all this for me?”
“It’s only one shop, sorry.” We need to re-adjust her sense of what’s due to her. “We’ll try another tomorrow. You can tell me which, in fact. Or just order online with my credit card, but I know you needed clothes. Cute as you are in mine, they don’t fit that well.”
“What?” she splutters, looking up from where she’s trailing her hands over a rack of tops. “You’ll make another shop put its whole stock into your… What even is this room?”
“It’s a ballroom, and yes.”
“That’s silly.”
“It’s really not.” She deserves everything, but I can’t let her out of my sight just yet. We’ll get to that, but right now my need to see her, to possess her, is too raw. “I don’t hold many balls. None in fact. Perhaps this could be your permanent boutique?” I’m teasing, but I’m also not teasing. Would that make her happy?
She snorts and picks up a pair of blue-green heels and looks at them with a longing expression. “Even more ridiculous than giving me your credit card. I could spend a lot of money, you know?”
“I hope you will.” And I mean that. I’d like it if she finds all the ways my money and power can make delight and spoil her.
“A new wedding dress, Zane? Really?” She drifts to the rack of dresses and pulls out one that’s long white silk.
“Nice choice.” She could marry me in that. “I’ll change into a suit, and you can wear it to dinner, runaway bride.”
“I didn’t run, I was carried,” she mutters, but there’s a spark in her eyes as she glances across at me. “Kidnapped.”