Chapter 2 #2
The ring was heavy, masculine, dark as midnight. It sat flush against his finger like it had been meant for him all along.
“It suits you,” I ran my thumb over it.
“Madeline—”
He looked down at the ring on his finger, then shook his head hard, like he was trying to shake the acceptance off of him.
“No,” he repeated. Firmer. “I don’t take gifts.”
I sighed dramatically. “Okay. Fine. I’m disappointed, but I get it. You’re far too dark and brooding and underworld kingpin to accept jewelry.”
He blinked slowly. “Kingpin?”
“Yes. A man of your… mystery and menace cannot be burdened with tokens of appreciation.”
His mouth twitched. “Tokens.”
“I understand. I will nurse my emotional wounds for years. Possibly forever. But I’ll survive.”
He stared at me, unimpressed.
“Naturally, I won’t be accepting the heels then.” I shrugged.
His expression sharpened. “You will.”
“I won’t. It’s only fair. If you can’t accept my ring, I can’t accept, art strapped to my feet.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Oh?”
I smiled sweetly, stepped away from him, and summoned the associate with a polite wave.
“Yes, Miss Thorne?” she appeared instantly.
“Cancel the order,” I said brightly. “All of it. I won’t be taking the Devereux customs.”
Her face paled.
Vince’s arm wrapped around my waist before I could take another breath, pulling me to his chest.
“Don’t you dare,” he murmured into my ear.
“I thought you didn’t believe me.”
“I didn’t,” he growled softly. “Now I do.”
I let myself lean back against him, just a little. Enough to feel his muscles and to remind me how it felt in that elevator.
“You don’t have to buy me things,” I exhaled softly. “I’m not… lacking. I don’t need nice things bought for me. I have money.”
“I know,” His other hand moved my hair gently to the other side. The motion was intimate in a way that made my breath stutter. He touched me like it was natural for him, like he’d been doing it for years, not minutes.
“You’re having me experience a lot of firsts,” he said quietly.
My heart jolted. “What kind of firsts?”
His thumb brushed my waist again.
“I accept the gift. The ring stays.”
I smiled.
“And you accept the heels,” he added, tightening his arm around me so I couldn’t even pretend to argue.
I sighed. “Fine. I accept the heels.”
“Good.”
I turned in his arm. While we stood at the jewelry case. He didn’t step away. Instead, he asked small questions, what colors I liked, how I chose my heels, how long I’d been collecting jewelry pieces.
I asked if he always scared off entire store staffs.
He smirked, “Only when necessary.”
When the associate returned with the final order details, he signed without looking, his other arm still loosely around my waist.
I gave her my details. She disappeared again. Vince looked down at me with that unreadable intensity that always made my stomach flip.
“Give me your phone,” he asked.
“My phone?”
“Yeah.” He held his hand out. “If I’m paying for the Devereux customs, I want you to message me when they arrive.”
I tried to play it cool. Failed miserably. I placed my phone in his hand. Our fingers brushed, and a warm jolt ran through me, same as it had in the elevator when he’d grabbed my hand.
He typed quickly, his brow lowering just slightly in concentration, like adding himself into my life required precision.
Then he handed it back.
“My number.”
I looked down at the contact, Vince. When I looked up, he was watching me again.
“Now give me yours.”
My breath hitched. “You’re… asking for my number?”
“Yes.”
There were so many things I could have said. A hundred reasons this was a terrible idea. But the way he said my name, God. I was helpless against it.
I typed my number into his phone, trying very hard not to think about the last time my hands had shaken this close to his.
He read the screen, his eyes flicking up to meet mine again.
“Say it.”
My pulse spiked. “Say what?”
“That you’ll message me.”
I swallowed. “I promise I’ll message you when the heels arrive.”
His gaze softened. “Good girl.”
Heat rushed through me. Completely unfair reaction.
“They’ll be done in less than a week,” he added casually.
“You don’t know that,”
“I do. I’m paying for them to be done in less than a week. It will happen.”
Of course it would.
He said it with the same certainty he’d used when assuring me we weren’t going to plummet to our deaths. And I believed him just as fast.
Before I could answer, he stepped closer—just enough for his cologne to wrap around me.
Then, he leaned in and kissed my cheek.
A billion-dollar syndicate heir kissing my cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world…my heart dropped.
“I have to go,” he murmured, against my ear. “But in a week, I expect to hear from you.”
I nodded automatically, because words had apparently ceased to exist.
“And ideally…” his gaze dropped to my lips, to my dress, down the line of my legs, “…I’d like to see you wearing those heels.”
His hand slipped from my waist, slow, like he didn’t really want to let go, and then he turned and walked toward the door.
Leaving me completely stunned.