14. Basilio
Basilio
F uck me. She was gorgeous when she danced.
I couldn’t peel my eyes away from her form. Despite her petite frame, she was fucking strong. I witnessed it firsthand as I watched her jumps and landings.
For the past hour, I watched her dance with a determined look on her face.
She and her dance partner kept repeating the same stunt over and over again.
It didn’t strike me as a ballet type of move but what the fuck did I know.
I didn’t watch ballet. All I knew was that she looked stunning. Absolutely beautiful.
I caught her rolling her shoulders a few times as her French instructor kept barking shit at her. I had to fight the urge to go and shut the woman up. Whatever she was saying to Wynter, it wasn’t good because I could practically taste Wynter’s tension.
“Again,” Madame Sylvie barked in her thick accent. Wynter’s skin glistened with a layer of sweat. She had to be exhausted, but she refused to ask for a reprieve.
Wynter’s eyes glanced at the clock, Madame Sylvie caught it, and the latter frowned at her, then a string of French words left her mouth. Wynter shrugged her shoulders and muttered something back that I couldn’t hear.
Whatever it was, Madame Sylvie didn’t like it.
“Encore,” she demanded. Again .
Wynter turned to face her partner and said something, then both nodded. More steps, movements so in sync, it was mesmerizing to watch. Then her partner threw her so high up in the air, my heart fucking stopped. I wanted to burst into the studio and beat the living crap out of him.
Wynter twirled in the air, then landed on her feet and balanced herself.
“Bien,” Madame Sylvie exclaimed. “Bien.”
“Fucking finally,” I heard Wynter say, earning herself a glare from her instruction while my lips curved into a smile.
My phone buzzed and I checked the messages. It was from Priest.
*Presidential suite is all yours. Better show up, fucker.*
Then I shot a message to Dante. *Do you have everything in place to get Thalia out?*
Now that her mother was dead, we’d get her out. We have set her up with a place and enough money so she never had to work.
Dante’s reply came instantly. *While you’re getting laid in Philly, I’ll have her out and hidden. The old man will never find her.*
Before I had a chance to reply, the door to the suite opened, and Madame Sylvie’s eyes narrowed on me.
“Ah! This is why she’s distracted,” she complained in her thick French accent. “No boys. No boys.”
Wynter came right behind her and rolled her eyes, then grabbed my hand and dragged me away.
“She likes to torture people,” Wynter complained, still in her bodysuit. “I need to shower. I know this took longer than forty-five minutes. Do we have time?”
“Yes, take your time.”
* * *
“See, I knew you'd get us here in one piece,” I drawled, seated back in the passenger seat of my McLaren as Wynter parked the car in front of my cousin’s club and hotel building in Philly.
She shot me a sideways glance, then rolled her eyes. “Bas, either you’re crazy or blind. I almost drove into another car at least three times. And don’t cry to me when you find a scratch on your expensive, fancy car,” she warned.
I grinned widely.
It was the best way I could come up with to distract her from her ballet class. It was either start making out with her or have her drive us to Philly. I’d have preferred the former but making out with Wynter in the parking lot of Madame Sylvie's building was neither the time nor place.
“And don’t send me a bill either,” she added, narrowing her eyes, but her threat was ruined by a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “I could have totaled your car. Or even worse, got you hurt. I’ve never driven a stick shift car.”
“It’s just a car,” I soothed her. “And I paid attention the entire time. I’d never let anything happen to you.”
I pulled on the handle and exited the car, then came around to help her out, while grabbing her duffle bag and my own bag from the back seat.
Looping my hand around her, we walked together into the club and hotel my cousin Priest owned.
“Now, I want you to relax and enjoy our little vacation,” I demanded.
“Are we sharing a room?” she asked curiously.
“We have the presidential suite. There is plenty of room to sleep ten people.” I stopped and she did too, her face turning curiously to me. “Wynter, I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
Her eyebrows shot up, a puzzled look in her mesmerizing eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ll never touch you without your consent.” When she didn’t say anything, I continued, “If you are more comfortable, I can get another room and you keep the suite.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t you dare leave me alone,” she warned, but her voice was too soft to be effective. “If I was worried you’d force me to do anything, Bas, I wouldn’t have come along.” She rose to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss on my cheek. “I trust you, Bas. So you better stay in the same room with me.”
She was mine. Mine to protect. And mine to love.