Chapter 4
Paris, France
He was being followed. That prickly sensation at the back of his neck sharpened his awareness and said, “heads-up.” Getting back into the hotel had been easier than expected, which made up for the total loss at the tech store.
Yes, Helios had placed the order for a replacement device.
Yes, it had been paid for. But no, the shop did not have any in stock.
And no, the shop would not refund cash for a credit card purchase.
Which left Dillon with no device and no cash to pick one up on his own.
He was batting zero. So, slipping into Galtieri’s private dinner party, grabbing some food and a drink, shifted his mood from Foul to Irritable. Moderate improvement.
But this tail he had—the one who’d followed him from the fountain, into the hotel, and around to the bar where Galtieri sequestered himself with the four assets Dillon hoped to identify—had that meter shifting back to Foul.
If he didn’t lose the tail, he couldn’t eavesdrop.
Wouldn’t get what he needed—proof the filthy rich spent lives as easily as they spent Gs.
That this billionaire was the Al Capone of Europe.
That this guy not only had something to do with Dad’s disappearance but was directly responsible.
Yeah, Dillon wasn’t bitter—or unfocused. His real purpose here was to nab Galtieri’s phone. The rest was just frosting on the cake.
He moved swiftly past the concierge desks, earning more than one speculative glance from the staff, but he’d learned that if you acted like you belonged somewhere, everyone else believed it.
He hustled down the steps and banked left.
Spotted tall glass doors leading to a quieter hall with a grand piano on the right and a restaurant up three steps on the left.
Tail was still on him.
Before the doors, he ducked down the side hall at the last minute, taking shelter behind a massive wardrobe cabinet thing. Narnia would be proud of the scale.
Listening to the quickening steps of the tail, he slowed his breathing and pressed his spine to the wall. The pursuing steps were light, fast—not just because the person had sped up but because it was a woman.
Interesting.
Movement blurred into view. He reached out.
Hooked the woman by the waist. Spun both of them deeper into the small alcove.
Whipped his pursuer back against the wall.
Heard a gust of air as she thumped against the stone even as he aimed his forearm at her long, bare neck.
As he did, their gazes connected. Hazel-bright eyes registered.
In a lightning move, he narrowly shifted his forearm in time to avoid crushing her throat.
Planted it against her clavicle to avoid harm but also keep her in place. Under his control.
She flinched and shrank, eyes squeezing shut in expectation of violence.
“Why are you following me?” he demanded in a low voice.
Like some wicked vortex, her eyes opened and pulled him in. Mesmerizing. “I…”
It’d be a nice ego stroke that his good looks had robbed her of words.
But this chick had been working that crowd for the last hour.
“No lies,” he warned, flexing his forearm so she felt the pressure at the base of her throat.
One hand over her head, he had her pinned in the corner and pressed into her personal space, using his intrusion against her desire to be free.
Most people didn’t like others in their space and would cooperate to free themselves.
“You do not have an invitation,” she ground out from between tight lips.
His pulse skipped a beat—this was the same woman he’d bumped into outside. That’s right…her eyes…same eyes. Only this time, they weren’t filled with surprise. There was a focused determination. The same kind that said she had a lot of brass to follow him.
Situational awareness told him the doors behind him were clear but anyone who came up that hall would see them.
He hoped they’d assume lovers stealing a moment.
He detected her hand moving at waist level.
Recalled the small purse she carried. In a flash, he caught her wrist. Jerked it up above her head, eyes flashing with anger. “What’re you doing?”
She winced. “You dropped this…”
Only then did he see the device in her hand. “And what, you were just going to give it back?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
This chick did not make sense. How did she know he didn’t have an invite? “Who are you?”
Her head wobbled beneath an indignant, fiery streak that all but made her eyes glow and warned she was mustering courage. Growing angry at being restrained. “You first.”
Had to hand it to her—she had guts, beauty, yet she was some kind of dumb to face off with him.
But man—he’d been right when he’d crashed into her yesterday—she was beautiful.
And those eyes…what color was that? Not merely hazel.
These were practically gold with flecks of green and streaks of brown beneath the chandelier that seemed to caress her bare left shoulder.
Ironically, despite the bare shoulder, she was modestly dressed.
Not hanging out like a lot of the women in that dinner party.
Unlike them, she had “sexy” down to the nuance.
And the smattering of freckles lent her a down-to-earth feel that made her seem like a girl he could bring home to Mom.
Not some heiress who spent more on her shoes than he’d paid for his Hayabusa.
In the square, he’d thought it fate that they’d met. Maybe he wasn’t wrong—she was, after all, handing the device back.
“See something you like?”
Flirting, huh? Regardless of the very real, primal draw to her, Dillon knew her words weren’t meant as an invitation but as bait. To ensnare and distract.
She was playing a dangerous game.
But so was he. Since she worked for Galtieri, Dillon would play her like a drum.
Not gonna lie—he liked that flush rising through her cheeks.
She might be trying to take back the control he’d yanked from her hands, but he…
What would she do if he played into this?
He lowered his face to hers. “You like danger?” Deliberately focused on her very nice, very full lips, he felt an ache somewhere deep within roaring to life. It was called vengeance.
“N-no.” That was the first time she’d faltered.
Lying did that to a person. He angled his head closer. “You sure…?”
Her lips parted, gaze darting to his mouth and back to his eyes. And though it was just a fraction, her chin angled toward his. Subconsciously, she wanted the kiss he teased her with.
Should he?
Man, why not? He’d never see her again. And he was digging how she looked at him. He caught the blonde money pieces framing her face. Traced their silkiness. Slipped his fingers to her cheek. Appreciated the way she reflexively parted her lips more. Drew in a breath.
Dillon bent to catch her mouth with his.
“Cove?” someone called from around the corner.
Slack jerked out of him, Dillon focused on her eyes.
She refocused too. Wet her lips, coming back to herself. That lost-in-the-wilderness-of-attraction expression fell away as she took in a ragged breath.
Dillon eased off with a smirk. “Maybe next time…”
“Cove!” Concern thickened the man’s authoritative voice.
Backing up, Dillon guessed they saw him. He aimed toward the glass doors at the same time none other than Massimo Galtieri stalked into view with two guards.
Cursing his distraction and subsequent delay, Dillon palmed the door as one of the men produced a gun and held it low, down.
“Who are you?” Galtieri demanded. “Stop him!”
“No, wait!” The beauty—Cove?—surged between them, holding a staying hand to Galtieri and his thugs. “H-he lost his phone. I found it.” She pointed to the device Dillon held.
Thoughts ricocheting through his thick skull, he couldn’t fathom why she would defend him. Protect him. He glanced at the device. Held it up. “Thanks.”
“Get him.” Galtieri ordered the men into motion.
“No, Papà! Please.”
Papà? Are you freaking kidding me?