Chapter 2 Colecion #2
I stepped into Sasha Roe wearing a red dress that hugged every curve, the back dipping to a bow that rested right on my ass. If he wanted to kill me, the dress would definitely make him think twice. And I’d amped up my perfume; he’d noticed my signature scent that night. I needed a leg to stand on.
This was survival.
“Grimson,” I said to the ma?tre d', but I didn't need to finish. He was already on his way to me. The host removed the velvet rope, and Lesley stopped in his tracks. His tongue slid over his top lip before he tucked it between gold fangs. The sight made me adjust my posture.
“You don’t play fair, do you? You know I could never harm you, looking as delectable as you look right now.” He stepped closer, wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me into a hug. The simple act sent shockwaves through my body. He inhaled sharply and so did I.
Our scents mixed and my nipples hardened against my will.
Neither of us moved for a moment. His hand spread across my lower back, warm and certain, and I let my forehead drop to his chest without meaning to.
We just stood there in the middle of Sasha Roe like we were the only two people in the building. Like we had history. Like we had time.
We cleared our throats before stepping back.
“Hhm, this is crazy,” he said, kissing my knuckle and leading me further into Sasha Roe.
The table was in the back of the restaurant, away from most of the patrons. This was the exclusive menu section. For a few minutes, we sat quietly, and it was awkward. My normal impatient attitude wasn’t sure if now was the time to make an appearance. But I’d been in suspense all day.
“Have you thought about what I asked you?”
“Oh, that was you asking?”
“Yeah, that was me asking. And you got the message about tonight, didn’t you?”
“It's a six-month wait list for this place. I couldn’t miss this. Thanks for pulling strings, but why am I here?”
“I want an answer, Pret....”
“I gave you an answer, Lesley.”
He leaned back against the booth, eyes dragging over me like he could measure my pulse with a look. “But I didn't like it. Still don’t. You’ve been hiding in hotels, using fake names. That’s not you. That’s fear. And I don’t like seeing you scared.”
My jaw tightened. “You don’t know me enough to like it. I don't want to be forced into anything, especially not marriage. If you want to kill me, just do it already. Stop with the threats.”
He almost laughed, and it was dark. “Yeah, you fucking crazy. You’d rather die than marry me?”
“I don’t want to be forced into marriage, and I don’t want to die either. I hate that those are my only options.”
“You’d rather die than marry me for real?”
I paused. He'd asked me twice now. Not about the marriage, not about the arrangement — about dying instead of being with him. I filed that away somewhere and looked at him.
“Better that than signing myself into a lie.”
“What lie?”
“The kind you can’t build a life on. We’re strangers, Lesley. That doesn’t change because you said so. I don’t want love built on a lie. So yeah, maybe I’d rather die than settle.”
“Don’t talk like that in front of me. Death listens too close. And I ain’t letting it touch you while I’m still breathing. I’m not a bad guy, Coco.”
“I didn't say you were.”
And he probably wasn’t, but marrying him wasn’t something I considered enough, not on a random Tuesday at a courthouse, not under pressure.
He was fine, rich, dangerous in all the ways a man like him could be, but he was still a stranger.
And I hadn't changed my mind about minding my business. He needed to trust that.
“Didn’t have to say it,” he murmured. His gaze sharpened.
“You need to trust me,” I shot back. “I don’t want to be bothered with this anymore. But if you can’t, then maybe I’ll run.”
His expression iced over, the warmth gone. “Coco, that would be an act of hostility. You run, and you leave me no choice but to let the family handle this their way. And that would be the real miscarriage of justice.”
“I was just doing my job. I don’t want any trouble.”
He studied me for a long beat, the edge in his eyes easing just enough to let a dangerous kind of warmth peek back through.
“I’m not here to bring you trouble. I’m here with solutions. Because intent doesn’t mean shit when people want you gone. What you know can turn my shit upside down. The family doesn’t like loose ends, and I gotta respect that.”
I crossed my arms, a posture that steadied my hands and gave my mind something to hold onto. I’d been weighing the same two bad choices for days: either vanish, or wait for someone to decide I was too much of a risk.
“So what?” I asked, forcing my tone even. “What am I supposed to do?”
He tilted his head, studying me like a math problem he fully intended to solve. “You’re supposed to marry me.” His voice was steady, simple. “Marriage makes you family. And family protects family. It’s the only way to keep you safe from people who think you’re a problem that needs solving.”
The words settled between us, impossible to ignore. My pulse jumped, but I forced myself to relax.
“You were serious?” My fingers brushed the clover-shaped necklace at my throat. “Is that why you sent the jewelry and gifts?”
He didn’t blink. He leaned closer, elbows on the linen, voice dropping to a register that reached the center of me.
“Yes, to being serious. And yes and no to the gifts. They were an apology, but also a seed. I wanted to be on your mind.” His voice dropped, sharp as glass. “I’m offended that you think what’s between us is pretend.”
“I think you want more control, not a wife.”
He touched my chin softly and said. “We strangers remember? You don’t know what I want, Coco. Not yet. But you will. And it’s more than control. Marry me, girl.”
The folder was already on the table. I hadn’t even noticed him set it down, too distracted by the way he looked in that black shirt, stretched tight across broad shoulders and inked arms, by those dark eyes daring me to defy him.
His beard framed a mouth that rarely softened.
He didn’t shove the folder toward me. He didn’t rush.
He just let it sit there, breathing between us.
He was so patient it felt dangerous, like every second he held back was a second he owned.
I didn’t reach for it. I didn’t pull away either.
I just let the reality settle in with the candlelight.
I was leaving here tonight, and life would officially never be the same.
And yet—under the glow and the low hum of the room—I wanted to linger.
To stretch this moment out, to see what it felt like to stay in his space a little longer.
“Can we enjoy a meal together?” I asked. “Or was this all business?”
His mouth curved, slow and unapologetic, like I’d just passed a test he wasn’t sure I could. He lifted a hand, commanding without raising his voice, and waved the server over. “We’ll try everything on the chef’s exclusive menu. Bring the dessert course and the wine pairings. Private pace.”
I tried to hide my smile and failed. The room had gotten warmer. The candlelight got softer. The music threaded through the low conversation around us. This felt like a date.
Yeah, something was definitely wrong with me.
“What does private pace mean?” I asked.
The server dipped his head, almost smiling. “It means your table sets the rhythm, not the kitchen. Think of it as… a relationship pace. We match the service to how the two of you move together.”
My stomach flipped at that, heat running through me faster than the wine had. I glanced at him, and the weight of his stare made me realize exactly what kind of rhythm he planned on keeping.
“That dress is dangerous,” he said, the roughness in his voice catching me off guard. “I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ll be thinking about it for a while. Red looks so damn good on you. I knew it the minute I saw you.”
“Thank you,” I said, heat creeping into my cheeks against my will. “I was happy you said red. I’ve been waiting to pull this dress out.”
“That tells me you’re single.”
I arched a brow. “So now you know everything about me.”
“I know enough. And if there was a man, I wouldn’t care,” he said, eyes steady on mine. “Anybody in our way would’ve been moved. Quickly. You know that.”
“I do. Rashad is still spooked,” I said with a smirk playing on my lips.
He glanced at the booth, then back at me. “Would it be too forward if I asked you to slide in with me?”
His question set a flame in me, and it shouldn’t have made me breathless considering how we met and what was currently transpiring. I was a big girl and used to shit like this, but his whole persona left me breathless and speechless.
I stood up in a slow roll, letting him watch me stand.
His eyes followed the line of my body; he enjoyed the view.
I moved around and slipped into the leather beside him.
When I settled, he wrapped his arm around my waist and let his palm rest heavy on my thigh.
I shuddered at the touch. I dropped my eyes to collect myself before I looked back up.
“I don’t want you afraid of me, Colecion,” he said, warm against my ear. “I do want you to understand I need you. I don’t say that often. But I do.”
His eyes shouldn’t have been that soft. Not from a man I’d watched kill somebody with his bare hands days ago. It didn’t add up, and maybe that’s what scared me most: he could make murder and candlelight look like they belonged in the same breath.
“Uhm… excuse me. I need to go to the restroom.”
I slid out of the booth before he could answer and made my way to the back. My heels clicked on the tile, steady even though I felt anything but.
Inside, I gripped the sink and looked at myself. Same face, same steady eyes, but my body felt different. It had been rewired just sitting next to him. My thigh still remembered the weight of his hand. And that scent, chill but masculine, expensive, clung to me.