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She falters raising her wine to her red lips. “Straight to business.”
“That is why you’re here, isn’t it? Business.”
Her lips quirk, half pouting, half smiling, as she drops her gaze down my body. “Maybe.”
“Definitely,” I counter, picking up the glass Anya just slid to me with my left hand, making sure my ring finger is bang in her line of her sight. Though whether I’m married anymore is up for debate. My stomach turns. A quick check of my phone. Nothing.
I look up to see Ms. Dove’s eyes on my finger, and something tells me the ring there is of no consequence to her. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she muses.
Then she will have heard I’m married, and I’m all for my wife. Would kill for her. Die for her. “All good, I hope,” I say, and she laughs lightly, head back, a tactical flash of her throat being thrown into the mix. I swig my Scotch and glance past her, where Brad’s taken up a seat with Allison. She does not look happy. Brad looks exasperated. Then, he appears furious, his attention on the doorway. I look back and see Fury.
And Pearl.
For fuck’s sake.
“Listen, Ms. Dove, I’m a busy man.” With a missing wife. “Can we cut to the chase?”
“How formal of you.” She smiles, a long, lingering smile. “Of course.” Leaning forward, she rests her hand on my knee. “Maybe we should go somewhere quieter and be less formal.”
I look down at her hand. My gut didn’t fail me. She thinks fucking me will get her protection? My temper flares. “You said you have information.”
“Well, less information, more a proposition.”
I bet. I remove her hand. “I’m married.”
“And?”
“And . . . I love my wife.” Wherever the fuck she is.
“I don’t want a lifetime commitment, Danny. Just”—she shrugs—“some fun.”
She wanted some fun from Brad an hour ago. She’s got fucking front, I’ll give her that. Like all the whores who came and went for years. But I’m insulted. She thinks she can talk her way into my bed and blow my mind, send me dizzy with pleasure, so much so I’ll deem her precious and valued enough to protect?
My phone dings the arrival of a message, and my heart leaps into my throat. I look down. It’s not Rose. It’s Higham replying to my message.
Elsa Dove? The FBI have connected her to the Russians. Be careful.
I swallow down the instant rage. She’s still smiling, still trying to seduce me with her eyes, her smiles, her body language. The fuck?
She’s already got her protection. And this is what they want in return.
Me.
I roll my shoulders, keeping a lid on my anger.
Then I feel something.
A presence.
My wife.
No mistake, it’s my wife. I inhale and look over my shoulder and see her at the entrance of the club.
Staring at me.
She looks fit to kill.
Could drop every man in the club with that outfit.
