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My heart has a little clatter in my chest. It’s no wonder when he’s looking so fucking delicious, his body reclined, his ankle resting on his knee, his Ray-Ban shades in place. He’s a couple of tables in front to the left of me, practically within spitting distance.
My breath audibly hitches, and all worries of the anger I’ll be faced with when he finds out I’m in Rome disappears at the mere sight of him.
I smile to myself, having a careful scan of his suit-adorned physique. His stare is set firmly on the ominous building before us, his fingers drumming the table by the espresso that the waiter has just placed down, and I can literally see his mind racing.
I clear my throat and get to my feet, taking the four paces that get me to the side of his table. ‘Hello,’ I say, looking down at him.
‘I’m taken,’ he mutters, not allowing his line of sight to falter as he reaches for his coffee.
His declaration brings the biggest smile to my face. ‘Well, that’s a shame.’ I sigh, feigning disappointment. ‘I’ve been a naughty girl and need my arse spanking.’
His coffee pauses halfway to his mouth and his face slowly turns up to me. I grin, and Becker gapes, lifting up his shades to reveal wide, shocked, hazel eyes. ‘What the fuck?’ he coughs, dropping his cup to the table and shooting up from his chair. ‘Eleanor?’
‘Hi!’
‘Sweet mother of fucking God.’ He grabs my arm and yanks me down to a seat, looking around nervously. I can’t stop myself. I dive forward and smash my lips to his, and he doesn’t fight me off. I don’t know what’s come over me. Relief? I hear him groan, feeling his tongue lapping gently across mine, before he growls and forces me back into my chair. Reaching down to his groin, he rearranges himself on a few shifts of his body before landing me with the filthiest glare. ‘Explain, princess,’ he orders threateningly. ‘Now.’
All of the nerves I was feeling disintegrate under his death glare. He has a cheek. ‘You explain, you sly bastard,’ I retort sharply, making sure he knows I mean business. I don’t know why I’ve been so worried. It’s him who should be fretting after the stunt he’s pulled. It’s him who should be worried about the wrath he will face. ‘“I need you more than I need the treasure.”’ I parrot his words in a pathetically condescending tone. ‘Yeah, right.’ Leaning forward in my chair, I drill holes in him with my pissed-off glare. ‘Don’t think you can get away with leaving me in London while you play daredevil, Hunt. All or nothing.’
His jaw twitches, and then he pushes forward and gets right up close to my face. ‘Get up,’ he orders, and I slowly rise, never letting my angry eyes waver from his. His hand goes into his pocket and pulls out a note. It reminds me of my little predicament.
‘Oh.’ I smile sweetly. ‘Would you mind?’ I hand him my bill, and he frowns at me. ‘Lost my purse.’
‘You lost your purse?’ he asks, eyebrow hitched in question. My face flames bright red, no matter how hard I try to stop it. He laughs. ‘You got pick-pocketed, didn’t you?’
‘No.’ I pull off outraged incredibly well, considering I’m faking it.
‘I don’t fucking believe it,’ he mutters, rolling his eyes. ‘My wife-to-be got conned. This is the worst day ever.’ He tosses down another note before taking my arm and leading me across the square, constantly peeking around. He isn’t speaking, his anger palpable, and it’s refuelled my nerves. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but . . . yikes.
Pulling me down an alleyway, he stops, swings me around, and pushes me front forward into a wall. I yelp, knowing what he has planned. I don’t fight. I may as well just get my punishment out of the way. Then I’ll rip him to shreds.
My dress is yanked up, my knickers shoved to the side, and his palm comes down on a punishing, belter of a smack. ‘Fuck, Becker!’ I’m being spun back around in the blink of an eye and thrust up against the wall.
He gets his angry face up close again. ‘I’m fucking furious, Eleanor,’ he whispers menacingly, threading his fingers through my black, glossy bob. ‘And if this isn’t a wig, I’m going to spank you until your hair has grown back and returned to its natural colour.’
‘It’s a wig,’ I murmur, watching as he visibly deflates in relief.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he hisses. ‘And where’s your phone?’
‘I left it at The Haven. Do you think I’m stupid, Hunt? I know your little whizz kid will be keeping tabs on my movements.’
‘I should have had a fucking chip put under your skin.’
