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“You’ll regret that,” he said.
“I doubt it,” I snapped, tossing my hair and giving him a look of pure disdain that I didn’t feel.
He can never know the truth, I thought as I turned on my heel and walked away. He could never know how much I regretted slapping him. That I regretted putting an end to the beautiful madness of it all.
The truth was, walking away from him was one of the hardest things I had done in my life.
Chapter Eleven
Vincent
“How many days are we gonna do this, Boss?”
I glared at Tiny’s reflection in the rearview mirror, then turned back to the window. We were two blocks from Francesca’s house. Her lair, really.
The she-devil had been evading me for weeks now. She’d spun her web over me, tormented me with the incredible passion of that kiss, smacked me, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. She had ignored my messages ever since that day in the park.
Hidden herself from me.
From what I could tell, the damned woman hadn’t even left her mansion in that entire time. And I had a team on her twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. Not to mention these little excursions, driving past her house like a love-sick kid on a ten-speed, which were starting to become habit forming.
Once or twice, my guys had gotten pictures of her in her window. I stared hungrily toward what I assumed was her bedroom, hoping to catch sight of her in the mullioned glass. But so far, nothing.
People came and went from the wide set of heavy wood double-doors. I assumed they were doing her bidding. But there was not even a glimpse of the woman herself.
But in my imagination, there was. Oh, Christ, there was way more than a glimpse. Not just fuzzy pictures through a window. My imagination conjured Francesca up in all her glory. Naked, writhing, and begging for me.
I could barely stop thinking about her since the moment she’d slapped me. She had been trying to turn me off. Instead, she had turned a cute little fire into an inferno. Before that moment, I’d thought I was in deep. But after?
I was not just in a pit. I was in hell. Feeling hot all the time. Desperate. Angry.
And all that from one goddamned kiss.
I’d never felt anything like it. The way she felt in my arms was explosive and all-encompassing. I’d never felt anything so right.
I could still fucking feel her under my empty hands and lips. Just an echo of her touch after all this time. But she was there, branded into my skin.
And I needed to feel her again. I needed to get close to her. I needed to know her.
“Movement,” a voice marred by static said. I grabbed the walkie-talkie Tiny held through the glass partition.
“Where?”
“There is a back door we hadn’t spotted before. Looks like a service entrance to a neighboring building. Southeast corner.”
“Go,” I hissed to Tiny, wondering if we had somehow missed her coming and going all this time or if this was an aberration, a change to her schedule. My new team was in place starting today. For the past few weeks, it had just been my guys, not trained security. But it was still surprising that something had slipped through the cracks. Heads were going to fucking roll when we got back to the mansion. “Send visuals,” I snapped into the receiver.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head when the shots appeared on my phone.
Francesca. But not in her signature white. Not looking all powerful, confident, or merciless. Beautiful, yes. Seductively feminine. But also . . . unspeakably sad.
Her arms were wrapped around her middle, though it did nothing to hide her glorious curves in the simple dark blue long-sleeved tee she wore. Her lovely head was ducked slightly as she seemed to curve in around herself in a protective way. Her long, dark hair was unstyled in loose, natural waves and falling over her slender back. Those long legs of hers were encased in tight classic blue denim that hugged her unstoppable ass in a ridiculously sexy way. Her pouty lips were free from lipstick. She didn’t seem to be wearing makeup at all.
Somehow, she looked even more beautiful than she normally did dressed in her pristine white and wearing her signature red lipstick. Certainly, she looked more beautiful than a mortal woman should. There was something otherworldly about her looks, ethereal and regal. But she looked vulnerable in a way I had never seen her before or imagined her to be.
Not weak. Never weak. But completely and utterly alone.
I cursed at the massive sunglasses she wore. It wasn’t even sunny out. She was hiding her eyes. I had a sudden insight that she’d been crying, and more than a little.
