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THIRTY
REBECCA
“Show me,” Julian growledfrom the other side of the dressing room door.
“It’s a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt,” I glanced at my butt in the mirror.
The thrift store left a little to be desired in looks, but the designer finds were amazing. Most with the tags too. Like these Lucky jeans and Versace tee-shirt. I didn’t even know Versace made tee-shirts.
The week had gone by so fast, mostly because we kept moving north. Taking back roads, stopping for hours on end to make sure no one followed us. Those moments were intense when we just looked at each other. Wanting each other. Not knowing what was right and wrong anymore. Some hotels had two beds and those nights I felt so alone. And when we slept in one bed, the tension of him being so close wrecked me.
“Vanessaaaaa,” Julian called out the alias he let me pick.
“You’re so impatient.” I opened the door and the sight of him never failed to take my breath away. In suits and even in that bloodied dress shirt the other night, Julian Russo looked lethally gorgeous.
Put him in a pair of jeans and a hoodie? Can you say gangsta-gorgeous?
He whistled. “Turn around.”
“This isn’t a fashion show and why do you need to see my butt?” I regretted the question the second it came out of my mouth.
He held my face with enough force to get my heart racing. “Why do you think I need to see your butt?”
I’d felt the tension from him growing stronger the last couple of days. Accidental touches became more frequent, the stares lingered. Julian tended to stay in his towel after a shower a little longer every day.
Each day without getting some kind of word from my men, or even Vale who had Gil to help find me, I worried I’d been wrong about them. That I’d been wrong about everything. My trust in everyone that once felt so secure crumbled a little more each day. Was this Stockholm Syndrome taking root, where I started to trust Julian more every day as my faith in everyone else chipped away piece by piece? Or was everything I knew to be true actually false? My world had turned upside down and I felt like the only thing keeping me from drowning was a G-man who no longer looked like the enemy, but my anchor.
It became confusing at one point. Was I his hostage? I couldn’t deny how I felt about Julian. The lengths he’d gone through to protect me, the risks he took were making me fall in love with him.
Turning around slowly, I stopped a quarter of the way and said, “I’m hungry.”
“So am I,” he responded right away with the look he often wore in a motel room. He often wore nothing but sweats, and I meant nothing but sweats, no shirt, no briefs. Erect cocks were hard to hide in sweats, and I suspected at this point, he was teasing me. Or tempting me. I felt so worn down with each day that passed. And yet invigorated each time I looked at that sly smile and those blue eyes that followed me so intensely.
A few other pairs of jeans in the same size hung in the dressing room and I chose not to try them on. I scooped everything up and opened the door. “I’m gonna wear this home.”
“Nice.”
“Do you have enough cash?” I asked him.
“Got it covered, gorgeous.”
“I want the receipt.” I had also snagged the box store’s receipt, noted the names of all the motels, the food we ate, and planned to send him a check for all of this.
Or maybe I should send cash, a check he might not cash, plus it could be traced if he did.
Julian paid the sales girl, who stared at his chestnut brown rumpled hair and blue eyes. He was so tall and built, I couldn’t help being attracted to him. Had Sebastien not claimed me in high school, I would have dated Julian in a heartbeat.
But with Sebastien, I never even looked at another boy. He’d consumed me. I choked up, missing him. I’d gotten him back after five years apart and now I’d been torn away from him again. Of all people, why wasn’t he tearing the world apart to find me?
Julian had me hidden very well. But how come Giancarlo didn’t find me? Were they even looking? Why couldn’t I hear the screams of flesh being knifed apart from Anthony interrogating everyone he knew?
Where are they? It felt so hard to not yell that out loud.
And I hated that Julian suspected them. Suspected they were staying out of the crosshairs so a hitman could cut me down. The more I defended them, the more I looked like a fool since it’d been a week and they’d not found me. Rescued me. Proved to me, they weren’t part of the hit.
In the car, Julian studied me at a traffic light. “You said you were hungry.”
“Yeah.” I brushed my hand through my hair.
“Then I shall feed you.” He stroked my cheek.
Shame spread through me, liking it so much. What was wrong with me? Giving in to Julian by questioning my men.
“What are you in the mood for?” Julian’s husky drawl killed me.
“I saw a place with salads and smoothies.”
He glanced at me. “Consider it done.”
We drove a few short blocks and he pulled into the strip mall. I stayed in the car because really, where could I go?
Julian came back with a bag and two filled plastic cups. One pink and one blue. Placing them in the cupholders, he said, “Thank you.”
“For?”
“Still being here. Trusting me.”
Sipping the blueberry smoothie, I said, “I have no reason not to trust you, Julian. You’re with the FBI. I assume you didn’t go through all that training to turn into a double agent looking to kill innocent women.”
“There’s a vote of confidence if I ever heard,” he said, then slurped the strawberry smoothie.
“You didn’t let me finish. Beyond that, yes, I trust you. Pat yourself on the back. You’ve hidden me very well.”
He didn’t respond, just bit down on his lower lip. As I went to ask him another question, he got out of the car again.
I exhaled, eyeing all the donuts and fritters lined up on shelves through the plate glass windows. Shampoo, makeup, designer jeans, smoothies, and delectable baked goods.
Julian came back and the smell of cinnamon and sugar filled the car interior.
“You really are evil,” I said.
“I laugh at guys who think they can get a woman to smile with expensive roses or diamonds.” He reached in the bag and held a hunk of frosted dough with steam rising from the torn-off piece. “I know what gets a woman all gooey.” He held it up to my mouth. When I tried to take it from him with my hand, he said, “Nope. Open your mouth.”
His voice hit my core. He knew I couldn’t run away. He knew he had me trapped.
I parted my lips and he placed the piece of apple fritter on my tongue. I saw stars it was so good.
Julian could have just handcuffed me to the bed and tossed me greasy burgers while making me wear the same smelly subway clothes. No, Julian treated me like...
Like a queen.
In second-hand designer threads, smoothies, and a mouthful of fritter.
*
