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Twenty-Three
Aidan
I waitedfor her by the private elevator that would take us to The 68. The elevator only stopped on five floors in the entire building—Conor’s apartment, a communal gym and spa, The 68, the ground floor and the private parking garage.
The second I saw her though, the last thing I wanted was to walk through those doors and step amid the patrons of a busy bar.
She looked like sin and fire and lust personified.
Dressed in a pantsuit, sharp and tight, tailored to her every curve, she had a white shirt beneath it and a black tie around her throat.
Even though it was a masculine look, I’d never seen anything more innately feminine. Her make-up shielded all the bruises, and she looked like a goddamn angel sent to torment me with those golden brown eyes that saw too much I wanted to hide from her.
Her tits looked huge, her ass round, and everything else was delicate, from her small wrist which housed a man’s Rolex, to the necklace she wore that hovered above her tie, and, when she approached, I saw was a diamond pendant shaped like a paw.
Her heels were high stilettos and she moved toward me atop them like she was floating, not wearing torture devices. Considering she’d mentioned her ankles were sore from last night, I wasn’t sure if she was just insane or trying to drivemecrazy.
Still, she walked in them with ease, and a scan of her face revealed no micro-expressions of pain, so I didn’t call her out on them because, to be frank, she looked banging.
She was expensive, she reeked of it, and I was more than willing to pay for everything that went beneath that goddamn suit. Christ, I even wanted those spikes to be burrowed in the small of my back as I fucked her.
She smirked at me when she was within touching distance, and I couldn’t find it in me to give a damn.
"Thank fuck you never looked like that on TVGM or I’d have had to kill that co-anchor bastard," I growled as she pushed the button for the elevator and strolled inside when the doors parted for her.
"I only got away with wearing the suit because they were all afraid of me. They wanted everyone in dresses, but not me. Something to do with you, I assume," she told me calmly as I moved to stand beside her.
"I didn’t think I threw that much weight around, but I must have made it known you were off limits. I’m glad I did."
"I think when you tell people to jump, they don’t just obey, they drop off the side of a cliff too to make sure they don’t piss you off."
"Why do I think you like that?" I drawled as I pressed the button for the bar.
"You know I like that."
"A therapist would have a field day if he knew that Isardo’s death brought about the obsession with the mafia and now, somehow, you cream your panties over the craziest mobster shit." I kept my eyes fixed on her, not even bothering to glance at the floor numbers that counted down as we traveled.
"Oh, trust me, they’ve had a lot to say over the years." She stepped closer to me and pressed a hand to my chest. "Doesn’t take away from the fact that my pussy’s wet, does it?"
My nostrils flared as I thrust my good leg between hers and slowly walked her back into the wall.
"You want to play with fire?"
"You know I do," she crooned.
"Thought you were giving me the cold shoulder." She’d been quiet all day, which made me think she was still sulking over our little argument.
"What about me feels cold to you?"
"True. Did you change the bandage on your thigh?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes."
That eye roll had me frowning at her, and I reached up and traced my finger along the line of her jaw. "Don’t judge me for caring for you, Savannah."
She gulped. "No. You’re right. Sorry."
I grunted, but carried on with my investigation.
