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Robby nods along, eager I’ve taken his advice to heart. “Yes, Boss. That can all be done.”
“But understand, Robby,” I continue, the chill returning in my tone, “she stays alive. You are not to hurt a hair on her head. You will treat her respectfully…as one of my personal guests.”
Robby doesn’t agree. His sweaty face flickers with quick distaste before he forces it away. A sneer replaces it as he says, “That must be some tail. I need to find one to blow some steam off.”
I don’t bother correcting him. He doesn’t need to know the truth. I haven’t had a taste of the pussy. Yet.
It’s almost midnight by the time Robby and I finish discussing business. I return to the penthouse suite Falynn is in, expecting her to be in bed already. Possibly staging another one of her hunger or sleep strikes like the last two nights. Both have failed, but it doesn’t seem to deter her stubborn ass from trying.
But I’m wrong. I enter the suite and find her parked on the sofa in the living area. She’s wearing one of my gym shirts. An ugly, old Yankees T-shirt that has faded over time—perhaps the oldest piece of clothing I have. On her svelte curves, though, it looks anything but old and ugly; she’s breathing new, sexy life into the thing.
Does she have anything on underneath?Fuck.
Just her panties. As she sits curled up on the sofa, her shapely bare legs are in full view. Those creamy, smooth, golden-brown legs of hers as my shirt cuts off midthigh. Her curls are free and wild, inviting imagery of being tousled in bed. She hugs a throw pillow with a casual air, like she doesn’t look sexy as fuck sprawled on my sofa, half-naked.
This is a trap. Another one like last night, where she danced for me. She shook that fine ass of hers, got me under her trance, and then stole my gun and whacked me with it.
I stand by the door, unclasping my watch. While habit, it also buys me a few seconds to compose myself. My gaze travels over to the movie playing on the big screen.
“You’re up,” I say. “And you’re watchingReservoir Dogs.”
“When I agreed to a Quentin Tarantino movie night, I meant it. With or without you.”
I cross the room and lower myself onto the larger sofa. “I was handling—”
“Business, yada, yada, yada. I know,” she huffs, sitting up. She criss-crosses her legs, the pillow in her lap. I’m half distracted by the flash of pink from underneathmyT-shirt.
Pink panties. Satiny ones.
“I had no idea you would raid my closet.” I gesture to the T-shirt.
She glances down the front, staring at the faded letters. “Oh, this? I found it by accident. The negligees from Agent Provocateur are gorgeous, but this is comfier. I would’ve asked, but then I remembered you were not to be interrupted.” She mimics my stern tone, wagging a finger. “Conducting vital, world-changing business or whatever. So I put it on anyway. Do you mind?”
“I do if it means you’ll strip it off right here.”
“Nice try, it stays on.” She crosses her arms decidedly. “I always watch a movie before bed. It helps me unwind. Which reminds me, speaking of bed,whenhave you been sleeping?”
“I don’t sleep much.”
“Sleep is a basic human function. Of course you sleep.”
“Two to four hours. At most.”
“Are you kidding? No wonder you’re so cranky!”
I cock a brow. “I am notcranky.”
The face she makes is the definition ofif you say so. It’s bothersome and amusing and endearing all at once. I want to kiss it off of her. Then do other things to make her squirm and punish her for such boldness.
“The past two nights, I’ve fallen asleep and you’re awake. I wake up and you’re awake,” she goes on with an incredulous head shake. “You must be a vampire or something.”
“Not a vampire. Just an insomniac.”
“Enzo’s an insomniac. He became one after his mom passed.”
“Forgive me if I’m not interested in hearing about your poor, street thug boyfriend.”
I don’t like when she mentions him, but upon seeing her reaction, I regret my rudeness. She gives me the silent treatment, glaring at the screen. Her grip on the throw pillow gives her away; her fingers dig into the edges, a sign of agitation.
