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As the car takes off, Oriana’s jet-black ponytail swishes invitingly right before my eyes. Five minutes into our journey, Alonso’s phone chimes with a text message.
It’s the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. While he’s distracted typing out a reply, I feel for the scissors in my small handbag. I carefully remove them, lean forward, pretending to adjust my sandal strap, ready for action.
But I hesitate, my conscience piping in. I’m not that much of a bitch.
With a sigh, I hide the scissors in my bag again. They might come in handy later.
Alonso taps my elbow, and when I look at him, he gives me an approving nod.
Nothing seems to go unnoticed by this man. Though it’s nice to know he wouldn’t have stopped me… at least I assume he wouldn’t have.
It’s strange to think he’d have my back and not Oriana’s. Maybe he doesn’t like her either.
He leans over and whispers into my ear, “I think you should give me those scissors.”
Bugger!
I hand him my handbag. “What, are you a hairdresser now?”
He only grins.
“Did you enjoy your massage, princess?” Gualtiero asks, rising from his seat to greet me, placing a soft kiss on my cheek.
He’s changed into a dark-blue suit with a crisp white shirt and looks simply edible. My heart does a little jump when I take in his aftershave. I’m transported back to when we first met and the way his scent alone would set me on fire.
I’m tempted to linger a little longer, so I close my eyes and swallow the lump in my throat and pull away.
After everything he’s put me through, how can he still affect me like that?
Even knowing what he does for a living doesn’t convince my hormones to let it go.
Gualtiero studies me and, with a knowing smirk, pulls out my chair to seat me. Thankfully, this is all that’s needed to erect the walls around my heart again. I’m horrified at how quickly they’d crumbled.
I’m surprised at how pleasant he is. I expected his anger for being more than an hour late for lunch, but he’s charming and happy to see me.
Shoot, my plan to annoy him backfired.
Duh.
Of course, my entourage would tell him about my delay, and he adjusted his schedule accordingly.
“You look even more beautiful when you’re relaxed. You’ve got a glow about you… I’ll book you an appointment every week,” he says with a warm smile.
He seems in a better mood than when I left him at the warehouse, less tense. His business must have gone well. I sure as hell won’t ask, though.
For starters, he won’t tell me anyway, and second, do I really want to know? After considering it some more, the answer is a resoundingno.
“It would have been more relaxing if I didn’t have my shadow in the room with me.”
Gualtiero’s warm smile doesn’t falter. “Oriana is under strict instructions never to take her eyes off you.”
“So I heard. Was I in that much danger on a massage table?” I ask with a tinge of sarcasm.
“You never know who pays people off. The masseuse could have drugged you or do God knows what to you while you lay on that table. As I said before, I don’t take any chances with you.”
There really isn’t much point in arguing with him. I clearly don’t understand the world he operates in, nor do I want to. So I drop the subject.
When I first arrived at the restaurant, Gualtiero was saying goodbye to a skinny, nerdy-looking guy, who seemed somewhat familiar.
