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She draws her shoulders back. "You really haven’t changed your philandering ways, have you?"
"Why should I, when the ladies find me irresistible?" I smirk.
Her scowl deepens. "And your ego is bigger than I remember it to be."
"Not just my ego, Sparrow." I smirk again.
"Eww! Cringe! Did you just imply what I think you did?" She scoffs. "Also, don’t call me by that name."
"Why? Does it bother you?"
“I hate it.” She swipes her hair over her shoulder.
“I’ll make sure to use it more often, then.”
She opens and shuts her mouth. "You’re an asshole."
I look her up and down. “And you’re still a spoiled mafia princess."
Her cheeks turn fiery. Then she slides her handbag over her shoulder. "Riveting as this meeting has been, I should be getting along."
She begins to walk past me, when I lower my voice to a hush, "Sparrow, get in the car."
2
Abby
I get in the car.
Goddamn him for having that effect on me. He could ask me to lie on the ground in front of him, naked, and I’d do it. There was something about the hushed quality of his voice that brooked no argument. Something in his tone that called to me and insisted I comply. And I did. I slid into the car, and he followed me in, then asked for my address. I wanted to refuse to give it to him, but considering I was already in the car, that would have been childish, so I told him, and he directed the chauffeur. Yep, he has a car and driver who, apparently, followed him as he’d chased after the thief who tried to rob my bag. A-n-d, the car's a Jaguar, no less.
I take in the plush leather seats, the scent of luxury that pervades the interior. Clearly, Cade is doing well. I knew, of course, from all the reports of him in the newspapers. Not that I've been stalking him or following him or anything like that. I work in entertainment PR, so of course, it’s my job to keep track of celebrities and newsmakers. And Cade, being the captain of the English cricket team, definitely counts among them.
After a ten-minute ride—during which neither of us speak—we draw up in front of my apartment building.
By the time I push open my door, he’s already out and holding it open for me. I get out of the car, walk past him, then key in the passcode to the front door. He follows me up the narrow staircase to the second floor, then waits as I open my apartment door. I turn and glance at a spot over his shoulder. "You can go now."
"No."
I jerk my gaze to his face. "What do you mean?"
"Invite me in."
I set my jaw. "Why should I?"
"I could say it’s because your brother is my best friend. That we knew each other when we were young. That we need to speak. But really, you should because"—he scans my features—“you want to."
I swallow. My lower belly clenches. A pulse blooms to life between my legs, and a shiver runs down my spine. Damn him. He knows how affected I am by his nearness. He knows how much that chocolate and cream stern-Daddy voice of his affects me.OMG, did I just refer to him as Daddy? I referred to him as Daddy. What is wrong with me? Why would I think of him in that way?Clearly, the years of being ignored by my own father has something to do with my being attracted to that forbidding tone of his.
"Did you say something?" he rumbles.
"Wh-what?" I clear my throat. "Why would you say that?"
"Because I think you asked me to come in."
I scoff, "I didn’t."
He arches an eyebrow, and good god, my panties almost combust. Cade-fucking-Kingston is a master at being able to convey his disapproval without saying a word. And why is that so freakin’ hot? The man’s three years older than me. That’s not much at all, but considering just how much he’s filled out over the years, how his shoulders have broadened until they seem to shut out everything else from my vision, how the thick muscles of his biceps bunch as he slaps a hand on either side of the door, has my toes curling, my knees shaking, my thighs quivering, and OMG, my nipples tightening into pinpoints of desire that scream that I should not only invite him into the house, but also into my bed.
