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“Cade?” Redix watches. “Darlinnn?” He’s amused.
“What invitation?” she asks, swaying inches below my rising tower.
“The one that invites me to kick your ass after you do.”
She snaps her neck. “You don’t own him!”
I step in front of Redix, blocking her. “Like a gun, I do, bitch.”
It’s a rush I can’t stop to protect him, even from a drunk pain-in-the-ass holding a Coach bag.
“Alright, ladies.” Redix jumps up, wrapping his hand around my waist, pulling me into his embrace. “Ma’am, if you want a picture of me, she’s in it too.”
She glares at us before storming off. The maître d’, the sweet one, he’s right behind her and sweeping her out the door.
“Sorry, folks.” Redix politely waves his hand, announcing to the open room of dinner guests, “Dessert is on me.” Then he whispers in my ear, “And you, because fuck, that turned me on.”
He’s on cloud nine, holding my hand while he shakes the hands of the other dinner guests, who thank him as we leave—these folks he takes pictures with. But I’m not thrilled. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. But it hits me so fast with him I see red.
No, I see blood. Blood from our past. And blood in the future if anyone threatens him.
My temper always amuses him.
He has no idea.
It’s more now.
It’s a lethal deal.
We wait for the same chauffeur in the same Mercedes who dropped me off to pull up to the curb. Redix enjoys the time, kissing me and not caring about the paparazzi dickhead snapping pics feet away.
I ignore him too.
This is life with Redix, so I squelch my frustration about photos taken. His soft lips on mine make that a hard possibility until the Mercedes whisks us away.
When the chauffeur turns down Canal Street, Redix tells him, “Drive us up to Central Park and back, please. We want to enjoy the sights.”
The grip of his hand holding mine over the backseat lets go.
“I love it when you do that, Candy Cade.”
He slides closer to me while covertly sliding his hand under my ass on the seat, and my heart stutters.
“Why are you so protective over me now?”
His question reaches for my heart while the slick leather of the back seat lets him find his way to gathering up my short dress in his grasp until only my thong is in his way.
“Because you fought for me, so I’ll fight for you too.”
“Cade.” It stalls his advance, his eyes saddening. “I don’t want you getting hurt over me.”
It’s too late, and we both know it.
I lean toward his lips. “I’d do anything for you.” That past, this present, and the intensity of what we share makes my hips circle over his hand. “You don’t even need to ask.”
Desire shoots lightning across his eyes because he knows it.
“Anything?” he asks, his finger easing past my thin lace.
