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He gets out of the vehicle and holds out his hand, helping me from the car. “Do as I ask, Bella,” he instructs.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and walk the short distance from the car to the door, intentionally not looking at the blood pooling all over the concrete that I saw from the car. One of these men was watching my home, with who knows what intent. A chill snakes down the length of my spine, causing my body to grow cold, even though the desert sun is warming the day.
At least one of these men, maybe more, were sent to my neighborhood to keep their eyes on me. To at least follow, who knows, maybe even to torture and kill me as Lorenzo suggested. I glance out the window of the boutique after I enter, watching as Lorenzo walks toward a police cruiser that’s pulling into the lot.
Dominic and Emelia are watching from the window with the salesclerk too. He intermittently texts with someone, no doubt the men who stopped my abduction with machine guns who are long gone by now.
Dominic folds a wad of cash into the shopkeeper’s hands. She smiles up at him before turning to Emelia. “We have been very busy looking at dresses. I saw nothing. Which ones do you like?” she says to Emelia, as I pretend to browse through a rack display.
Emelia holds up a few dresses, and the De Rosa princess could not be any more accommodating with first a sad look, then a locked jaw expression as Dominic holds her arm in place, and then a fleeting moment of her looking at the exit as though it may be her only chance for escape. I can only hope my camera captured the brief moments. But only someone looking for signs of her being held against her will, like another crime family who understands the traditions of taking the rival’s daughters as an act of revenge would notice the subtleties; otherwise, to everyone else in the world, they will be portrayed as two lovers selecting a dress for an upcoming funeral, which is exactly what it is.
I don’t have to see him to know that Lorenzo just walked through that door, because I can feel him in my veins. I turn and watch the panther-like movements, his powerful thighs striding toward me in his black Armani suit and dress shoes as Dominic and Emelia leave, walking hand in hand through the front of the store.
“Get everything you need?” he asks.
I nod. “The images will speak volumes to those looking for signs, but I hardly think a few pictures like that are going to make anyone think that she’s been abducted,” I tell him.
He smirks. “A letter has been sent to the family, and where there are couriers, associates, and soldiers there are always leaks to the enemy, Bella.” His brows knit as though remembering something. “Where’s your phone?”
I smile. “In my purse, why?”
“You don’t use your phone for pics?”
Now he’s got me. I shrug. “Secrets of the trade,” I tell him. “Besides, have you ever tried to blow up pictures from a phone camera as large as we need them to be?”
He shakes his head. “Can’t say that I have.” He looks like he’s going to ask me more, but a black dress on the mannequin catches his eye. The long-sleeved dress has a fitted bodice with a scooped neck, a cinched waist, and then falls gently around the mannequin’s ankles.
He rakes his eyes over me, taking in every single inch of me, the heat from his gaze igniting the flame that never seems to dull when he is around. “Size six?” he asks.
I nod. He definitely knows women’s sizes.
“We only have two in of its kind, and you’re in luck.”
My eyes narrow at the infamous playboy. “You’re very good at guessing sizes. Must come with a lot of practice. I have plenty of clothes back at my place, though.”
Lorenzo pays no attention to what I’ve said. “We’ll take the dress,” he tells the shopkeeper, who beams up at him as though he’s given her the best gift in the world.
“Very few shops carry what we do. She will be the only one wearing it in town,” she says.
“Excellent.” He pulls out his wallet and hands her a credit card.
I scowl at him, but he only smirks. “Do you want shoes, or will you wear those fancy black boots you had on the other day? They were hot,” he says.
My cheeks heat, but I don’t say anything as the shopkeeper returns with a bag and his card. “Thank you for your business, Mr. Larussio,” she says, her eyes devouring him. She doesn’t even glance at me now that she knows exactly who he is. I could be nonexistent for all she cares.
He takes my arm and leads me from the store as the woman continues to ogle him. “You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper hiss on the way to the car. “I have clothes.”
Lorenzo opens the door for me to get in and goes around to the other side, sliding into the plush leather seats that have already gotten warm with the midday sun. He pushes a button on the side of the sedan, and a pane of dark smoked glass slides into place between us and the driver.
I turn to him. “We should probably get something straight right here and now. Just because you employ me, and probably just saved me from a night of torture, does not mean you get to act like you own me, because…”
His hand snakes around the back of my neck, pulling me to him, his mouth descending but not capturing my lips. Instead he hovers so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath, smell the mint of his mouth. “Because what? Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you, or stroke you where you ache, Bella?” he says against my lips while his thumb caresses that spot right in the center of my nape that sends tingles down my spine.
I can’t, because we both know that I do…
His mouth captures mine, closing off any chance of an argument I didn’t intend to make, causing my head to swim and body to burn with unleashed desire. His hand tangles in my hair, tilting my head so he can explore deeper, allowing us to savor the moment, while his other hand covers my breast. “So beautiful,” he whispers against my lips, only letting me come up for air a brief moment before sealing my lips again.
My nipples strain against the thin material as he strokes first one tip and then the other. He captures the little sounds between us, absorbing those as quickly as he causes me to murmur more. When he slowly breaks our kiss, his eyes are hazy and passionate, and no doubt mirror my own.
