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“I do love that mind of yours,” he murmurs.
“And my tongue when I give you a lashing? My head when I butt you?”
“All that and so much more.”
I turn away from him. I shouldn’t flirt with him, but there are times when it is almost too easy to fall for his charm.
I glance back, and he winks at me. The man can be truly insufferable at times.
“Now, where were we? Which alliances are worth forging in this new era?” Xavier repeats with a wide smirk. “Which do you think?”
I turn slightly away from him so I can keep a careful eye on the comings and goings of the other people in the place. The dimly lit atmosphere of The Velvet Vibe shrouds the unfamiliar figure approaching me with a drink until he almost bumps into me. As he extends the glass, I hesitate. I don’t know who he is, and he hasn’t said a word. Does he think me naïve? What woman would accept a drink from a silent stranger?
My guarded instincts heighten, and just as I'm about to decline, Xavier slides over to stand between the stranger and me with an assertiveness that cuts through the subtle tension.
"Vanessa." Xavier's baritone voice is firm, and there's an unmistakable possessiveness in his demeanor. His proximity is a silent declaration, a subtle but commanding gesture that asserts his presence.
The unfamiliar man stiffens and draws back. A momentary flicker of uncertainty passes across his face, and he retreats slightly, recognizing the unspoken boundaries.
Xavier's gaze remains fixed on the unknown man, a silent warning that resonates within the confines of The Velvet Vibe. It's a manifestation of his protective nature, a quality that has emerged on numerous occasions in our shared history. Whether born out of genuine concern or a calculated move, Xavier's possessiveness is a facet of his character that often surfaces when stakes are high or uncertainties loom.
"Thank you, but no," Xavier states firmly, his tone brooking no argument.
The unknown man retreats into the shadows after placing the untouched drink on the bar. The subtle tension dissipates as Xavier's possessive stance lingers, a silent assertion of his role within the intricate dynamics of our interactions. Quickly, hegrabs the drink, and with a flicker of his wrist, he spills it down the sink the bartenders use.
He doesn’t… I doubt it had been poisoned, but it might’ve been drugged. Who was that man? Why me out of everyone here? And with Xavier right beside me, why would he approach? The entire thing strikes me as odd.
The episode serves as a reminder of the complexities woven into the relationships within the criminal underworld, where Xavier's possessive nature emerges as both a shield and a weapon in the ever-shifting landscape of power and alliances.
Perhaps Xavier didn’t mean to overstep, but I can’t help that a flicker of frustration courses through me, and I turn to address him, a defiant spark in my eyes.
"Xavier, I can handle myself," I assert.
His dark eyes smolder, and he leans toward me, a move that has more than subtle intimacy. "Vanessa," he says, his tone a low murmur, "there was another time when you told me that. We clashed, tempers flared, and the tension reached its peak."
He pauses, allowing the memory to hang in the air, the echoes of that past argument reverberating in the present. The shadows of The Velvet Vibe seem to weave around us, almost allowing us to exist in a world with no others. I remember that argument well.
"But," he continues, a wry smile playing on his lips, "we also found a way to make amends."
Yes. That argument had been resolved not with words but with a kiss, some drinks, and many more kisses, and fewer articles of clothing on our bodies…
CHAPTER 6
Xavier's gaze lingers, and he touches his nose to my ear. “What did you talk to Alex Schroeder about last night?”
His question hangs in the air, a subtle intrusion into the present moment that leaves me perplexed. The atmosphere in The Velvet Vibe, once charged with the echoes of our shared history, takes on a new layer of tension as I grapple with Xavier's inquiry.
"Last night?" I parrot.
I know exactly where I was when I spoke with Alex—at the bistro—and what we discussed, but I find myself questioning not only his knowledge but the possibility that he might be following my movements.
Xavier's gaze remains steady, a calculated intensity that seeks to pierce through the uncertainty. "I saw you with him," he says, his voice a low murmur. "It piqued my curiosity. What were you discussing?"
"We were just talking," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Casual conversation, nothing more. Why do you ask, Xavier? Are you keeping tabs on me?"
His response is measured, a blend of acknowledgment and a subtle deflection. "I have my sources," he says cryptically. "Inour world, information is a currency, and sometimes, it finds its way to me. You know how it goes."
The mention of sources does little to dispel the sense of unease settling between us. Xavier's words, veiled and loaded with implications, leave me questioning the intricacies of our interactions. The dance of power, trust, and surveillance within the criminal underworld is a delicate one, and at this moment, it seems that Xavier is probing the boundaries of that dance.
