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He’s right, this isn’t the office. I don’t have to rein myself in here. I don’t have grit my teeth and bear him for the sake of the family business and maintaining a clean appearance in front of the other traders.
My intention is to put fear into Jack, but then I see her. She’s blurry in the background, but her tall frame and light golden hair are unmistakable. The way my heart is so desperate to break free of my chest is making me shake. And I can only hope that he doesn’t mistake it for weakness.
“Fuck!” Freddie grits, closing in on Jack and me as Cassie and her friend start towards us, Christopher following behind.
“You go near her again, and I’ll fucking end you.” Pressing my thumb to his jugular, I relish the way his pulse hammers and his face pales further. “This isn’t the office, Jack.”
“Drop, Leo!” Freddie yanks hard on Jack’s T-shirt, pulling him out of my grip. “Run along, pup,” teasing, he pushes Jack away from me, towards the stairs.
It’s obvious Jack’s about to fuck off, but when he spots Cassie, he turns back to me and grins. It’s cold and jarring as he spits, “You have no idea who you’re fucking with.”
A laugh rips from Freddie, and something about the unfazed look Jack gives him irks me. He doesn’t feel threatened at all, and as if to solidify my thought, he makes a show of approaching Cassie and says loudly, “Thanks for the dance, sweet cheeks. I’ll be seeing you around.”
Over my dead body, I tell myself, barely able to keep from making good on my promise. Studying her reaction, I can’t make out whether or not she wants to see him again. I want to say that she’s shunning him, but her composed exterior gives nothing away.
That only pisses me off more. I want to fucking shake her and tell her how dangerous he is.
Freddie steps in front of me as I move forwards, I know he’s trying to stop things from escalating, but that’s not who he is. Freddie is the first person to act and then think, and when Jack takes a step closer to his cousin, he lunges at them, his foot cracking on the loose stone floor as he slams his hand into Jack’s shoulder. “Get! Tsss…”
Sauntering away, Jack gives him the middle finger, grinning at Cassie and her friend. My stomach twists at the way she follows him with her big doll eyes, and the more I watch her, the more I can’t bear the aching pull that makes it impossible for me to walk away.
Every time I see her it gets stronger and more difficult to ignore. It gets harder to fight my need to reach out and touch her again, this time feeling her skin. I want to run my thumb across those plump lips of hers and press it between them, so I know what it feels like to be inside her in some way.
Shit, what’s happening to me?
“Stay away, Leo.” Christopher stops beside me on his way out.
“Protect her better, then.” He looks at me, anger brimming in his eyes, and honestly, I couldn’t give two fucks as her head turns to me. Her eyes narrow on mine and she starts to close the space between us.
I watch the way her long legs eat up the small distance. The grey knit of her dress rides up her curves and God, I want to snatch her away from here. But Christopher is right—I need to stay way.
With a groan I look away and force myself to leave. I can’t help but smile when she asks Christopher, “Who’s that?”
There’s no reply from him and fully expecting her to drop her question, my heart drops to my belly when she presses, “Christopher?”
“Oooo,” Freddie sings, “do you have a little crush, Princess?”
“Fuck you, arsehole.” A loud thwack sounds behind me followed by a louder groan, “Oi! That fucking hurt, Cass. I need all the brain cells in here.”
“Really? I didn’t realise you had any at all.”
Resisting the urge to look back, I get into my Maserati. Sinking into the red buttery leather as I smile to myself.
“Of all the fucking stupid things you could do.” My brother sighs in the passenger seat. “Leo…”
“You worry about you, Kit.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay well away from her.”
I’m trying, but I have no idea how much longer I can fight myself.
Chapter 4
Leo
I look at the time on the Breguet adorning my wrist—my mother is late, again. I’ve been sitting at the Café at the National Gallery, waiting almost an hour for her to take a break from the project she’s currently working on. They’ve closed five of the main rooms for conservation, and she’s been living at the gallery night and day, except when she’s lecturing.
“I’m so sorry!” Squeezing my shoulders from behind, she kisses the top of my head, like I’m still the little boy she used to bring to work with her. “It’s hectic up there, and as always we’re running behind.”
