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“Yes.” I’m helpless against infectious laughter adding, “Like the tea you and Burt—”
“Duke of Arlington!” A member of the paparazzi runs toward Victor and me, stiff-arming guards as he asks how Victor’s grandmother feels about me.
“I don’t bloody care.”
“This is your first relationship on record since—”
Like a cobra, Victor’s hands strike, clasping the man’s collar. “Get the fuck out of here, wanka!”
He thrusts the man like a bowling ball into two guard’s arms, almost striking them all down.
The paparazzo’s statement echoes in my head: “This is the first relationship on record since . . .”
I blink a few times, and Victor’s standing before me, cracking the tension in his neck while smoothing the lapel of his suit.
“What was he—”
“I’ve no idea what rubbish thetosserwas spouting.”
“Do you?”
“Listen.” Victor descends on me, and I feel tiny and helpless beneath his imposing height. A sinful fire blazes into indigo. His eyes will forever draw me in. “Today’s about you and me, Luxury. Fuck everyone else, yeah?”
35
Victor
Hands gripping the side of the heated indoor pool, I lift myself up and out of the warm water. Muscles scream from the hundred fucking laps I just did.
I tell myself I’d not deceived Luxury yesterday evening.
The paparazzi wanker, tossed out on his fucking ear, could’ve wanted to discuss a myriad of topics—
Overton.
Emeli
Or . . .
Either way, he aimed to get a rise out of me. Luxury hadn’t relaxed until we took a helicopter ride over the Eiffel Tower. By dinner, my Little One had returned. By dessert, she was screaming my bloody name with such fierceness that it’s a surprise the windows didn’t burst.
I grab a towel and glare at Graham. The bloke’s still in pajama pants. A dusting of hair covers a chest that’s confused as to whether it should be scrawny or muscular, as both bone and muscle bloody protrude.
“Bravo, big brother, you’ve gotten in your morning exercise as have I.” Graham scoops up a spoonful of beans.
“Instead of coming home with a new ‘fiancée’ each time that tiny brain of yours considers England, you should take better care of yourself.”
“Tsk. I just said this is my workout.” He lifts a fork of sliced tomatoes like one would a dumbbell. “Moreover, the chef makes sure I get my veggies. These grilled mushrooms and the kippers, I’m delighted.” He stops to pick up my ringing phone. “Monica—oh, the manly chap?”
I seize my mobile from his hands as he chuckles.
“What?”
“Jackson Redfield has been spotted by our liaison at the airport.”
“As of when?” My demeanor stiffens.
Graham’s smile fades. “What’s going on, brother?”
