Page 8 of Ruthless Wars

margot: I supervised. And I’m a fast learner. Besides, everyone knows McLaren Spiders don’t have a spare. The tire’s patched, but irreparable.

jaclyn: I’m not even asking. But I’ll get someone out there. Seriously, are you sure you want to do this?

Pausing for a second, I think. Am I?

margot: I’m a woman of my word. And he needs me. There’s no one else he trusts. Will you visit?

jaclyn: Of course. The second you give the green light. Safe flight. Love you.

margot: Love you too. Give Dad an obnoxiously big hug and say it’s from me.

With a kissy-lips emoji, I close out the text and shut off my phone. Folding my legs beneath me, I relax into the jacket, slipping the collar to my nose to take a deep whiff. It’s light and musky, and more him than any cologne.

God, he smells good. Seriously, I’m never washing this.

Ever.

With the warmth of the jacket and the hum of the engines surrounding me, I hold my tablet in my lap, but my eyes close, succumbing to some long-overdue sleep.

Drifting off, I’m ready to meet my tall, dark stranger again. This time, the hood of the car is more my speed. And those irresistibly soft lips and wicked tongue are about to take the place of my missing panties.

Chapter Four

Margot

Stepping off a jet in Vienna always feels like coming home. Of course, nothing replaces being born and raised in the great state of Texas, but Dallas is a city in constant evolution—growing and changing right before my eyes.

Vienna, however, takes her time, evolving as a beauty in the heart of Europe. It’s why living here for months on end never bothers me.

“Margot!” a man too handsome for words calls out. His dark features and jet-black hair showcase the Spaniard in him, though his English holds only the faintest traces of what has to be the Austrian from his mother’s side.

With a genuine smile, I wave. Guillermo Fernando Rodriguez, whom I’ve affectionally teased with the nickname Roddie in private, is an aristocrat in name only.

Well, name and money.

And as such, he comes from a ridiculously long line of royalty, power players, and the crème de la crème of international society. His family tree is like a sketch filled with crowns and dollar signs.

“Guillermo,” I say, lightly giving his face two cheek-to-cheek kisses as I peer skeptically at the darkly tinted Mercedes he just climbed out of.

“It’s all right,” he says as he pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head. His dark eyes brim with concern. “It’s just us.”

“Don’t look so worried. You’ll wrinkle prematurely.” My hand smooths his cheek, not doing much to relax the tension in his jaw. “You’re not supposed to be picking me up. What’s going on?”

His sigh is heavy. “My family arrived early. Letting you find your own way to the chateau would be an insult on all accounts.”

I roll my eyes. “And I’m guessing that letting me drive would be equally as insulting to your family.”

“Just to my grandmother,” he says, nodding in exhaustion.

“Well, get my door,” I say with an elitist voice. “And kiss me right on the smacker for good measure. But let me grab my phone for a pic.”

Quick with the door, Roddie opens it, pausing and ready for my phone.

I stretch out my arm to capture us both in the frame. “You and your freakishly long arms will have to click the button.”

“You know what they say about men with long arms?” He waggles his brows, forcing a giggle from me.

“Please keep the conversation PG. The last thing I need rattling around my brain is any thought of your length.”

---