Page 6 of Tempest

“Don’t let me keep you,” I say dryly, disengaging the lock.

The Lykan’s door opens in the opposite direction of regular cars, surprising and confusing Mila further. Ardyn doesn’t react, simply stepping around Mila and reluctantly sliding in beside me.

“Hello, princess.” I greet her with a wretched smile.

Her thigh brushes up against mine, and I’m almost positive she shudders at the contact.

Grinning, I lean back in my seat. Maybe my night isn’t shot to shit after all.

Mila follows, pouting as she gets comfortable and shutting the door behind her.

I rev the engine, the roar echoing down the street and well into Central Park. Mila bites her lip and wriggles in her seat, sensing another chance to turn me on by flattering my car and, therefore, my big dick prowess. Ardyn remains as stiff as the bodyguard who trails her every move, with her ratty canvas tote covering the tops of her legs as if she’s afraid I’d try to pry them wide open and slide my hand through her pussy.

The thought brings a foreign stiffness to my jaw. I quell the urge to bite the frown off her face, but not before I suck her taste into my mouth. What would she taste like, I wonder? Poisoned apple? Tart cherries?

“Where to, ladies?” I grit out.

“Clover didn’t tell you?” Mila says.

“Only that I was to pick you two up at this location and be discreet about it.” I splay one arm to indicate the obnoxiously loud rumble of my car. “Clo always tells our family what a wonderful listener I am.”

“You could’ve really screwed up our plans if anyone we knew saw this,” Ardyn pouts.

“Oh,” I say with awed wonder as I turn into traffic. “She speaks without permission. Signal the guards.”

“I know how to speak my mind,” Ardyn retorts. “I just choose to do it to people who deserve the attention.”

I mime being stabbed in the chest. “Ouch.”

She shakes her head in annoyance in my periphery, arms folded and staring straight ahead.

“Sweet plaid, by the way. Am I taking you to a lumberjack event or a maple syrup-eating contest?”

“To Bowery and Third,” Ardyn answers as if I were her taxi driver and doesn’t react to my quip. Rude.

“The East Village. Boring. Why?”

“There’s an art auction I’m interested in.”

“Doubly boring,” I muse as I take us out of the Upper West Side.

At Ardyn’s response, any intellectual interest I have in her wanes. Art is pretty, I suppose, in the eye of the beholder and all that. Technology interests me more, especially Kaine Industries’ usage of mathematical and statistical modeling to predict how an investment will perform. Ardyn likely knows nothing about it with her head in the clouds. Coupled with how high her father keeps her above the city’s comings and goings, there’s a lack of proper oxygen, too.

Too bad. I would’ve enjoyed digging into her brain matter while convincing her to pop open the buttons of her shirt. I wonder if she’s as dirty underneath her clothes, too.

Ardyn continues, “Rumor has it a Rembrandt is going up, along with rare artifacts from the Chinese Dynasty and a never-before-seen Roman sword. I’d’ve thought ancient civilization would appeal to you, Tempest.”

“Why?” One of my favorite games is predicting an insult before it comes because it usually annoys the shit out of the person trying to sling it. “Because I’m a Neanderthal?”

“No because it’s where the most violent form of human conquering occurred.”

I risk taking my eyes off the road to look at her. Assess her.

My vision’s wide enough to notice Mila leaning forward, taking in our exchange with a none-too-pleased expression. “Wherever we’re going, I doubt you’ll get in looking like that, Ardyn.”

Ardyn twists to her friend. “I tried asking you to let me use the restaurant’s bathroom to get changed.”

I take the next turn on a sigh. Let her? How is it that this girl can be so intriguing one second and so disappointing the next? “How about this: I’ll grant you permission to get undressed.”

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