Page 33 of Sinister Intentions

When he didn’t show any sign of slowing down, I exhaled slowly, relief washing over me—until his shoulder grazed the back of my seat.

It was the barest whisper of contact, but it sent an electric shock down my spine as if I’d been electrocuted.

I stilled, then caught a fleeting whiff of his cologne—that unmistakable masculine scent that had somehow lodged itself into my subconscious. My entire body tensed, and my head spun.

He was so close, close enough that I could’ve reached out and touched him.

The thought made my heart skip a beat, a confusing rush of excitement combined with danger washing through me.

What was wrong with me?

Did he know I was here? Was this his way of letting me know he was aware of my presence?

Or was it pure coincidence?

I gripped the fork tighter, my knuckles turning white as I fought the urge to turn and look.

Every single one of my nerve endings suddenly felt hyperaware like the intensity of everything around me had suddenly amped up my senses.

At this rate, I would’ve been able to feel his gaze sliding over me even with my back turned.

That, or I was approaching early death caused by a heart attack.

What was I doing here, following him like some kind of obsessed stalker? This was reckless, foolish, and dangerous—and yet, the thrill of being so close to this man, who was both terrifying and intriguing, was utterly intoxicating.

Oh, man. What was I thinking?

This was pure madness.

I needed to leave.

But first…the pasta in my mouth was kinda blocking my airways.

I started chewing—working hard for every body part to come back to normal working function.

I forced myself to focus on my plate and shoveled the linguine into my mouth with determination. The quicker I finished, the sooner I could get out of here.

What a stupid idea this had been from the start.

Following Vince like some kind of secret agent? I must’ve temporarily lost my mind.

Get a grip, girl.

How realistic was it to find something to blackmail the head of the Salvini family by just following him around?

None. Zero. Zilch. That was how realistic it was.

My gaze flitted to my phone as I took another bite. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t have other, more pressing issues to deal with. There was still no response from Iset after my earlier text.

As if texting her hadn’t been nerve-wracking enough, now the wait was even worse. Didn’t she read the message or was she leaving me hanging like this on purpose?

Or wasn’t she able to respond? I straightened and sucked in air. What if something had happened to her? What if whoever acquired the list had already gotten to her?

Fuck.

The thought of her being in trouble made my stomach churn with worry.

No, stop it. You’re getting ahead of yourself.

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