Page 45 of Wild Angel

Nyx click-clacks up to us and then stops. “Well then? Let’s go. I thought you were in a hurry.”

“You’re not going anywhere with—” I begin.

She cuts me off with a single raised finger. “No, no,” she tuts. “You told me you didn’t give a fuck what I wore.”

I realize I’m grinding my teeth as I flick my fingers in the direction of the scrap of fabric draped over her neck. “Thatthingdoesn’t even count as a—”

“Savage, we’re late.” Vito steps to the side and opens the back door for Nyx. “After you.”

Nyx’s ice-blue eyes bore into me as if demanding that I make a scene.

But how could I? I can barely fucking breathe.

She looks stunning, but I can’t stop thinking about all those eyes that’ll be roving her tight, curvy little body.

MyNyx.

Fuckingmine.

I show her my teeth, and whether she takes it as a smile or a snarl, I don’t fucking know.

The curve of her ass is visible when she ducks to step into the car. Thankfully, Vito decides to look at me, and not her. I think he realizes I’d have slit his throat if he dared.

“You should drive,” Vito says, tossing me the keys. “Unless you think blowing your load before we get there is a good idea.” He grins at me. “I think you’re gonna need all the testosterone you can get.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nyx

Ican barely sit still, I’m filled with such childlike glee. The expression on Savage’s face is worth every fucking heart-pounding second I spent in the elevator. I’m still not sure whether he’ll pull over the car and punish me somehow.

“You want a smoke?” Vito asks, holding out a pack.

“Stopped years ago,” I tell him.

“A drink, then?”

“I’m fine.”

“You look like you’ve got fucking ants in your…” he trails away.

Is it that obvious that I’m not wearing underwear? I close my legs a little tighter, just in case.

“Just glad to be out of the villa,” I tell him. “I was getting cabin fever.”

“In a nine-thousand square foot house?” He snorts. “Please.”

I roll my eyes and turn to look out the window. It’s better than accidentally catching Savage’s heated glare in the rearview mirror every few seconds.

Imighthave gone too far with the dress.

We pull up outside Seven Sins, but this time Savage stops his black SUV right by the entrance. The queue is down the block—it’s only nine at night, but the club is pumping.

A man in a smart black outfit with the club’s logo embroidered on his breast pocket jogs up to the car and slides into the driver’s seat once Savage is clear.

Caesar comes around to my side of the car and opens my door, but his attention is on the line of people waiting to get in, then the club’s entrance, then the road.

Always expecting an attack, isn’t he? It must be so fucking exhausting.

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