Page 7 of The Fox

“I’ll be fine. I’m not far.” Her voice is something that will forever call to the pieces of my soul I haven’t lost; gentle and steadfast, she could bring me to my knees with a single word falling from her lips.

“It’s pouring out. I have an umbrella and really don’t mind.” I crane my head in every effort to meet her eyes, that shade of grey haunting in the best way. “Please?”

She pulls that plump bottom lip between her teeth, gnawing on it as I wait for her decision–-not that it’ll stop me from walking with her. She’ll be escorted one way or the other. I need her safe.

I needher.

“Amelia!” I pause as I hear Parker yell from behind me, schooling my features to hide my grin. The siren in front of me sighs, rolling her eyes and taking a deep breath as Parker continues. “Let Rhodes walk you to your car. I know you hate being cold.”

I peer at Amelia, barely containing my smirk as she turns her head ever so slightly. “Fine. But no talking, no touching, and you best not let that umbrella drop.”

My girl has some fire under that gaze.

I cannot wait to make her burn brighter.

Ensuring that my umbrella doesn’t drop as we exit, I move to walk between her and the street. The rain is heavier now, puddles growing around the sewers grates, and Amelia’s anxiety hasn’t lessened. I wonder just how much she’d hate it if I ask her about herself now that I have her alone.

As we near her car, I watch her and take in the enigma who’s eluded me. She’s even more beautiful up close. Her face delicate, the bridge of her nose sloping gently before meeting plush lips with a perfect cupid’s bow. She has thick eyebrows which frame those tempestuous eyes that cut me to my core every time they’re flashed my way. Her neck is elegant, and the way her shoulders carry what seems like the weight of this world is mesmerizing. My eyes travel down her body, all while making sure she’s missing every single puddle on the way. I guide us, weaving our bodies as we walk so Amelia can have the drier cement patches. My shoes are no match for the amassed water but if it means her boots stay dry, I’ll take the soaked socks every time.

“This is me,” she says as we reach a dark green SUV. “Thank you for walking me.”

I smirk, wanting to toy with her a bit.

“You can thank me by going to dinner. After all, I saved you from melting.”

Those grey eyes peer up at me, our height difference more noticeable now. Her gaze narrows, her mind likely trying to determine if there is an ulterior motive. She sighs, running her tongue along the front of her teeth before caging her bottom lip.

“Fine. Dinner.”

“Capiolla’s. Tomorrow at seven?” I gaze back at her, every fiber of me wanting to push her against the car door and run my nose along her neck, nestling where it joins her shoulder. “I also don’t mind meeting you here if that’s easier for you.”

“No.” Her voice is sure and her hands move in front of her, likely aching to pick a cuticle or run her thumb along the underside of her pointers. “I will meet you at the restaurant.”

I lean in, following her as she slides into her car, pausing before closing the door.

“I’ll see you then, Amelia. Dream well,” I say and then walk away, excitement building as I think about finally having this powerhouse of a woman all to myself.

CHAPTER 8

Amelia---Knock Him Dead

I stare at my reflection in the mirror, shifting my weight as I consider which pair of shoes to wear. Even though I normally refuse to dress for men, there is a pull to Rhodes that is making me second guess every piece of clothing I’ve put on my body. There are clothes strewn across the floor, covering my quilt on top of my bed.

The dress I’m in is a deep emerald, almost black with long sleeves, a fitted bodice, and a flared skirt that reaches mid-thigh. The velvet is like a comforting hug, soothing the nerves that have skittered along my bones and igniting a feeling in my belly I haven’t felt in a long time—if ever. I’ve coaxed my hair into smooth waves, the purple standing against the deep sepia tones, and my signature red is painted on my lips.

I look good.

No, I look like I could bring a man to his knees.

The alarm goes off on my phone, letting me know I have five minutes before I have to leave. I’m meeting Rhodes at the restaurant, and I’m thankful he didn’t push the envelope when I refused him picking me up. I don’t want him at my home yet. It is my sacred space, the one place where my darkness doesn’t bleed into. It felt good, walking with him. I felt—I don’t know—safewhen Rhodes took control of the conversation. But, I know all too well that safety is an illusion and I can’t bring myself to allow a man into my sanctuary.

Choosing a pair of heels, I grab my leather jacket before slipping it over my shoulders as I head out the door. My nerves are live-wires on the drive. I don’t know the last time I’ve been this anxious. I keep telling myself that it is just dinner—just another meeting—but my heart wants it to mean something more. My soul aches for Rhodes to smile at me or to have my name fall from his lips. He is the first man to have a simple conversation with me, one without motive or pretense. I don’t know what to do with the feeling, but I know I want more of it.

I park, taking a moment to center myself in my car before getting out and heading toward the restaurant. It’s a small mom-and-pop place, one that has been here for ages. Capiolla’s has the best arrabbiata sauce I’ve ever had and my mouth is already watering at the thought of it. A small, internal voice whispers I should order a salad but I silence it.

I will order what I damn well please.

The smell of Italian food hits my nose the second I step through the door and I internally do a happy dance. The ambiance here is warm, the chatter adding a layer of ease to the already assuaging feeling Capiolla’s embodies. My eyes roam the dim room, searching for Rhodes. I give my name to the hostess, unsure if I’m early. She leads me back toward a darkened corner and I see him.

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