Page 30 of Crossing Lines

“It’s not that hard when it involves my health,” I point out, reminding him that I get sick otherwise.

“True,” he says, rubbing my back tenderly.

“I hear you’re heading to Paris on Monday,” Mr. Bartley attempts to change the subject.

“Yes, I’m looking forward to the trip.”

“France isn’t as appealing anymore.” The woman is so snobbish. “Been there many times. Italy. Greece. Goodness.” She laughs. “I feel we’ve seen it all, Mike.”

“Paris will always be appealing,” he rasps.

She sniffs. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s why I told Davia to reconsider going this year,” Jamir adds. “I feel like it’s the same thing.”

Annoyed, I wipe my mouth and shift to him. “La Monte’sgrowing. It’s never the same.”

“I’m sure said growth is no match to all that’s happening for Jamir,” Mrs. Bartley throws in because that’s her style. “What’s a small fashion brand compared to a renowned investment firm?”

“It’s two completely different industries,” I retort, matching her nice-nasty. “Both deserve equal respect.”

“That’s right,” Mr. Bartley backs me up. “How is—”

“Still,” Mrs. Bartley interrupts him, not dropping it. “Jamir has progressed greatly.” Her russet eyes glisten while regarding her son. “Your father and I are so proud. You’ll accomplish way more than we ever had.”

“I appreciate it, Mom.” Jamir squeezes her hand.

“Yes,” Mr. Bartley rasps. “Davia is doing great things as well.” It’s kind of him to acknowledge my work. It’d be nice if his son did the same.

Needing a breather, I straighten and tell them, “I’m going to the restroom.”

I could have had a more enjoyable evening at home. Maybe visit the club and see Kross one more time before…No. Stop thinking about that man.

Then again, it’s easy to drift to when Jamir and his mom are pissing me off. It’s also easy for my mind to wander when temptation is sitting at the bar.

Halting in the spot, I squeeze my eyes and wait a second to ensure I’m not imagining things. As I look again, the warmth in my belly soars. Kross truly is here.

But who’s the woman with him? From this angle, she’s gorgeous, with glowing dark skin and long braids. Sophisticated in her Fuschia, puff-sleeve, trumpet midi dress, and beige platform heels.

The spurt of jealousy shocks me even more as he laughs with her, and they hit their whiskey glasses as if celebrating something.

I’m about to walk back, but Kross flicks in my direction and does a doubletake. Eyes sparkling, he immediately excuses himself and starts toward me.

I should avoid him, considering Jamir and his parents are at a table around the corner, their view of me shielded by the tall plants. But my restraints seem broken by Kross’s mesmerizing eyes and pussy-taunting smile.

“Davi.” The smooth way he says my name causes a sticky reaction between my thighs.

I compose myself enough to say, “Hi.”

It’s a struggle not to shudder as he slowly trails his eyes over me. “Look at your fine self. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you. You look nice, too.” He always does.

“Eh.” He peers down at his gray pants, black shirt, and gray jacket. “Something I threw together real quick.”

“Um, how come you’re here? Shouldn’t you be at the club?”So I can avoid you better.

“I’m not there every night. Plus, I’m celebrating.”

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