Page 8 of Spades

I flash her a smile. “I’ll try my best.”

3

ALISSA

Goodness,this man is charming. And so ruggedly handsome, ruggedly beautiful even. Dark hair, gorgeous hazel eyes, a sculpted jawline…and the slightest air of danger, but not in a way that makes me feel unsafe.

And of course he’s impeccably dressed.

All I did was walk into his shop. I didn’t even buy anything, and he made me tea and is now offering me a ride home.

I look out the window. Itisdark. “It’s very kind of you to offer. If you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble…”

He shakes his head. “No trouble at all, Alissa.” He grabs his fedora from under the cash register, puts on a Burberry scarf and an olive overcoat, walks to the front door, and opens it for me. “After you. My car is parked behind the building.”

I walk out, bracing my body as the chill hits me.

Maddox closes the door behind me and locks up. He turns to me. “I realize asking you to follow me down the alleyway to where my car is parked might seem a bit sketchy, so if you’re more comfortable waiting out front for me to pull out, I’ll be back in a moment.”

Nothing about this man makes me uncomfortable, but itisprobably prudent not to follow him down an alley after dark. “Thank you. I’ll wait out front.” I shiver slightly. “Please be quick.”

He nods. “Of course, Alissa.” He disappears down the alleyway and a moment later pulls out in a car that I can only describe as something that would belong to a Rockefeller. It has a long, elegant body with a polished black exterior. At its front, a chrome-accented grille and a hood ornament resembling an angel catch the light from the nearby streetlamps. Narrow tailfins frame the rear of the vehicle.

He parks the car in front of the shop, gets out, and wordlessly opens the passenger-side door for me.

I stare up at him. “Where on earth did you get this car?”

He flashes me a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Family heirloom. I inherited it when my father passed away. It’s a Rolls-Royce Phantom V. Built in the sixties. It’s been passed down since then. I have a guy who works magic on vintage cars like this. He’s kept it in great shape.”

I narrow my eyes. He owns a haberdashery filled to the brim with fine antiques, never goes outside without wearing a hat, and now he pulls up in a vintage Rolls-Royce. I’ve never been so intrigued by a man before.

Part of me—the straight-line part of me—wants to turn and run in the other direction. This is the kind of man who could throw a wrench into my five- and ten-year plans.

But the part of me that took a different route home today wants to get in. See where this man takes me.

So I get inside the car. He smiles at me, closes the door, and gets in the driver side. He places the keys into the ignition and the engine roars to life almost majestically.

The drive to my flat is far too short for this vehicle. Within four minutes, he’s pulled up in front of my building.

“This it?” he asks.

“It is.” I turn to him. “Thank you so much. You’ve truly been a perfect gentleman, giving me a ride home like this.”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it wouldn’t be right for me to let you walk home after dark when I can easily give you a ride.”

I chuckle. “Did you just want to show off your fancy car?”

“Hardly.” He smirks. “Maybe.”

He puts the car into park and then walks over to my side, opening the door for me again. I look up at him, marveling at his chivalry.

He reaches a hand out. “Careful, Alissa. It’s slippery.”

My God, I love hearing him speak my name. There’s something almost musical to it, like the warm whisper of a cello’s lower register.

I get out, thankful for his steady hand as I try to establish some traction on the icy sidewalk.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he says.

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