Page 50 of Ruthless Beast

“The day after tomorrow.”

“I’m going to need a few more items of clothing if I’m to look like a proper tourist.”

“Fair enough. I’ll take you shopping this afternoon.”

“Hang on. Let me check my schedule.”

“Are you always this cheeky?”

“Oh, you’ll know when I’m being cheeky.”

“Good to know. I’ll see you in two hours.”

“Be sure to bring your black card,” she calls after me as I’m leaving the room.

“Fine. I guess I owe you that much.”

Emily is playful today. I’m pleased about that. I can’t get her out of my head since we slept together. I find myself constantly wondering what she’s doing or thinking. It’s an unwelcome distraction at this point, but I can’t help it. So much for my tough guy facade. Something tells me I’ll turn to putty in Emily’s hands if I’m not careful.

There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on business if she’s here in LA while I’m in France. Plus, the trip gives me the perfect opportunity to get to know her better. I’m relieved that she agreed to accompany me.

I’m back in the cottage after two hours of negotiating deals with a new supplier. Emily is dressed in jeans and a cashmere top. She has her dark hair up in a bun, accentuating her swan-like neck. I swallow hard when I think about what I’d like to do to her, but now is not the time.

“Here, please, will you wear this?”

“A baseball cap? Seriously?”

“I don’t want anyone to recognize you. It’s just a precaution. Please.”

“Okay, but it’s going to ruin my cashmere ensemble,” she jests.

“Nothing could ruin your look.”

“Hmm. Was that a compliment?”

“Guilty.”

“Alright, I’ll wear it.”

She takes the cap from my hand, lets down her hair, then pulls it into place over her thick hair.

“Go, Lakers!” she chants.

“Ready?”

“Uh-huh.”

I made Dominick Emily’s personal bodyguard when she arrived at the house. He’s been instructed to go wherever she does, so naturally he’s in tow while the two of us get into my SUV.

“Follow us, Dominick,” I instruct the man-mountain, who nods and gets into a second car.

“He’s much sweeter than he looks,” Emily says once we’re on the road.

“Yeah. Tell that to the men whose kneecaps he’s busted.”

“Well, he’s sweet to me.”

“He’d better be if he knows what’s good for him.”

---