Page 10 of Lethal Lover

“She could be seriously hurt.” Her lip quivers as she talks, and I squeeze her hand. She looks at me with a serious expression. “I’m worried. That could have been me. What if there is more to this?”

I shake my head, discouraging that thought. Of course there’s more to this. I’m orchestrating every single step of this for her sake. She has no idea what I’m doing for her career by pulling these strings, and I’m not going to tell her. She needs to stay perfectly in the dark about it all. As far as she is concerned, these are random coincidences.

“Trust me, Elena. I’ve lived in this city for a very long time. I know what I’m talking about. There are dozens of car accidentsevery single day. Dozens of muggings every single week.” Her eyes grow wide, and she swallows hard.

“I thought you said they didn’t happen that often.”

“They don’t happen to smart people. They happen to people who take risks—careless driving, going out with large sums of money alone, people who dress in expensive clothing but don’t take precautions. I’m telling you, there is no connection between these two occurrences other than the random coincidence that they both knew you.” My speech is winning her over. She leans closer to me, resting her head on my shoulder, and I know she believes me.

“I still don’t like it.” She squirms her hand out of my grasp and snuggles into my side, and I put my arm around her snugly.

“Let’s get your mind off that, okay? Want to read some of your fan mail?”

I’m not interested in reading her letters. I want to burn them all. I want her praise to come from me alone, so she doesn’t get an eye for anyone else. But I want her in a lighter mood when we get to her place so she feels like inviting me up to have a drink. I reach into the bag and pull out a few letters, and she takes one. As she sits up, I open another, tearing through the envelope easily.

Before I even read the letter, I’m annoyed. This man has sent a picture of himself topless, though at least it isn’t a dick pic. He’s not even all that good looking, but he has brass, I’ll give him that. Elena doesn’t seem to see the picture, so I slide it into the breast pocket of my jacket and fold the slip of paper open to reveal very neat handwriting.

“Look at this!” she squeals and shows me a picture drawn by what appears to be a very young child. It’s a stick figure of a woman with red hair on a stage holding flowers. “This is from Sarah Crabb. She watched my performance a few weeks ago and wanted to tell me how she now wants to be on Broadway when she grows up and it’s all because of me.” I see tears welling up in her eyes and decide maybe all of her fan mail isn’t bad. Some of it, though, like this letter from a douchebag stalker-type, is very bad.

“That’s incredible. You’re inspiring a new generation.” I smile at her and turn my attention back to the letter in my hands, and she leans over my shoulder.

“What’s that one say?” she asks, and I grit my teeth before responding politely.

“It says, ‘Dear Elena. Your performance inShantytown Heightswas magnificent. I knew the critic was horribly wrong in his review the first night. You’re gorgeous and you have the voice of an angel. I want to meet you sometime. I think we’d get along just fine. XOXO Albert Looker.’” I fold the letter shut and lay it to the side, and she snickers.

“Guess someone’s jealous.” She reaches for the sack, and I almost snatch her wrist and snap at her, but I can’t. I’m not carefully manipulating every single thing in the background to focus her attention only on me, simply to fuck it up by letting my inner beast out.

“Can you blame me?” I say playfully. “You’re New York’s leading lady and the fans adore you. Any man you date will feel insecure.” I am nothing of the sort. Not insecure, not jealous, just carefully selective about who influences my property.

“You have nothing to worry about.” Her smile stretches to her eyes, and I can see she’s finally shaking off some of the emotion of the evening. “Besides, like you told Warren, you’re my boyfriend… Even if we didn’t technically define ourselves as boyfriend and girlfriend yet.”

“Ah, you liked that, did you?” I watch as she takes another letter out and tears it open. She shrugs one shoulder.

“I don’t dislike it.” The playful way she flirts with me drives me insane. I want to spread that pussy open and devour her, but I have to be patient.

“I like you, Elena.”

“I like you too, Liam.”

For the rest of the trip, we go through some of her mail. There are a few letters I strongly dislike, but she’s conscious of it in ways that make me truly believe in the depth of human compassion. If it were me, those men would never write to her or anyone else again. But she brushes their compliments off and focuses on me. And when we pull up at her apartment building, she seems nervous.

“Here we are. Home sweet home.” I’m waiting, basking in the enjoyment she gives me. My plan to subconsciously coerce her into my arms is working so very well. Except that she doesn’t seem to feel comfortable with me at this current moment.

“Thank you for the ride…” She slides toward the door, but I grab her hand.

“Who will carry your stuff up?” I’m itching to be there with her, and I hope it doesn’t show on my face. The idea of tapping her virgin pussy drives me forward, but it has to be her idea.

Her eyes flick toward the bag of mail, then the armload of roses. “Would you help me?” she asks shyly, and I grin.

“Does this mean you’re inviting me up for a drink?” I can’t contain the eagerness to get her alone. My cock is already swelling and I’m not even in her apartment.

“One drink, yes.” Elena slides out as soon as Slick opens the door, and I follow her.

I stand outside the car with the bag in hand and pat my boy on the chest. “Ten a.m., buddy,” I tell him, and he bumps my fist as Elena turns toward me and smiles.

“You ready?” she asks, and I’m thankful she didn’t hear that.

“Let’s roll, Boss. I’m thirsty.”

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