Page 3 of A Sixpence For Your Shoe

“Can we go somewhere private, though? I would prefer to stay out of sight for the rest of the evening.” I ask, because if I end up in a bar now, I’m sure someone will recognize me - let’s just say it’s not the first time I’ve had a run in with the law in this city.

He chuckles and nods. “My penthouse then. I have a stocked bar.”

I nod, settling into the seat as we drive through the city towards his place.

Of course, when we get there, I am blown away by the luxury of his home. Some people just have too much money. That’s my first thought. Whatever criminal shit this guy does - he does it well.

“You live here alone?” I ask, trying not to sound too impressed.

“Actually, this is my city apartment. I’m hardly here. I live in a house outside of the city. It’s just convenient to have this place for when I don’t want to drive back and forth too often.”

I snub my nose at him. “Oh. Goodness no. You wouldn’t want to drive back and forth too often.”

He laughs at my rudeness and that makes me smile.

In the brighter light of his apartment, standing beneath the massive skylight in his living room, I take a proper look at him. He’s far better looking than I first thought he was in the dim light of the limo - and already back then I was perving his hotness. His eyes are bright blue, almost shocking, and while he’s staring at me, it feels like he’s tearing me apart with his gaze. He has a shadow of dark gray stubble across his square jaw. And he clearly works out. I can quite literally see the muscles flexingbeneath his crisp white shirt as he moves to shrug his jacket off. This man is trouble with a capital T.

Vincent walks away from me, tossing the jacket over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

“What would you like to drink, Misha?” he asks. His deep voice is like black coffee, rich and dark.

“Whisky. Or gin. I’m not fussy.” I shrug, still looking around. Tracing my fingers over the furniture as I walk towards the kitchen.

“I have a very good single malt. If you’re a girl who enjoys whisky, I recommend it.”

I nod and turn to watch him as he takes down two crystal tumblers and splashes whisky into them.

His back muscles move beneath his shirt and now that he’s rolled up his sleeves, I can see the tanned muscles and tendons of his forearms flexing and stretching.

Maybe I’ll hang around for more than a drink. It’s been a while since I had some fun. I’m so fussy about men - it’s hard to find a guy who I think is more capable than I am. I’m sure you know what I mean - a guy who would be the one wearing the pants in the relationship. A guy who you wouldallowyourself to submit to.

If I don’t feel heiscapable - then it’s an immediate turn off. This Vincent guy looks like he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it - and like he could change my tire if I asked. Just saying, there aren’t that many guys who can change a car tire these days. It’s shocking but true. Or maybe I’m not even talking about a tire at all, but something else entirely.

I laugh to myself, amused by my own thoughts.

Vincent turns to face me with a curious look on his face. He hands me a glass of whisky, neat, on the rocks. I take it from him, and his fingers brush over mine. The smile he throws meis suggestive. I grin right back at him, lowering my lashes and daring him to make a move.

CHAPTER TWO

Vincent

Iget the feeling she’s playing with me and I’m rather enjoying it. Usually when people meet me, they are scared, over polite, cautious. She isn’t any of those things.

Since the moment I set my eyes on her at the restaurant, I’ve been enamored, even before the incident with the other customer. I was watching her all night.

This girl is special. She is unique in ways I’ve not been able to work out yet. There is something about her that just grabbed me right from the start.

It’s like I know her from somewhere, but I also know I’ve never seen her before because that is not something I would have forgotten.

I can’t tear my eyes away from her as she saunters around the penthouse, admiring my art pieces and the view. Her cute little waitress uniform is enough to make me want to bend her over the back of the sofa and slap that tight little ass of hers.

Misha throws me a mischievous look. Her black hair is pulled up into a high bun, and her pale green eyes are full of secrets. I can tell she’s interested in having some fun. Even though she warned me when she got into my car. The way she holds herselfdemands respect. She might come from the working-class ranks, but this girl belongs in a castle.

My castle.

I want her as my pet.

And I always get what I want so in no time at all - Iwillhave her.

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