Page 28 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
I felt a pang of guilt and immediately pushed it away. “Are you done?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you rushing me back to my prison?”
“I thought you said I was a decent host.”
“You have your moments.”
I chuckled. Actually chuckled, and she looked surprised. She reached for her coffee again, taking her time with it, studying me over the rim.
There was something almost sensual about the way she enjoyed her drink—the small sigh of pleasure, the way her lips pressed against the cup, the concentration in her eyes as she savored each sip. I found myself transfixed, watching her tongue catch a drop of foam from the corner of her mouth.
Christ, what was wrong with me? This was Elena Lebedev. Not some woman I'd picked up at a bar.
“What?” she asked, catching me staring.
I cleared my throat. “Nothing. Just wondering how long you plan to drag this out.”
She set her cup down. “I'm finished now. Happy?”
“Ecstatic,” I deadpanned, but there was no real heat in it.
A thought struck me then. She'd been cooped up for two weeks with nothing but my penthouse walls to look at. Maybe that's why she'd broken out—not to escape me, but to escape the monotony. And if that was the case...
“Let's go,” I said, standing up.
She looked up at me warily. “Where?”
“For a walk.”
Confusion flashed across her face. “A walk?”
“That's usually what happens when people put one foot in front of the other and move forward,” I replied. “You wanted freedom? I'm giving you a taste of it.”
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. “You're serious.”
“Don't make me change my mind.”
Elena stood quickly, gathering her purse. “This isn't a trick?”
“No tricks.” I placed a generous tip on the table. “Just a walk.”
We stepped out into the afternoon sunlight, and I watched as she tilted her face up to the sun, eyes closed, drinking it in like she'd been starved for it. Which, I supposed, she had been. Another twinge of that uncomfortable feeling worked its way through my chest.
“This way,” I said, guiding her with a light touch at the small of her back.
She fell into step beside me, close enough that her arm occasionally brushed against mine. “Where are we going?”
“You'll see.”
We walked in silence for a block, Elena's eyes darting everywhere, taking in the buildings, the people, the energy of the city. I stopped when we reached a small jewelry store tucked between two larger shops.
“Here?” she asked, confusion evident.
I nodded, opening the door for her. The shop was high-end but discreet, the kind of place that didn't need to advertise its prices because if you had to ask, you couldn't afford it.
“Mr. Ajello,” the owner greeted me warmly, coming around the counter. “A pleasure as always.”
I nodded in acknowledgment. “We're just browsing today, Antonio.”
