Page 24 of Pride
He held his hand out.
She put the device back in it. “Name the time and place.”
“Dinner. Just you and me.”
Mercy snorted. Alice shot her an annoyed look before returning to Parker.
“No. We should all be there.”
“I’ll talk to you and you only.”
Thea sighed. “Just do it, Alice. You know it’s what the Rev would want.”
Parker arched an imperious eyebrow.
“Drinks,” she conceded.
“Dinner.”
“Drinks.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight.”
11
That night,Alice was five minutes early to the curb of her apartment building. She stood scowling at the cars as they drove by. Reluctant to let go of winter, the unforgiving spring air brushed her face with icy fingers, causing a shiver. Since Parker failed to mention where they were going, and she was already grumpy, she wasn’t in a mood for dressing up. Her jeans were threadbare, but her silk camisole was decent enough, even if it did gape at the bust. Paired with a leather jacket, stiletto heels, and the opinions of her sisters, she knew her outfit would be suitable for any venue and any mission—including seduction if deemed necessary.
She hugged herself, unsure why tonight, of all nights, she was feeling particularly prudish. Perhaps it had something to do with being out of her comfort zone of nerd clothing around Parker. Give her a baggy dress, flat shoes and a cardigan, and she was sitting pretty. But all that pretense had been thrown out the window. Alice Montgomery had been fake. This was the real Alice… except… sometimes she forgot who she was. Definitely not someone who deserved to live happily ever after. At least she’d bothered to put on makeup and washed her hair—the locks were pinned into a loose knot at her nape. Her scowl deepened when she remembered the way her sisters had tried to prepare her.
“Use what the good Lord gave you, sister,” Mercy had said as she made Alice’s camisole gape indecently. “Those boobs aint for nothing.”
“This is Parker Lazarus, we’re talking about,” Alice grumbled. “He’s not affected by this sort of thing.”
Well, he hadn’t been around her. Alice still remembered sitting in his office waiting room, waiting to be called for her interview two years ago. The previous applicant, a pretty blond barbie type, had come rushing out of his office in tears. That’s when Alice knew she wouldn’t get the job with looks. She’d plucked the spectacles Thea had given her out of her pocket, and nerded herself up. It had obviously worked.
“Yeah, well, it’s a known fact of life that if he’s got a dick, he’ll be distracted by your tits.” Mercy’s eyes narrowed, deep in thought. The art of seduction was where this woman excelled. Mercy was almost as old as Alice—somewhere in her mid-thirties—and had given most of the Sinners classes on seduction. If it wasn’t for her tips, Alice would never have made it into a dirty diplomat’s vehicle in time to slice his throat four years ago. And she certainly wouldn’t have made it out alive. “Remember what I taught you,” Mercy finished. “This is important.”
“I got it.”
“Here,” Leila said, handing Alice a poison-laced hair pin. “Extra protection.”
Raven shoved her jacket at Alice. “In case you get cold.”
“And you know what to do with this.” Thea dropped a tiny, dime-sized device into Alice’s palm.
Parker’s Bugatti slowed to a stop before Alice. He parked where he shouldn’t and got out, oblivious to holding up traffic. Cars behind him tooted their horns. He didn’t even acknowledge them. Under the dim street lights, his usual aura of power softened. He still wore his designer suit that fit a little loosely over his mountain of a frame. He’d lost weight in the last few months since he’d not been in the office. Alice wasn’t sure why this grated on her, but it did.
Hasn’t been eating properly.
Parker’s short beard was impeccable and his hair was tied in a sophisticated man-bun style she’d only ever seen him pull off. His prosthetic was tucked into his pants pocket, rounding out his casual spoiled prince visage. He came around to her side, where he stopped and stared.
He stared for so long it became awkward. It wasn’t just a meeting of the eyes, but a long, slow rake from top to bottom, and a slow drag up—an assessment. Her skin tightened. Blood heated. Nipples peaked. All because he simply took his time to look. When he was done, he simply stared with that poker face of his, which made it worse.
“What?” she snapped, feeling the urge to close her jacket and hug herself again. “You never said where we were going, Mr. Fancy Pants. This outfit will have to do.”
A slight pinch appeared between his brows as he opened the front passenger door and waited until she got in. As her bottom hit the seat, she found her blood already boiling. She ran sweaty palms down her legs, checked that her dagger was still strapped to her ankle and then put her seatbelt on before sitting back, careful not to dislodge the blade strapped between her shoulder blades, hilt down at the small of her back. Having that short wakizashi sword was the only reason Alice agreed to wear the camisole. The straps were wide and hid the holster, but more importantly, the flowing bottom hem gave her easy access to the hilt. As long as she kept her jacket on, he wouldn’t notice. If he tried to take it away from her, there was always the sharp hair pin. She checked it was still in her hair, just in case.
Parker stood outside her window, facing away.
