Page 51 of Devious Kingpin
He let out a sigh. “No, nothing else.”
I ended the call and the rest of the drive to my Chicago home passed in silence. I didn’t mind, because in my mind I was going over all the creative ways I’d make Travis Xander suffer.
It was almost six in the evening when we finally pulled into the driveway. A three-story brownstone building with white columns on the front porch welcomed us from behind the surrounding fence.
I clicked the gate opener on my dashboard and the wrought-iron gates swung open, slowly gliding to the left.
“Nice crib,” Juliette said, her first words in over three hours. “You bought it or did your dad?”
My eyebrow shot up. “Why would my father buy me a place to live?”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Big Shot. We get it,” she muttered. “You bought it with your own dirty money.”
Amusement filled me. “Dirty money?” I asked. “Didn’t you and your friends cheat at my casino only a few years ago?”
I knew from Basilio that the four friends wanted to start a school for up-and-coming criminals together. The idea was interesting. In fact, I was surprised nobody thought of it before. Either way, I’d help her with it—if she’d let me.
She shrugged. “Forced by circumstances.”
I pulled into the garage and parked next to a Mercedes SUV, and then I got out. Of course, Juliette was already grabbing the door handle but I was faster. Opening the door for her, I helped her out.
“Welcome home.”
The air smelled crisp and fresh. Like upcoming snow. Which meant that the ground was too cold for her bare feet.
Without warning, I scooped her up and carried her across the threshold of our home.
“What are you doing?” she squealed.
“You’re barefoot and winters are cold in Chicago,” I reasoned.
Somehow, my gut feeling warned that Juliette wasn’t ready for any signs of a real marriage. But we’d get there. Even if I had to hammer through her walls and burn every piece of furniture in the house. I anticipated her wanting her own room and her own bed.
The moment we left Vegas, I sent instructions to my staff to get rid of all the beds in the house. Burn them. Donate them. I didn’t give a shit, as long as they were all out. All but one—the one in my bedroom.
“I’ll have a tray brought up to the bedroom for us,” I told her as I carried her up the stairs. Her eyes darted left and right, studying her new home. “I have a cook and a maid.”
“Hmmm.”
Her arms wrapped around my neck and I didn’t think she realized her fingers played with the hair on my nape.
I headed straight for the staircases, her tension evident by the way she gripped my hair.
“You can take a bath and soak. You’ve had a rough day.”
Juliette’s huge blue eyes met mine, but she didn’t say anything. Fuck, she didn’t even know how easily my dick responded to her. It was all it needed, one simple look and I was hard. Ignoring it, I kept walking toward the master bedroom.
Once I entered our bedroom, I let her slide down my body and onto the soft rug. She was observant, studying every piece of furniture.
“How come none of the guest bedrooms have beds?” she asked, her finger trailing over the dresser.
“I never have guests,” I lied.
She flicked me a disbelieving look. “Not even your brother and cousin?”
“They prefer to stay in a hotel,” I said. At least it was a half-truth. They preferred to stay in the hotel but never did.
“Hmmm, that’s weird.”
