Page 29 of The Last Call
“God, he really is a damn whack job. Who the hell holds a woman against her will and then treats her like she’s on some kind of fancy vacation or something?”
Julius.
Julius Sabatini does.
“Where is he? I want to talk to him too.”
Not a good idea. “I’m not sure. He set up our call in his office so we could talk alone.”
“At least he gave you some privacy.”
I nod. Deciding against mentioning the cameras he has everywhere and that he’s probably watching us right now. Because defending Julius to Mack feels wrong—iswrong. But I know I would do it anyway. I’m not sure how or why my loyalty has shifted but I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t.
“What about you? Are you okay? Julius said they didn’t hurt you when they captured you and flew you home. Is that true?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. But I think I broke a few noses and got in a few black eyes before they took me down.”
My smile is genuine this time. Proud and grateful for his friendship and loyalty. “I love you for that. More than you know.”
“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” He feigns embarrassment and annoyance but I know the sentiment is sincere. The smile slides away and his gaze bores into mine again. Rare fear fills his expression. “Come home Syd. Do whatever you have to do to come home okay? I miss you. You don’t belong with a man like him.”
Funny how I used to think that too. “I miss you too. Just let…” I hope I’m making a promise I can keep. “Just let everything settle down and then I’ll be back. I’ll find a way for him to bring me back.”
“Don’t let that asshole–”
The screen freezes. Mack’s fury seething for a second before pixelating to tiny blue dots. Julius really was listening and Mack’s really gone. At least for now.
Her laugh is glorious. Sexy. Feminine. Real. I fucking love it. I’ll be damned if I don’t I fucking love her.
What I don’t fucking love is the two men at the table next to ours enjoying her magnificence as much as I do. My tiny lion is too gorgeous not to attract attention. I’m going to have to do a better job of shielding her from assholes who think they have the right to ogle what belongs to me.
I nod toward Benton and then toss my chin toward the bastards. That’s why I like this guy—he’s quick on the uptake and strides toward them. With his low, deep voice I hear very few of his measured words beyond my name and the threat of torture which they respond to with the speed I deserve.
The taller one scrambles to grab his jacket off the curved back of his white wooden chair while the stockier guy stuffs his tablet into the red leather messenger bag at his feet. My reputation preceding me even when it’s been too long since I’ve been here. I cause enough damage during my visits that no one soon forgets who I am or what I’ll do if crossed.
Benton tosses a few bills on their table. In appreciation for their swift departure they get their meal paid for. You’re welcome motherfuckers. Unfortunately, they aren’t as discreet as my guard in their noisy, nervous retreat, and Sydney’s wine softened gaze flits over to them before returning to me. Disapproval curling her lips down despite the mischief still sparkling in her eyes.
“Oh, let me guess. The saint saves the world again.”
She’s kidding but I’m not. Serious as fuck with my response. “No, just you. I don’t give a damn about protecting anyone else but my lion.”
For a woman who thinks she’s a badass, she sure blushes easily from my compliments and attention. The irony isn’t lost on me either. Easy to spoil an angel who doesn’t expect anything compared to the ones who demanded everything. And, of course, never received jack shit from me.
“Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.” I wink at her. Checking to see if I’ll get a rise out of her with the alcohol flowing through her. Making sure the waiter kept topping off her glass so she couldn’t easily monitor her intake. “I’m assuming you’re grateful for the clothes too.”
“You know you wouldn’t need to buy them for me if you weren’t holding me hostage since I have a closet full at home.”
More playfulness in her tone than I expect. I’m pleased that she seems to have finally relaxed. Accepting what I offer as real. Realizing that what we have is genuine. “Touché.”
“Wow! It’s a miracle! Julius Sabatini finally admits I’m right. Too bad you’re not filming us now.”
I was wondering when she was going to sneak that little acknowledgment of my unrelenting vigilance into the conversation. “No, I’m saving that for tonight in my bed.”
Another flush creeps up her lifted cheeks. Unable to keep from giggling at me even if she’s aggravated. “Pervert.”
“Beauty.”
