Page 6 of Ruthless Lord
“Something wrong?” he asks, lingering near the door. He’s holding it open like a perfect gentleman, despite the blood still caked under his fingernails.
“Just, uh, is there anywhere else we can go?”
“Don’t like this place?”
“Not my taste, honestly.”
He lets the door close. “Let me guess. You’re more of a fancy cocktail kind of girl?”
“If you’re asking honestly, I’d prefer a hotel bar to this place.”
“Sounds about right.” He’s studying me again and I don’t like it. I raise my chin, glaring at him.
“What do you think you know about me?”
“I heard what you said back there. You told me you know people. And there’s the way you act all prim and proper, even though you’ve got a sharp mouth. You look at people like they’re ants. Even dressed like you’re straight off a late-night shift at a grocery store or some shit. My guess is you’re a rich girl playing poor and getting her rocks off on slumming it with the rest of us. How am I doing?”
My mouth hangs open. He’s smirking now, totally at ease. There’s no sneering, no anger, but he’s not pulling punches.
And he’s totally right.
Which pisses me off even more.
“I’m notslumming it, asshole. I like the warehouse.” Which isn’t exactly true, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He comes close to me. I back up, but he lightly puts a hand on my arm to keep me from running into a street sign.
“What do you like about it?” he asks, voice soft and quiet. “You into the fights?”
“Sometimes,” I admit. There have been a few good ones over the years.
“Yeah? What else?”
“The crowd.” My voice softens to an awed whisper. “Toward the end, when it’s clear who’s coming out on top. The elation that ripples along everyone. And the anger from the people who made the wrong bets.”
“You like that?” What a simple phrase, but something dark and delicious drips from it. Like he’s implying something about me.
“I like the excitement.” Because it beats everything else about my otherwise boring, proper life.
“I like it too.” His touch turns to a grip. His fingers wrap around my arm, right above my elbow. There’s nothing aggressive about it, and if the Big Boss had tried to touch me this way, I would’ve yanked back and told him off.
But I don’t mind Stefano touching me.
Which is definitely a problem.
“Let’s go somewhere else.” I stare into his eyes. I’m not drunk, but I wish I was. Then I could blame this on the alcohol. Instead, I’m stone sober. This is just my stupid brain malfunctioning again.
“I don’t live far. We can go back to my place.”
The proposition hangs in the air and we both know what it means. There’s no threat, but plenty of promise. I get the feeling I can turn Stefano down and he won’t care either way. His fingers are touching my arm, but he’s not forcing me into anything.
I can turn and walk. That’s the smart thing to do. Get an Uber and go straight home. Tell Albert about what happened tonight.
Only I know this will never happen again.
I might never see Stefano after this. I’ll have to avoid the warehouse for a while, at least until things settle and Big Boss is handled. Even when I do go back, I have the sense Stefano doesn’t stick around anywhere for long.
It has to be tonight.
