Page 11 of Don't Bite The Boss
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, as his scent drifts across the short distance between us and hits me like a wrecking ball.
“Are you?” I snarl narrowing my eyes at him as my fangs run out, ‘tell me, Tristan, how fast can you run?”
5
I squirm uncomfortably in my chair as I watch her strut her long, lithe body along the catwalk, spin, cast a barely perceptible knowing look at Tristan, and sashay back the way she came.
She’s the kind of thoroughbred that makes every other woman in the room feel like a donkey. Long legs, blonde hair, high cheekbones, Nordic eyes. She is absolutely stunning.
Beside me, his face glows with pride and love.
And why wouldn’t he? She’s not only gorgeous but as sweet as pie by all accounts and about to become his wife.
I want to kill her.
“Wonderful, wouldn’t you agree?” he turns to look at me and grins.
I’d like to tell him the truth, that fashion parades are a waste of time and money and, if you ask me, past-times best reserved for day-drinking lonely rich women and gay men, but I don’t. He’s forgiven me for trying to bite him again the other night, so I’m trying to play nice. Well, sort of forgiven. He’s still sporting a black eye and limping a little from a bruised thigh; a result of our altercation. In fairness though, he had been harder to catch and hold than I thought. And as I’d pinned him to the rocky ground, my body pressing against every hard line of his, my mouth watering at his scent and my stomach tightening in lust, I hadn’t expected silver nitrate to be sprayed into my face – so, technically, he had given as good as he got.
It took a whole day and the cabana boy, who incidentally I’d caught wanking over the bikinis that I’d left to dry over one of the day beds, before my vision cleared.
Still, my boss didn’t heal as fast as I did, and it was unpardonable to take out my anger over his brother on him. I need to make up for hurting him and killing someone he had ordered me not to, by being extra nice now, however uncharacteristic and painful that may be for me.
“Sure,” I nod unenthusiastically, “if you like that kind of thing.”
“Ilovethat kind of thing,” he frowns.
“I was talking about the dress,” I reply blandly.
‘I really wasn’t.’
“I don’t even notice the clothes,” he shakes his head, ruefully, “only her.”
‘Ergh! May she trip and pith herself on one of her stilettos.’
“How did you two meet?” I murmur as I study the faces of the crowd on the opposite side of the catwalk, one by one. Studying people is a game I like to play when I’m out, partly it’s a hunting game, partly just fun - but this crowd is so homogenous, it’s boring.
‘Yep; gay, rich heiress, old money, gay, Russian new money, drug lord, bored rich wife, sugar daddy, gay.’
“On a yacht,” he smiles, “in Monte Carlo.”
“Of course,” I mutter dryly, catching his eye and smirking as he shakes his head.
“I can see this really isn’t your thing,” he chuckles, “why don’t you go hunt or do whatever you do in large cities at night. I’ll meet you back at the hotel later, you can get to know Fleur, you’ll love her.”
“I love very few,” I murmur, possibly too low for him to hear, “but yeah, this really isn’t my thing.”
I rise before the next range of clothes is announced and make my way down the aisle between the seats and into the foyer. It’s only when I breach this and make it into the street that I breathe easy. It’s no picnic trying to sit next to someone you want to jump and munch on so badly that it consumes your every thought. Although thinking of him as a picnic suddenly makes my fangs itch.
‘More like a buffet,” I murmur as I turn right and make my way to the districts where I know most of the Parisian nightlife hangs out.
If I am to resist Mr Bear and the soon to be Mrs Bear, I will need a full stomach.
“It all sounds wonderful, I can see why Tristan hired you,” she smiles sincerely at me from where she sits on the white leather couch opposite me, her stick-thin body seemingly at odds with the squishy depth of the soft-cushioned furniture.
I imagine her slipping down the back of the couch like a lost penny, and try not to smirk as her pastel blue eyes shift away from mine quickly.
‘Ah, ha, scared you. But for what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to.’
