Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes) - Page 14

‘At the risk of repeating myself, people who don’t want their bank and every fucking government surveillance agency in the world to have access to their entire fucking lives do, too. You ready to go?’

I nod and stand, swaying slightly.

His brows knit. It makes him all dark and brooding. Like my favorite hero of all time, Heathcl

iff. ‘You all right?’ he asks.

‘Absolutely,’ I say, and, straightening my shoulders, precede him out of the restaurant. We go back down the stairs. A man is coming up and he stares at me with barefaced interest. As he passes us, Dom stops, puts his hands on either side of the man’s head, and turns his face so that it’s pointing straight ahead instead of at me. The man’s eyes bulge with shock and fear. He’s only a head shorter than Dom, but he looks like a scared rabbit in the jaws of a tiger.

I watch Dom pat the man’s cheek condescendingly before he turns to me and we carry on down the stairs. I glance back and the man is walking on up, his head stiffly held forward, too frightened to turn around and look at either of us. Fuck! That was like a scene from a Mafia movie.

I turn toward Dom. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Asshole was lucky. I was in a good mood. He was looking to get his head fucking kicked in.’

‘Because?’

‘Because he fucking looked at my woman, that’s why.’

A totally inappropriate but powerful thrill flashes through me, lighting up cells that have never seen light in their sad little lives. For that second I want to be his woman, I want him to speak so possessively about me. But that second passes as fast as it made its unexpected visit, and an odd sense of loss replaces it. I never suspected that inside me was such a needy being. What the hell is the matter with me! I’m so mentally unhinged by my own pathetic reaction that the words that leave my mouth are like cold, hard bullets.

‘I’m not your woman.’

He glances at me, unembarrassed, unfazed, and without missing a beat says, ‘He doesn’t know that. I’d never disrespect another man by looking at the woman he’s with like that.’

There’s no more to be said after that.

She bends her head, and honey-blonde, silky hair tumbles over her shoulder. Something jerks inside me. Jesus, I can’t do this. It’s too fucking painful. She looks up at me, her eyes as large and enquiring as a child’s.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asks.

The look scorches me. ‘Nothing.’ My voice is harsh. I had not intended that.

She stiffens, her eyes becoming more distant.

I crack a smile and pretend to be the polite gentleman I’ve been all night long even though it kills me inside. I do it because I need her in my bed. I want to run my fingers along the wet seam of her pussy lips and I want to see how fierce and wild she’ll be when my cock plunges into her.

Maybe she can stop the pain.

When he opens the passenger door our hands accidentally touch and both of us draw back as if we’ve been burnt.

‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

He inhales sharply and says nothing.

I slide in and he closes the door for me. When he gets in I glance covertly at his long, strong body. It’s as tense as a coiled spring. Then the car guns into action and we’re speeding through the cool night air.

The car stops outside my little flat. I turn toward him. ‘Thank you for dinner. I really—’

‘I’ll walk you to your door,’ he says, cutting me short.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, but he’s already opened his door and slipped out of the car. I shut my mouth and stare straight ahead. I think I’m a bit petrified about what might happen next.

He opens the passenger door. I put my hand in his outstretched palm and, placing my legs together, I swing them out as gracefully as I can and he heaves me out. He holds open the entrance door of my building and we walk together toward the lift. He presses the button to call it and it makes a clanking sound. It’s stopped working again.

I turn to him. ‘It’s broke.’

‘Thank God,’ he mutters. ‘I don’t think I can bear the smell of piss at this time of night.’

Tags: Georgia Le Carre Romance
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