Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

“He needs another blanket,” Rhett calls after her. “It’s only sixteen point seven degrees with a wind at five kilometers per hour.”

She ignores him, swaying her hips as she maneuvers the off-road stroller over the polls of wild grass and dry heaps of upturned earth as if it’s a breeze.

“Val!” Quincy runs to catch up. “Put up the umbrella. He’ll burn.”

I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. It’s the first time since dying that my mouth curves into anything that remotely resembles warmth or friendliness. The pussies. I never imagined they’d turn into two such fuss balls, but I’m right there with them, suddenly worried that Connor will burn in the autumn sun. This is South Africa, after all. There’s a big hole in the ozone layer right above our heads.

A young guy in a beige trench coat stares at my woman as she strolls past.

That’s my wife, you dickhead.

The vulgar ogre turns his head to look at her ass. I’m about to jump from the car and rub his face in the dirt when Rhett and Quincy give him a glare that makes him look away.

Good.

I breathe easier. I should stay in the car, but my desire to get a closer glimpse is too big. Connor is bundled up in blankets, so I couldn’t get a good look to see if he’s grown taller. And Valentina… She’s changed. There’s a new kind of self-assurance about her. If I didn’t know her so well, I’d have missed the tight set of her shoulders, indicating that her life is far from easy or stress-free. She’s a token of strength and resilience, of the love and loyalty that drew me to her in the first place.

I get out of the car, lock up, and trot toward the rows of stalls. Snaking my way through organic pumpkins, jams, honey, and home-baked breads, I follow the small group. They stop at a coffee corner to greet a couple who are having scones and what looks like Rooibos cappuccino. The woman has bleached blonde hair and the hulky man wears a washed-out Spiderman T-shirt over a sweater. Kris and Charlie. After exchanging a few words, Valentina and her entourage leave Kris and Charlie. Valentina stops at various stalls, conversing with the vendors while Rhett and Quincy keep an eye out and carry the produce. I’m relieved that my men are protecting her like bloodhounds. To the unknowing eye, they’re just two guys trailing after a woman, but I know they’re scouring the area and sniffing the air for danger. From the reports I received in Switzerland, I know Valentina can’t afford to pay them, which means they must stay out of loyalty and love, the very characteristics I admire in my wife. It looks like she cultivates them in everyone who crosses her path. Look at me. Here I am, tailing her like a hungry wolf, desperate to protect and care for her.

Circling around the farm produce, I move one row up and walk down the other side so I can cross the object of my obsession for a closer look, but when I reach the spot where they were seconds ago, they’re gone. Shit, where are they? I turn in a quick, frantic circle, and smack into someone with my back.

Twirling, I catch the woman I bumped into before she stumbles. The apology dries on my lips. Valentina stares up at my face. For a defining moment, the world falls away as we look at each other. My body goes as stiff as a stick. Will she recognize me? Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to make a connection, but then they go blank. My disguise works. She doesn’t have a clue. Holding her so close, literally in my arms, makes me heady and drunk. Every follicle on my body pricks, coming alive with static electricity that crackles over my skin. A whiff of delicious raspberry reaches my nostrils. The silkiness of her hair brushes over my fingers where I still clutch her arms. Her lips part slightly, dragging my attention there. It takes every fiber of my being not to bend down and suck those lips into my mouth.

Valentina finds her tongue first. “I’m sorry.” She steps back, breaking our awkward stance. Her eyes remain friendly, but caution slips into her expression.

Good girl. She’s right to be wary of strangers, especially strangers who touch her and stare at her for a few seconds too long.

I drop my arms and force a smile onto my face. “The apology is mine. I didn’t see you.” God, I can’t get enough of her. I don’t want her to go yet. Just a bit longer to drink in her face and the warmth of her presence. Before she can turn away, I say, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”