Giorgio (Vigilance 1)
“The entire point of being here is so no one knows where you are. When we go into town, we don’t want to draw attention. We want to blend in.”
I glared at him. “Do you really think that’s possible? Do you actually think I’m going to blend in here even if you dress me in a sack?”
“If you go into town looking like you do now and someone’s looking for you, they’ll spot you immediately.”
“At least we’d draw them out.”
He glared at me. “I’m not using you as bait.”
“If someone already knows I’m here, we might as well act like we are unconcerned.”
“No. You’ll attract way too much attention dressed like that.”
“Will you be jealous?”
“Fuck no. I’m not—This is a pointless conversation. Go change.”
I knew I was being petty, probably even stupid, but I couldn’t make myself let it go. “I want to wear this.”
“Are you always this much trouble?”
“Yes.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Am I wrong about the benefit of drawing out anyone who is looking for me?”
Giorgio huffed. “No. It’s a reasonable tactic, but not the one we’re going to use.”
“You’re not putting me in danger. You’re not fucking me. You’re not telling me details I have every right in the world to know. I suppose I’m lucky you’re taking me for coffee.”
“Lane—”
“No one told me I was supposed to be in disguise out here. If no one knows where we are, it won’t matter. If they do, we’re already in trouble.”
He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. I could tell he was about to snap. “Why does your outfit matter so fucking much?”
“Because I hid who I was for a really long time, and I don’t do that anymore.”
13
Giorgio
I’d never heard Lane sound so sad. His spark, his drive, and his ferocity were all things that drew me to him. I might be jumping to conclusions. The man who’d shown up here might really have been lost.
You know that’s not true.
The little voice in the back of my head was insistent. I knew better than to ignore it, but I also knew Lane was right. If Hendon knew where we were, it wasn’t going to matter if we were seen in town. We weren’t going to tell anyone where we were staying. If he needed to be who he was, I could let him.
“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Am I way too gay for you?”
“Spoiler alert, I’m gay too.”
“Yeah, but look at you. You pass for straight with no problem. I’m sure my mother had no clue she was sending me to stay with a man who’d be interested in taking advantage of me.”
“Lane, I never should have—”
“That was a joke. I fucking wanted it.”
And I still do. He didn’t say those words, but they hung in the air as plainly as if he had. I still wanted him too. So fucking badly.
“I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you. You look amazing. You’re hot as fuck, and anyone who doesn’t want you for who you are is just fucking stupid. Let’s go.”
He eyed me skeptically. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. Come on.”
“You’re always so impatient.”
“You just think that because you’re always pushing my buttons. When I need to, I can sit and wait for hours for the perfect shot, the perfect time to act—”
“The perfect man?”
I snorted. “The perfect man doesn’t exist.”
“You don’t believe there’s a perfect someone out there for you?”
“Fuck no. Do you? Are you searching for Mr. Perfect?
Lane shrugged. “I’d like to believe it, but based on what I’ve seen so far, I don’t know if I do.”
I’d never been romantic, never thought there was some perfect person out there for me. Sex with Lane was as perfect as I could imagine. If anyone was the man for me… I shook my head. I couldn’t let myself think like that.
Lane was watching me closely. “What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
He walked out in front of me, and wow, that ridiculous coat looked so fucking good on him, though I hated the way it covered the curve of his ass.
There was no such thing as a perfect man, and even if there was, I didn’t deserve one. I wasn’t relationship material, and I never would be. I was better off alone.
I navigated my way to the closest town. There was no Starbucks, and Lane dismissed the idea of getting coffee from a fast food chain, so I headed through the small downtown. “I might as well drink the stuff at the cabin if I was going to drink that.”
“I thought you wanted cream.”
He huffed. “I want good coffee with cream. What about that place?” He pointed out the window.
I saw a blue awning that said Martha’s Coffee Spot.
“Local places are always the best,” he insisted.
It would also be a good place to find out if the man who’d come to the cabin was local. Not that I really had anything to go on. I wasn’t a detective, but I’d had to do enough on the spot investigation in the field that I was more than adequate at it.