The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

I ignored his question. “Have you gotten laid yet?”

A soft laugh escaped him. He ran a thumb across his bottom lip, his gold watch glinting in the sun. “Sí. I found the most accommodating ladies.”

“Ladies, huh? Not prostitutes?”

“Ay, Elena.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “You wound me. Give me twenty minutes and I could charm you out of those . . .” His eyes drifted down. “. . . Jeans.”

“And you’re starting by stalking me?”

“No. I’m stalking you because I’m beginning to believe you really are alone, and if I didn’t, my new business partner would try to shoot me.”

I raised a brow. “Try?”

“I’m hard to kill.” He winked.

We stopped at a stoplight and Sebastian rolled his shoulders in the smooth lines of his gray suit as the corner filled with people.

“

How do you speak such good English?” I asked. If he was going to be invasive by following me around, so was I.

He slipped his hands into his pockets. “My mother’s Australian. I went to school in Sydney.” That made sense. No wonder Oscar was so fair. His brother received the goldenness of a Colombian, however.

I scrunched my nose. “They have a lot of snakes and spiders there.”

“They do. But I think you have bigger problems here,” he said, grimacing as a taxi driver screamed at a man on a bike to get out of the way.

The light turned green and Sebastian continued to follow me all the way to the bus station. I stopped at the kiosk to get my ticket, but my fingers faltered on the screen when Sebastian coolly said, “Two.”

“No,” I breathed. “Thank you for offering though.”

“If that’s how you want it, Elena. I was planning to give Ace a call anyway.” He reached for his pocket, but before he could get his phone out I turned and grabbed his hand. A smirk pulled on his lips. “See what I mean? I’ve hardly begun charming you and you’re already dying to touch me.”

I swallowed. “Don’t call him.”

Darkness flashed through his eyes. “Why not, Elena?”

“Just . . . you can’t.”

“Are you running?”

“No,” I insisted. “I swear it. But there’s something I need to do.”

“With thousands of dollars in your pocket?” he asked with a sardonic tone.

I only nodded.

“And a thoroughly pissed don on your trail?”

Another nod.

He gave his head a shake, tightening his jaw. “What the hell,” he muttered. “This city was beginning to bore me anyway.” His hand dropped from his pocket and his dark gaze met mine. “Two. Tickets. Elena.”

With no other choice in the matter, two tickets it was.

“I have killed no men, that, in the first place didn’t deserve killing.”

—Mickey Cohen