“Here she comes.”
Three words are all it takes for my heart to jolt to life and the blood to drain to my toes. I snap my head to the left and spot her immediately. Her sharp heels click against the concrete as she stares at her phone cradled in her delicate hand. Long legs, barely covered by her fluffy, pink, feathered skirt move effortlessly through the parking garage. Her soft, plush lips part as she flicks her gaze up long enough to keep track of where she’s walking before turning her attention back to her phone.
Sweet, innocent, obnoxiously oblivious.
Fuck, she’s infuriating.
Hilarious considering her brother has assigned a security detail to her every move lately. But somehow, the asshole didn’t think to cover the parking garage outside her apartment.
I spend a beat too long watching her. If I don’t move quickly, I’ll miss my chance. She’s walking directly past my car, dangerously close.
I snap out of my hypnotic trance and swing the car door open, creating a wall that blocks her from taking another step. She screeches to a halt, rolling her ankle in the process. She hisses and curses, her hand flying out toward the door to catch herself before falling over. She shrieks when I reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her into the back of the car with me.
“What the fuck?” she screams, falling back against the back of my leather seat. Her wild eyes turn to me and, once they’ve registered who has kidnapped her, she scrambles to try and get out of the car.
But I’m too quick. My arm flies out to grab the handle of the door, slamming it shut. My entire body pins her down as I glance over my shoulder to Marcus in the front seat.
“Keep the child lock on,” I tell him.
“I’m not a child!” she yells, slapping my shoulder, trying to shoveme off her.
“Jury’s out on that one,” I mutter, my heart racing.
“Fuck you, Rome.” she grunts angrily.
“Morning, Lark,” I practically sing, deriving too much pleasure from feeling her squirming with hatred beneath me.
“Let me the fuck out,” she demands.
I simply laugh. “Not going to happen.”
Julianna’s heated breath hits my neck as she pants and huffs. “Let me out, Marcus.”
“Sorry, Ms. Capuleti,” Marcus apologizes.
“Marcus doesn’t take orders from you,” I remind her. “He works for me.”
My knee presses into the seat beside her, and I hate how her signature, intoxicating scent of patchouli and vanilla surrounds me.
Goddammit. I’m drinking from that fucking vial of poison.
I snap myself out of it, not wanting to travel down that road again.
“Let me out of here, Rome!” she yells even louder, shoving me even harder.
But I’m stone, unwilling to move above her.
She grunts and fights me, kicking her feet out. Her heels stab and scrape the back of Marcus’s seat. She’s destroying my fucking car, for Christ’s sake.
“Let me out, or I will scream even louder.”
“No one will hear you,” I tell her, my nostrils flaring with impatience. “These windows are soundproof. Doesn’t matter how loud you are. And we both know how loud you can be, Lark.”
Her icy glare pins itself to me, the blues of her irises darkening. Pupils dilated, she stares at me for several breaths. “I fucking ha?—"
“Hate me,” I finish for her, rolling my eyes. “Yes, we know. If it’s any consolation, the feeling is mutual.”
“Happy to know nothing has changed,” she grunts, pushing me again, albeit slightly less forcefully this time. “Now, let me out of the car, psycho.”
