I smiled at him as I folded the paper and placed it in my purse. Saturdays were busy for me, so I couldn’t confirm anything yet. “I’ll try and come to one of your gigs."
“Millie.”
My name pierced the night air, as sharp as a blade, and almost as cold as the frosty bite that cooled my face.
My husband was watching us with an unreadable expression. His car was parked illegally on the kerb, but Alessio was a man used to flouting the rules.
Embarrassed at being caught unaware, I turned to Archie and gave him an awkward smile. “Bye.”
“Bye, Mills.”
Alessio's face darkened, and his narrowed glare sized Archie up.
He opened the car door for me, still keeping an eye on poor Archie, and I winced when Alessio slammed it shut behind me. When he climbed into his seat, he simply sat there for a few seconds before finally starting the engine and pulling into the flow of traffic.
The silence stretched between us, long and uncomfortable. The tension seeped into the small confines of the vehicle, and I lowered my window an inch to try to cool the friction.
Alessio cleared his throat. “How was your night?”
My hand tightened on my backpack, fiddling with the zip. “It was good. Nice to get out.”
“Who was that boy you were talking to?”
I turned to him, surprised at the bite in his tone. “Boy? He's a year older than me."
“Millie.” There was an edge of warning in his voice.
My face paled at the insinuation I read there. Surely he doesn't think…? What a bloody hypocrite. “That was Archie," I tightly confirmed. "He's a first year like me.”
"What was that letter he handed to you?"
Alessio's eyes were focused on the London traffic, although his jaw pulsed with some invisible emotion.
"It was a flyer for his band. They play on Saturdays, and he invited me to his gig."
"We're busy on Saturday. We have that birthday in Knightsbridge."
I was surprised he remembered. It was usually me who had to remind him of any upcoming social events.
"I know. But apparently they have some sort of residency there, so it doesn't need to be this Saturday."
Alessio remained quiet. Shadows from the light of the lampposts struck patterns across his handsome features, highlighting the tic in his jaw and the furrow of his brow. I could feel the strain vibrating from him.
His hands gripped the steering wheel, and his strong thighs moved beneath his suit as he changed gears. I rolled my lips in as I watched, soon becoming distracted by his movements. He was driving his Bentley today, my favourite of his luxury vehicles.
A warm throb hummed low in my belly, and I clenched my thighs together before I forced my attention away. I always found it sexy watching my husband drive. I loved the way he manoeuvred his car through the tight city streets, or the way his arm stretched across the back of my seat as he performed a parallel park or reversed into a spot. He never used his reversing camera, preferring to check his blind spots himself—and I found it all so utterly, irresistibly attractive.
So for the remainder of the drive, I stayed quiet and kept my attention on the moving London streets. I chose to ignore the fact that my husband was acting like a jealous arse. How dare he? After all his women?
When we arrived home, I poured myself a glass of water to sober up before I toed off my sensible shoes and made my way to my bathroom. I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the warm spray, letting the water wash away the long and tiring day.
So much for the relaxing bath I'd planned—although I didn't regret going out with my uni mates. It was nice to unwind, but I wasn't going to make a habit of it. I wasn't a big drinker, and loud bars weren't really my scene, but I still enjoyed getting to know everyone a bit better.
When I stepped into our bedroom, Alessio was sitting on the edge of the bed, having showered in his own bathroom. I tried not to stare at his naked torso, but it was hard not to when I could feel his heavy gaze on me.
"Come here," his gruff voice commanded.
Startled green eyes met his brown ones, and I swallowed hard at the open desire written on his face.
