“I’m calling Nat right now. Youknowshe’s gonna want to celebrate you,” Jae squealed.
“Thanks, Jae. Really.”
“Treat yourself today, babe. Go shopping or something. Buy a hot outfit. You’re a working actress now.”
After we ended the call, I sat there a moment longer, still buzzing. Then I jumped up.
I was going shopping. I didn’t care that I had to dip into my stash—I was getting something new for tonight.
Maybe today really was the beginning of something better.
Chapter eleven
“Her Uber just pulled up,” Henri said, his voice crackling in my earpiece.
My pulse kicked up. I hadn’t seen her yet, but just knowing she was near—dressed up, on display, preparing to celebrate landing the role as any single girl would—made my blood heat. Possessiveness curled tight in my chest. Why the fuck did she have this effect on me?
“She’s wearing a black dress and looks like a million bucks,” Henri reported. I could hear the smirk in his tone.
I sat back at my table inside the restaurant and swirled the last sip of Bordeaux in my glass. “Copy that. Take a break for a couple of hours. Then head back to her apartment. I’ll keep you updated.”
Henri was ex-French military. Brilliant under pressure. I trusted him more than most. He’d pulled many of my clients’ asses out of the fire on more than one occasion and didn’t blink at the darker corners of my world. And he was one of the few who didn’t question my orders—at least not out loud.But he knew me well enough to notice that this situation was an anomaly. A full-scale surveillance detail on a twenty-year-old coffee shop waitress/strip club performer wasn’t normal protocol.
He cleared his throat. “Understood. I’ll rotate Vargas onto duty at oh-seven-hundred.”
“Good.”
The line went dead.
I set my wineglass down and picked at the last bite of filet mignon on my plate, keeping my eyes on the restaurant’s entrance. Outside, West 46th was buzzing with tourists and locals—people heading to the theater, barhoppers, girls in heels, and couples arguing in cabs. I’d been sitting here for almost an hour waiting for my girl.
Earlier that day, Lyla and her roommates had finally left the apartment long enough for my team to sweep in. The surveillance setup was quick. They’d planted mics in every room and discreet cams throughout the place. We even had eyes on the building from across the street. With one tap on my phone, I could surveil everything she did when at home. I told myself it was about protecting her, keeping her safe from Ciro Delgado’s men. But that wasn’t the whole truth. I needed control. Needed to know she was safe.
Watching her was becoming an obsession.
I hadn’t meant to personally watch her tonight, but when I’d seen her trying on that dress—twisting side to side in front of their hallway mirror, smoothing the fabric over her thighs—it had lit a fire in me. My little lamb had teeth tonight, and the wolf in me stirred, ravenous and alert, too far gone to look away.
That dress had ignited my hunger.
She looked like temptation incarnate—everything I didn’t want to want. I told myself I was a man of logic. But after seeing the show she put on last night, I couldn’t suppress my baserinstincts. I’d watched her move, twist, writhe, and command the attention of every man in the room. She didn’t need to fake seduction—it was in her bones.
This girl, who poured coffee and read romance novels by day, was no innocent flower. Within her was a scorching sun of sensuality.
I wanted her. And I didn’t care if she burned me alive.
I wanted her on her knees—with those soft lips wrapped around my cock, those eyes filled with sweet, eager innocence—taking me into her mouth like her only purpose was to please me and to worship every inch I gave her, like she’d been waiting her whole life to be ruined by me. I wanted to dominate her, pin her wrists to the mattress, and drive into her until her cries echoed in my skull for the rest of my life.
I wanted to break her and build her back up with my name on her tongue.
But right now, I couldn’t get distracted—not with how entangled she was in Delgado’s world, especially after having just witnessed a murder.
The restaurant she and her roommates had chosen to go to tonight—La Reine Noire, a warmly lit French bistro with iron sconces, gold mirrors, and a curated wine list—sat on the border between Hell’s Kitchen and the Theater District. It was upscale enough to draw a crowd but low-key enough not to have a line out the door. I’d slipped the maître d’ a thick envelope earlier and bought myself a good vantage point. Before Lyla and her friends were seated at the table I’d selected for them by the window, I’d placed a matchbook-sized listening device into the floral arrangement. It was low enough to stay hidden beneath the leaves, high enough to catch the conversation. The signal streamed to an app on my phone, allowing me to listen in using my earpiece. I’d been following her friends’ conversation sincethey’d been seated a few minutes ago. Nat was getting to know Jae’s date and asking him a million questions.
Finally, the door swung open and she stepped inside.
Time seemed to stop.
Lacey Grace. Hair in soft curls down her back. The dress hugging her curves in the best way possible. Just enough to demand attention, but not so much that it begged for it. A black wrap hung loosely around her elbows. Her makeup was soft, highlighting her cheekbones, eyes, and impossibly perfect skin. She had the kind of beauty that didn’t need filters.
