I blinked, and then a blush mottled my skin. I tugged on the spaghetti straps of my clingy gray dress, trying to heave the fabric higher. I thought it was conservative, but if I came acrossas—
“Tristan.” Jarod didn’t utter anything more than his second’s name, and yet I sensed a loaded command attached toit.
Especially when Tristannodded.
Once the door shut, I spun on the seat cushion. Before I could open my mouth, Jarod said, “No one gets away with insulting one of myguests.”
“Except you.” Celeste’s voice made the tendons in my neck strain against my still flushedskin.
A nerve ticked at his temple. “Exceptme.”
“She was just mad, Jarod. People say mean things when they’remad.”
“Is your sister always this charitable,Celeste?”
“Always. It’s her onlyflaw.”
I was too anxious about the woman’s fate to roll my eyes at their side conversation. “Please, Jarod. Don’t do anything toher.”
He cocked his head and fixed me with eyes that sparked with mischief. Except he wasn’t a child, so his idea of mischief wouldn’t be sticking itching powder in her bed. “Iwon’t do anything toher.”
My heart banged. “AndTristan?”
“I’m not hiskeeper.”
“You might not be his keeper, but you’re his boss.” Fingers still toying with my dress straps, I worried my bottomlip.
Jarod’s expression flattened. “You shouldn’t let people get away with insultingyou.”
I should’ve worn a loose T-shirt. Or a turtleneck.Or—
“And stop doingthat.”
My hands froze on my dress’sstraps.
“You don’t look like a whore.” Jarod glared at the oil portrait of the bay horse on the wall between the French windows. “I’ve been around enough of them toknow.”
My exhale rushed out of me. For some reason, even though I wanted to thank him for his reassurance, the last part of his proclamation bothered me. “Why do you hang around that type of woman,Jarod?”
“Because I could never subject an innocent girl to the sort of life I live . . . to the sort of people who keep mecompany.”
I was about to point out that changing his way of life would allow him to open his heart to the type of woman who’d desire nothing from him besides his love but was interrupted by a sharpknock.
Chapter 21
Agangly manwith undereye circles so purple they resembled bruises walked in behind one of Jarod’s guards. Upon not seeing Tristan, I fretted for the woman with the diamondstuds.
“Your name?” Jarod’s question redirected my attention to the hunchednewcomer.
“Sasha.”
“What can I do for you,Sasha?”
The man didn’t look at me or question my presence. Then again, he barely looked away from the carpet beneath his scuffed sneakers. “I run a small restaurant with my wife, and these men . . . they”—he rubbed at the collar of a plain black T-shirt—“they come in every night and demand a consequent portion of our earnings. They say it’s to pay for their services. They claim they’re neighborhood vigils.” Sasha’s voice was so soft it barely carried over to me. “I’m not sure if they’re in your employ”—he flicked his eyes up to Jarod, then back down to the carpet—“but my wife doesn’t feel safe around them, so we were hoping you could maybe tell them that we don’t require their services.” The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his long, scrawnythroat.
Jarod brushed the scruff darkening his jaw. “In which neighborhood is yourrestaurant?”
“The Twentieth. Just off Belleville. On RueLevert.”
