He grips my chin with his thumb and forefinger, a gruff demand imprinting my skin even though the dominant move is gentle. “You’re not in danger with your father, are you?”
Did he stay away from me to devise a game plan and show up armed? If so, he’s brilliant. The authenticity and compassion in that question wreck me. And his touch? Obliterating.
My breath blasts out as I shake my head, forcing him to release me. “No, not in danger. He adores me, and he’s a good dad.” I pause for a second to gauge whether he knows my father, but he’s a statue of composure. “Too good maybe. He has plans for my life that aren’t what I want.”
Axel’s ash-brown hair dusts his temple, skimming the specks of silver there as he hums, processing. “Have you told him?”
“It’s complicated.” Being honest is taxing, but also liberating.
He nods, his timbre husky and his gaze undressing me. “It always is.”
Gulping down the lust loitering in the minuscule gap between us, I steer us back to the discovery portion of this encounter. “And you know this from being a son or a father?”
“Both.” There’s something akin to an apology in the way he voices that, but he moves on too fast for me to probe further. “So, you’re seeking refuge from your well-meaning father. I sympathize, but the membership approval process is extensive, not something that can be granted in a couple of days.”
“I assumed as much.” I pack up my book, finish my cocktail, and decide to be the one to end the night.
He stands from the table, doing that dashing one-handed-button move on his suit jacket and waiting expectantly for me to slide to the end of the booth. “I’ll walk you out.”
When he briefly takes my hand to help me up like a perfect gentleman, there is an undeniable spark and a swoop in my stomach that I will be pretending I didn’t feel. I school my features to unaffected poise. He guides me through the lounge, and all eyes track us.
“You can’t stay somewhere else in New Orleans?” he asks when we saunter into the lobby. “We can recommend some lovely accommodations.”
Disappointment lashes me, which means I should bolt to my suite and brainstorm how to get myself out of this. The disappointment should be for a roadblock on my mission. But it’s because I foolishly thought he was enjoying my company. I’m sure that’s what everyone believes. He’s charismatic, the kind of man who makes someone feel seen. But I’m not everyone. I don’t fall for charm, power, and panty-dropping grins.
Kill or be killed. That’s what this is. I will not get sidetracked.
“My father knows I’m here.” I peer at him beneath my lashes to embellish this with a splash of innocence. “It’s not somewhere he’d visit, which is why Beck offered to bring me along, but out there …”
“Our reputation precedes us, I see.” He spins his roulette wheel on his watch as he strolls with me toward the South Tower, going through the motions of escorting me. “And work? You don’t have responsibilities?”
Unable to be completely forthright with that one, I go with, “I’m between responsibilities.”
“Like your dreams,” he muses, splaying his hand over the small of my back and ushering me into a dark alcove, not far from the elevator I’ll take to my room. “Interested in a job?”
I did not see that coming. “Working here? How would that help me?”
He keeps us hidden from view when the elevator doors ding and a throng of couples gets off and waltzes by, prattling about their evening plans. Once they’re gone, his intensity shrouds us again. “I have a suite in the other tower that I can put you up in as a temporary perk, but until the membership is approved, you’d need to contribute to earn that perk.”
I glance around the small, shadowed space. It’s like we’re engaged in a dirty secret. “And how would I contribute?”
“I could come up with several ideas.” He delivers that with a delicious come-hither threat before self-correcting. “But how about as my assistant? Or how many languages do you speak?”
He’s fishing, but I will not bite. Unless it serves me.
“You don’t have an assistant?”
“Technically, I do. How many languages, Miss West? I have businesses all over the world. I could use someone on my team who could translate for me.”
He’s Trojan-fucking-horsing me. Slipping past my barriers with an elaborate guise to be my savior. My father’s angle makes more sense than ever. The best way to fuck with him is to not hold back on being me.
“I’m fluent in thirteen.”Like a top-notch assassin, though I keep that snark to myself and opt for my own version of Trojan. “Does thatpleaseyou, Mr. Noire?”
“Thirteen? Wonderful.” He clears his throat, probably because he’s got a semi now.
Impressed by my skill and aroused by my eagerness to please.
So easy.
