“He’s around,” I say, waving my hand. “Last I heard, he had to take a call and disappearedinto his home office. That’s the perfect recipe for a fake marriage. Out of sight and out of mind.”
As I unplug the charger cable, my stomach knots because even when Bronx is in the next room, I sense him. I know how he takes his coffee and that he fastens his left cufflink before the right.
And those moments when he’s charming and considerate make me wonder if he’s a decent guy after all. Then, I argue with myself about that thought and remember that Damien didn’t kill people, or sit back as I faced the firing line while his upperclass ma grilled me.
“You sure you don’t fancy him?” Connor cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. “Even a little? I mean, he looks at you like he wants to rip your clothes off and you look at?—”
“Like I want to punch his teeth out?”
He chuckles. “That’s definitely not the vibe I was getting.”
“You’re imagining it,” I say. “As if I’d be able to move on from Damien that quickly when I liked the guy.”
“You liked the guy,” he smirks. “That’s a Tierney-style declaration of love, right there.”
I roll my eyes. “Can we please not talk about Bronx while we’re out?”
My scalp prickles, and I sense the atmosphere change the second Bronx enters the room. Despite myself, my body goes into high alert before my brain does.
“Please, talk about me as much as you like, wife,” he says, looking straight at me and ignoring Connor. “Means you’re thinking about me.”
“Oh, he’s so into you,” Connor whispers for my ears only, except Bronx must hear because he smirks.
“No, he’s into tormenting me,” I shoot back.
Bronx walks towards us with a hand in his dress pants pocket and a sexy as fuck grin spreading across his face. His cologne hits first, making my pulse go wild.
“I hear you’re going out?” he asks, running his fingertips through the lengths of my hair so my scalp tingles. “I’ll brief the security team. They’ll be with you both every second you’re out there.”
I understand that my brother and I are in an unknown city, him with a target on his back and me with the Viacava name on my new credit card. I get it, but fuck, what happened to a carefree stroll through Central Park with a coffee and a bagel?
“Fine,” I reply, pushing past him.
But when I move away, he cuffs my wrist, tugs me into his chest, slides his hand into the hair and my nape and kisses me. I freeze for the first few seconds and just as my brain blips out to the sensation and my tongue brushes his, he pulls away.
“Enjoy your day,” he says, stroking the inside of my wrist before letting go. “Hopefully, when you come home, you’ll be in a more pleasant mood.”
Fuck, this guy. I can’t stand that he did that in front of my brother, or that I fisted his shirt for a nanosecond instead of throat-punching him.
I’m about to offer him a sarcastic response when my brother pipes up. “She’s a hard nut to crack, Bronx.”
“I think I’m getting there.” Bronx winks, turns on his heel and walks away while my lips tingle and Connor chuckles under his breath.
“Stop humoring him, Connor.” I punch his arm and head for the door.
“It could be worse, you know,” his voice slips over my shoulder as he follows me into the hallway.
“How do you work that out?” I throw him a look over my shoulder as two suited guys move into position.
We stand side by side at the elevator; me huffing and Connor thinking my life is a fucking fairytale in New York.
“Well, he could be ugly,” he smirks. “Imagine sleeping beside some old bald bastard whose beer belly takes up most of the bed.”
I shake my head. “A six foot six Viacava takes up a lot of the bed too. Can we please focus on something else?”
The elevator doors slide open, and all four of us move inside. As it sinks to the ground floor, I pack away the warring emotions inside of me and pull up the maps on my phone.
“Where do you wanna go first?” I ask, moving through the foyer.
