“You look beautiful, Drew. Stunning.”
Her makeup is so perfectly applied that it hides the blush I imagine rising on her cheeks. I have the sudden urge to wipe it all off so I can just seeher.
“Thank you.” Her gaze sweeps down to the toes of my wing tips and back up to my tie. “You look quite dapper yourself.”
The compliment feels forced, and I remember that she’s in a position she didn’t ask for. It’s up to me to make this easier on both of us.
“Come on, our table will be ready when we get there.” With one hand on the small of her back, I help her into the Bentley, and once the door is closed behind us, Warren returns to the driver’s seat and pulls away from the curb.
Traffic is bumper to bumper this time of night getting from Madison to Fifth. But as we turn on Fifty-Ninth heading for Columbus Circle, the rest of the city fades away, and I’m acutely aware of the woman beside me.
“Britta and Sally took care of you?” It’s a stupid question given how gorgeous she looks, and I have no idea why I’m making small talk when silence is my default setting.
“Very helpful. Sally was fabulous.”
What’s left unsaid is more telling. “Britta wasn’t?”
Drew glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “She was ... interesting. Do you often send women in for her to dress?”
The question is fair, but I’m reluctant to answer. She doesn’t need to know I’ve never even considered doing something like that because I’ve never wanted to give someone the wrong impression.
My life isn’t built for attachments. It’s built for discretion. Anyone who becomes close to me automatically enters the potential line of fire, whether I want to admit it or not.
Dom may not have recognized me as his son, but it’s the worst-kept secret in this town. There are plenty of people—with the Rossettis being at the top of the list, and probably some in the Casso crew—who wouldn’t hesitate to take me out if they could get away with it.
Drew turns her head toward me, and I’m only fucking human—a human who wants those ruby-slicked lips wrapped around my cock.
The answer comes out without my permission.
“No. Never. Only you.”
Her eyebrows arch upward. “No wonder she was expecting a prostitute with a heart of gold who needed to be made over into a lady.”
I choke on a laugh and cough. “What?”
“Pretty Woman. The movie. Never mind.” Drew sits back in her seat and stares straight ahead.
“If she wasn’t particularly friendly to you, that’s because she’s ... well, she ...” I don’t normally stumble over words, but I can’t figure out how to say it politely.
“She wants to go for a ride on a loaded cannon named Cannon?” Drew asks, catching me with a sideways glance that makes me want to drag her into my lap. Only iron-clad self-control stops me as she continues. “I get it. I’m not an idiot. You don’t need to explain or worry that I’m offended. I know this is just because—”
I hold up a hand to stop her from saying what’s going to come out of her mouth next as my arousal slams into a concrete wall. Warren is as loyal as I can expect him to be, but I’ll never completely trust anyone not to spy on me and report back to Dom. After all, it would be cosmic poetic justice after what I did to Creighton.
Thankfully, Drew picks up on my gesture and goes silent. Her gaze flicks to Warren and then back at me.
“Because you want me to do the same,” she says, finishing the sentence in a completely different manner than I think she normally would have.
My mind goes right back to where it left off—how much I wish I could drag her over top of me and sayfuck dinner. Hell, that would be just as effective, especially if Warren is informing on me. Instead, I steal another appreciative glance at Drew and then force my gaze straight out the windshield again.
Stop. Thinking. About. Fucking. Her.
But it’s impossible. She’s a beautiful woman, who’s smart and private and doesn’t want a damn thing to do with me. Apparently, that’s the recipe for my downfall.
Who fucking knew?
18
Drew