A nasty thought whispers in my head that this is a mafia chopper, come here to take me, and everything Dom has told me has been lies …
But then the pilot’s door opens and Dom steps out in a moonlight-colored suit, his hair mussed a little from the pilot’s headset. He walks with his characteristic confidence across the field, his smirk jagged in the night dark.
“What are you waiting for, Dallas?”
“You never mentioned you could fly a helicopter, Iceman,” I laugh, letting the moment sweep me up as I step forward and playfully slap his chest.
“Still the Firecracker, I see,” he growls, catching my wrist and closing the space between us in a blink.
He’s so fast for such a huge, powerful man. He’s more fit than most men – boys – my age, that’s for damn sure.
“Now, are you going to get your perfect ass in there, or am I gonna have to spank you right here? Hmm?”
A thrill rushes through me as I move toward the helicopter, feeling his eyes tracking me in the shadows, feeling like his prey, sought, wanted.
And I fucking love it.
Chapter Seventeen
Dom
The tower restaurant is rustic but of the highest quality.
I made sure of that before flying the helicopter over to the warehouse, where I’d met Gabriel and the two Irish men he’d kidnapped. The business there has left a tinge of acid in my mouth, making me think of the old days when the streets were to be won with blood and bullets alone.
We sit atop a spire in a one-room dining area, the lights lit a mood-setting yellow and the entirety of the countryside town spread out before us. Their lights litter the rolling terrain.
Dallas sits opposite me, a lustful picture of womanhood made heaven. Her dark dress looks as good on her as I knew it would, the fabric hugging onto her breasts, her luscious blonde hair cascading and tempting. She turns to the countryside and then looks across the flickering candlelight at me.
“What the hell is this place doing out here again?”
“I built it,” I tell her.
“What? Why?”
“For you,” I growl. “I built it. For you. It’s one day old. Well, not even a day, if you want to be pedantic about it.”
Her mouth drops open beautifully. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Don’t you like it?” I grin, like a wolf, and I try to push that business at the warehouse from my mind.
I’ve done it, Patty. I’ve killed two of your fucking men. You’ll have to face me now, man to man.
The Chief of Police discretely had a dossier of Patty’s crimes sent to me earlier today. Looking through those files made the blood in my veins freeze with murderous ice. Nothing is off-limits for Patty, and it makes me sick to think of him somehow getting to Poppet one day, knowing how unscrupulous he is with the lives of animals.
And people. Children. He deserves to die.
Of all the business I handled today, having an ultra-modern construction company come out here and erect this spire – the local government paid off by the Family – has been the easiest. And the most satisfying.
“It only cost a billion dollars,” I say, smirking.
“A billion … now you are joking.”
I laugh darkly.
“How much, then?” she persists.
“A gentleman never tells.”
“Then you better stop being a gentleman, ASAP,” she goads.
I raise my hands as though in defeat. “I wanted us to feel as alone as possible, that’s the truth. Nothing would’ve been too much for that. I’ve had … business, to attend to today. And I knew that sitting on top of the world with you would make it all perfect. So I paid more than some people make in a lifetime to make it happen. Fucking sue me.”
She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is all so crazy to me. Mom and me, we’re lucky if we had got a working washer some nights, you know?”
“You deserve the best,” I growl with passion. “And you’ll get it.”
The waiter comes to take our order. I notice Dallas biting her lip as she orders a starter of garlic mushrooms, and then again when she orders the steak—at my insistence.
“You deserve to dine on the food you want,” I tell her passionately.
“But … well, let’s just be honest about it. Upfront.”
I stare at her, my mind so scattered by thoughts of the Irishmen I can’t focus on what she means. Plus I’m mesmerized by the sight of her, always, ten times brighter than the starry countryside yawning all around us.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not exactly a runway model, am I? And I was thinking about that. I’ll understand—if you don’t find me as attractive, I mean. I … Jesus, this is coming out all wrong. I sound way needier then I meant to. And now I’m ranting, well and truly ranting, so this is great … Hey, why the heck are you laughing?”
It’s true.
I laugh huskily the more she talks, just watching her, how cute and endearing she looks, the emotion brimming in her eyes.
“I’m laughing because you are fucking perfect the way you are,” I tell her. “And the idea that you’d think you’re not is ridiculous. I don’t want models or society girls or anyone else. I want you, my smart-as-hell curvy childbearing sexy virgin writer queen. That’s who I want. And who I’ll always want.”
She’s staring at me, eyes wide, overflowing with emotion. I move toward her because being closer to her is better than thinking about where this city could be going, the pain, the death, if I don’t stop it, stop him.
She saves me from all of that. At least for the night.
I take her hand and she whimpers softly. Desire floods through me, not just sexual desire but the need to be with her, all
