Page 45 of Filthy Little Lies

One of the dinner cruises must have just docked. There is a swarm of people suddenly, but as the crowd disperses toward the shops and restaurants and others toward the parking garage, Gabriel appears. He’s wearing a suit. A full suit with a long coat over it that billows behind him as he walks.

I could recognize his walk from a mile away. Confident with the authority of Caesar walking into the Senate—before the whole killing him thing was even a consideration. His hair is styled back away from his face. I hate when men used too much hair product. I want to be able to run my fingers through it, not get it stuck in a clump of goop. But his hair moves freely with the subtle night’s breeze.

No goop to be found.

As he gets closer, the lighting hits his face. He’s shaved. Not cleanly, there’s still a light stubble on his rugged chin. It sharpens the angles of his cheekbones and jawline, making his usually brooding expression downright dangerous.

“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself as he approaches the car.

I’ve never seen a more beautiful man before. Well, except the one who had me bent over his loveseat last night. Gabriel just keeps outdoing himself.

I pop open the door just as he reaches for the handle, earning a stern expression. He puts his hand up to stop me from stepping out, then shoos me back into the car. Thinking maybe he’s getting in and I’m not getting out, I scoot over.

But instead of climbing in with me, he shuts the door, waits a beat, then opens it himself and offers me his hand.

“Seriously?” I laugh, sliding my hand into his. “You’re very dramatic for a mobster-slash-businessman.”

He squeezes my hand and flashes a small smile. If I wasn’t looking right at him, I might have missed it, but it was there. And it was genuine, and it heats my blood.

This really has to stop. Nothing good will come of whatever this is between us.

People don’t stay.

And they sure as hell don’t keep me.

“You’re quite the smartass for someone who’s still wearing my belt marks on her ass.”

My ass, and other things, clench at the memory of being punished by him. I remember how easily the pain and humiliation only seemed to heighten my arousal, and how empty and sore I’d felt when he left me dangling on the edge of heaven.

It had been horribly perfect.

I make a mental vow never to repeat that insanity to him. Some thoughts are meant for me only.

“Where’s your coat?” He glances back at the SUVs that have already pulled away from the curb, probably to go hide out in the shadows until he gives his signal to return.

“I didn’t need one. It’s beautiful out tonight.” I shrug. Though the fall breeze does cut through the thin material of my dress. When he’d left word to be sure to wear a black dress tonight, I’d dug through my options. Turned out there weren’t any options, just this one single dress I’d worn to a job interview last year.

I didn’t get the job, but I didn’t need to. What I needed was to get a back-office view of their security system, which I got. I made rent easily that month.

“You still should have brought one; it could get cold.” He starts to shuck out of his overcoat, but I grab his arm to stop him.

“I’m fine. I’m not cold. If I get chilly, I’ll tell you, all right?”

He pauses, firms his jaw, then agrees. “If you don’t⁠—”

“You’ll bend me over the nearest railing and take your belt to my ass, yes, I know.” My voice must carry because a woman walking nearby snaps her head up.

He notices it, too. And tips his head toward her. Flustered, she goes back to scrolling on her phone and hurries away.

“Didn’t you say we were meeting people?” I change the subject before his head fills with so much arrogance he floats away.

“We are.” He pulls the manila envelope from my hands and eyes my dress. When his gaze lands on my breasts, it freezes for a long beat before sliding back up.

He pulls out two thick bundles of cash from the inside of his coat and drops them into the envelope before sealing it again.

“Don’t you want to check the papers?”

“Do I need to?” He asks picking up my hand and starts walking further onto the pier.