dressing room. “Not so tight. Goose, you’re holding the strands like a Neanderthal.”
I meet her glare in the vanity mirror. “Last time, you said it was too loose. Now, it’s too tight. Maybe it’s your knotty hair that’s the problem.”
She’s impressively quick, swiping her brush off the dresser and reaching back to crack my knuckles with it. I hiss, tugging on her wonky braid.
“If you were anyone else, brother, I’d snap those fingers off.”
I give a careless glance toward the door, where Angelo’s leaning against its frame, expression as sour as his voice.
“Almost lost them in your wife’s bird’s nest, anyway.”
Rory shakes out the braid and ruffles her curls. “Same time tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately.”
I wink at her reflection, then sling-shot her hair band onto the dresser. Angelo’s expression melts into amusement. I feel it following me as I shrug on my jacket and stoop to give Maggie a goodbye scritch. By the time he steps into the hall to let me pass, that smugness is starting to piss me off.
“Say it now instead.”
He does a shitty job at hiding his smirk behind the back of his hand. “What?”
“Whatever smart-ass remark you’re saving until I’m halfway down the stairs. Say it now, while you’re within reach of my right-hook.”
He purses his lips. “Wasn’t gonna say shit.”
“Good.”
But the bastard’s a liar, because I’m three steps from the entrance hall when his gruff voice chases me.
“It’s been three weeks.”
I slow to a stop, glaring at the pink glitter hearts dangling from the chandelier. Apparently, Rory had so much fun decorating for Christmas, she’s getting started on Valentine’s Day two weeks early.
“I’m aware,” I grind out.
“Three weeks is a long time to be an ass-kissing simp, isn’t it?”
Irritation slithers along my nerves, but more so because I know he’s not wrong.
Three weeks of groveling. Three weeks stuck in redemption purgatory, playing a game only Penny knows the rules to. Three weeks of taking her out, paying her a hundred dollars—plus tip—for every kiss. Three weeks of staring at her living room window from across the street all night, every night, in case she changes her mind about not sleeping in my car.
Oddly enough, I’d be lying if I said I hated it. Fuck, at least it’s been three weeks with her in my life. Besides, I’ve become weirdly obsessed with finding out what makes her happy. With every beautifully wrapped box I slide over a candle-lit dinner table, I watch her tug off the bow with baited breath, hoping it’ll make her eyes light up in that way that makes my cock hard.
“The Birkin didn’t work then?”
I glance behind me to see Rory has joined her husband at the top of the stairs.
“Which one?” I grunt back. Aside from being one unsatisfying fist-fuck away from breaking my dick, the only frustrating thing about living in simp-mode is that I haven’t found that thing that makes her eyes light up yet. No, the fucking Birkin didn’t work. The next three didn’t work either. Or the Cartier bracelet, or the Benz that’s been collecting parking fines outside her apartment.
“Ah, the shit you do for love, eh?”
My gaze hardens on my brother. He’s got his arm around Rory’s waist, a smugness to his expression that I want to pour acid over. It’s hard to believe this is the same miserable cunt that’d sneer in disgust any time talks of him taking a wife would fly over the dinner table.
“The shit you do indeed. Like, oh, I don’t know, secretly telling all your dinner guests not to touch your wife’s turkey because it’s as pink as Barbie’s playhouse, then proceeding to eat half of it and ride out a bout of salmonella instead of just telling her to shove it back in the oven for another forty-five minutes.” I hold my hand on my heart, enjoying the way Angelo’s expression turns dangerous. “That’s true love right there.”
Rory’s jaw drops open as she turns to her husband. “You told everyone not to eat my turkey?” Her eyes slide to mine. “Really? No one ate my turkey?”
I smile at her and keep moving toward the door. “Guess Gabe was right—I am a snitch.”
Much to my satisfaction, my brother’s entreating words follow me out to the driveway. At least I won’t be the only Visconti groveling tonight.
The drive to Penny’s apartment is slow and painful. I’ve hit the rush hour, joining the convoy of cars heading into Hollow or Cove for the night. Before I met my doom card, I’d have just driven like an asshole—up on the curb, the wrong way down one-way streets—to get there faster. But these days, there’s a higher chance that if I do that, I might not make it at all.
By the time I pull up outside Penny’s building and flash my lights against her window, I’m itching to see her. Her curtain twitches, but she takes her sweet-ass time coming down. I’m halfway through tapping out a warning text to her new cell when she breezes out of her apartment building and stops me mid curse word.
Holy fuck. She looks unreal.
I let my phone drop into the cup holder, and step out onto the street. I’d be lying if I said it was only to open her door—really, I want to get a good fucking look at her.
She’s wearing a dress. A pink, sparkly one, with feathery trim around the hemline and cuffs. Her white heels are so high, they’re going to make stealing kisses from her even easier.
The sight fills my chest for a reason other than her looking ridiculously hot. She’s refused to wear anything but sweats every time I take her out, no matter how fancy the destination.
Maybe I’m finally getting somewhere with her.
As she crosses the road, her gaze slides up to meet mine. She tries her best to feign indifference, but as always, a slight movement ruins her shitty poker face. Tonight, it’s the way she swallows when she glances at the space below my belt.
“You’re late,” is all she says.
I open the door for her and study her ass as she climbs into her seat.
“And you’re beautiful.” I rest my palms on the top of the door frame and eye-fuck those thighs. I haven’t had them pressed against my ears for so long, I’m starting to hallucinate about it. “Nice dress.”
She smiles sweetly. “Thanks, you paid for it.”
Laughing, I slam her door a little too heavily.
She studies her nails as I slide into the driver’s seat. “Where are we going tonight?”
“McDonalds.”
I smirk at the heat of her stare on my cheek. Pulling out onto Main Street, I slide my hand over her bare thigh. Of course, she swats it away immediately, but God loves a trier.
“I’m a little underdressed for such a classy establishment, don’t you think?”
I glance down at her tits in that corset bust. I want to burn the image into my retinas and add it to my spank bank.
“You can always take it off; I wouldn’t mind.”
She lets out a laugh. I know it’s a real one, because her real laughs have this way of clawing to my heart and squeezing it.
I turn back to the road. “I’ve booked an eight-course molecular gastronomy experience at Le Salon Privé. I’m sure your attire will be fine, Queenie.”
“That’s a whole lot of words, and not a lot of sense.” Her cell buzzes in her purse, and she fishes it out too quickly for my liking. She giggles at a text, and my eyes narrow.
“Care to share?”
“Nah.” She places her cell face-down on her lap and stares straight ahead. “I need to stop off somewhere before dinner.”
“Stop off where?”
“Somewhere in Cove. I’ll direct you.”
Suspicion bites at my edges. I’m too unlucky for things like stop-offs, and too neurotic about this girl for her to be giggling at unknown texters.
“No,” I grind out, tightening my grip on the wheel.
Her fingers brush lightly over my forearm resting on the center console. They snake down to my wrist and give my hand a squeeze.
“Please?” she asks, tone all cloud-soft and sugary sweet.
Fuck’s sake. The car heats with all the other times she’s said please, like when she’s begging me to let her come. She knows as well as I do that I’m so under her fucking thumb, I can taste her fingerprint.
I clamp my hand around hers so she can’t pull it away. “Fine, but it better be quick.”
The drowsiness of Dip morphs into the tranquility of Hollow, which is then washed away by the bright glow of Cove. The strip is Friday-night frenetic. It passes in a blur of lights and laughter, and despite being pissed about the detour, I can’t ignore the hum of excitement that sweeps through my blood.
I fucking love the atmosphere of Cove. I’ll love it even more when I finally get the shareholder stake I want from Tor.
Penny glances down at her cell again. “All right, turn left at the bottom of the strip.”
I frown. “You taking me up to the north headland?” Christ, I haven’t been up there since we were kids. There used to be a fun-fair that teetered on the edge of it, but Angelo burned it down after our mama was killed there. “Penelope—” My voice lowers to a mock warning. “If you’re planning on shoving me off it, give me a head’s up. I’ll have to cancel all my meetings tomorrow.”
There’s that laugh again, licking my skin with its delicious flames. I squeeze her hand, hoping the positive reinforcement will encourage her to laugh some more.
She tells me to pull over in what was once the fair’s parking lot. Now, it’s little more than a concrete slab claimed by towering hemlock trees and their twisted roots.
I glance to the three cars parked up on the far end.
Claimed by doggers too, by the looks of it.
She tries to jump out of the car, but I tighten my grip on her hand. “Blanket,” I demand, reaching into the backseat and bundling her up in it before she can protest. It’s early February, and she’s dressed like she’s going to a summer ball.
She guides me through the trees and through the charred remains of the fair after I drape my arm over her shoulders and press my lips to her temple. “I just realized, you neither confirmed nor denied you were planning on throwing me off the cliff. We’re certainly heading in that direction.”
“I have no plans to push you off it,” Penny drawls, smiling up at me sweetly. She shrugs out of my grip and teeters ahead in those ridiculous heels. “Who else will take me out for dinner?”
“I’m sure you’d have plenty of men lining up to take you for dinner.”
“Mm, I’m sure I would too, actually.”
The zap of violence that shoots down my spine is irrational, but it’s violence nonetheless. Without thinking twice, I twist my fist into the base of her hair and yank her backward, until her back is flush with my chest.
“You’d be stupid to mistake my obsession with you as me being a limp-dick little bitch, Queenie. I’ll play your games and jump through all your hoops until you blow the whistle on full-time. But what I won’t do is tolerate you mentioning another man, hypothetical or otherwise.” When I glance up, I notice the white puffs of condensation leaving her lips have ceased. “Do I make myself clear?”
A shudder rolls down her back, and I feel it against the wall of my stomach. The proximity of her body mixed with the familiar smell of her shampoo spreads that shudder further south.
I give a small tug on her hair when she doesn’t reply. “Well?”
“I know you’re not,” she whispers.
“Not what?”
“A limp-dick little bitch.” She shifts her ass over my groin, and I grip her even tighter. “This blanket is so thick, yet I can still feel your erection poking me.”
I bite out a laugh, and gently push her forward. “When you resign yourself to the fact there’s no getting away from me, I’m going to give you one spank for every hoop you’ve made me jump through.”
As we reach the edge of the cliff, she glances up at me, her eyes dancing with a cocktail of mischief and something a little more uncertain. Hair dancing in the wind, she looks out to the horizon. “I think you’re going to want to give me more than that.”
Confused, I turn to follow her attention. It takes me precisely half a second to see it. Fuck, the whole coastline can see it.
The billboard that looms on the cliff above Hollow has always been there, but it usually displays a ‘Home of Smuggler’s Club Whiskey’ advertisement. But not tonight. No, tonight, it features a very large, back-lit picture of me. An enormous sharpie-style cock has been drawn on my head—one mid-jizz—and on the left, a slogan is printed in big, black capitals.
“Raphael Visconti is a massive dickhead,” I drawl, reading it out in my best bored tone. “Wow, how long did it take you to think of that tagline?”
“The advertising agency said I wasn’t allowed to use ‘cunt’.”
“I’m surprised they let you put it up at all.”
“Mm. Nico pulled a few strings. Oh—but he insists I tell you it wasn’t his idea.”
I glance down at her, amusement filling my chest. “Who’s idea was it then?”
“Tayce’s, obviously.”
“Obviously.”
In my suit pocket, my cell starts to buzz. Then it buzzes again and again, and I have no doubt it’s everyone within a ten mile radius asking me about the coast’s latest landmark.
Penny shifts beside me, pressing her quilted body into my side. “Are you mad?”
I laugh, wrapping my arm around her. “I’m impressed, baby. You even found a picture of me mid-blink. I thought my PR team erased all of them from Google.”
“They have. I had to take a screenshot from a video of you at some fancy gala. It’s blurry, if you get up close enough.”
I mutter a light-hearted curse in Italian, but Penny tenses. “Are you really not mad?”
The wind picks up speed, whistling between us. I tuck a wayward strand behind her ear and brush my knuckle over her cold cheek. “Do you want me to be mad?”
She swallows. Opens her mouth to say something, but then clamps it shut with resolve. It’s dark up here on the headland, but not dark enough that I miss the suspicious sheen coating her blue eyes.
My heart clenches. “What’s wrong?” I drag her into my chest, sliding my hands under the blanket so I can feel more of her. Fuck, she’s shivering, even with all the extra padding. “Talk to me, Queenie. Do you want me to be mad?
“I don’t know what I want,” she grits, her hot breath seeping through my shirt. “None of it’s working.”
“What do you mean?”
“Spending all your money isn’t making me feel better, Rafe. I don’t care for any of your gifts, either. Fuck, when you stopped for gas last night, I took three-hundred dollars from your wallet and felt nothing. She tilts her chin to look up at me. “I put it back.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, rubbing her nape. “Really?”
She jerks her head toward my enormous face on the billboard. “I thought maybe revenge would be what I needed. I thought we’d come up here, and I’d see your phallic face in lights and I’d feel like all was right between us. But it’s not.”
I drop my forehead to hers, pain swelling inside me. “You don’t want money; you don’t want gifts. I’ve apologized a million times. How do I make this right, baby?”
She’s trembling. Fucking trembling. I want to crawl inside her and make it stop.
She sucks in a steadying breath and rests her cheek below my collar pin. The walls of my stomach tighten. I swear; if her answer to my question is, “Nothing,” then I’m ninety-nine percent sure I’ll tug the Zippo out of my pocket and burn the world down.
Instead, she curls her fingers into my shirt pocket and lets out a sigh big enough to melt her body into mine. “I need to know you’re not like the others.”
We stand there for a few minutes, my chin resting on her crown, her hot breaths skating up my neck. Despite the bitter chill, my skin burns hot and impulsive. I can’t fucking think through all the noise in my head. I hate that it’s my brother’s smug-ass tone that trickles through the chaos and brings me my answer.
I slide my forearm around her waist and gently pick her up.
“Come on, we’ve got another detour before dinner.”
