The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “I have a dinner meeting this evening.” He pulls down the seat of the toilet and lowers himself, resting his elbows on his knees as he watches me wetting my hair. “You’re coming.”

  “Perry?” I ask, more dread falling. I don’t think I can handle another spectacle like our romantic dinner in Vegas. And now I know Nox is lurking in the shadows, hiding my desire is paramount.

  “Not Adams.” He smiles when I exhale my relief, standing and walking out of the bathroom. I watch his back disappear on a small frown, and moments later, he’s back, a bag in his hand. Placing it on the vanity unit, he pulls out a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, followed by some shower gel. “As much as I like you smelling of me, I thought maybe you’d prefer something more feminine.” He approaches the stall and sets the bottles on the shelf in the shower. “Be ready for seven.” Plunging his hand into my wet hair, he hauls me forward until our faces are close. “Use plenty of the shower gel,” he whispers. “I can smell fear on you too.” He drops me and leaves, and I have no choice but to sink to my knees when my wobbly legs give, my breathing erratic and strained. He sees me. Has from the first time our eyes locked. And he’s right. I am scared. I’m scared of my attraction toward him.

  * * *

  After finally convincing my legs to work, I shower and wash my hair using the products he left. All rose scented. As I’m drying my hair in the mirror, I realize I have nothing to wear. I haven’t seen the silver dress since I took it off in his Vegas hotel suite, and the jeans and shirt I’ve been wearing are hardly suitable for dinner.

  Placing the dryer down, I slip into the white robe and make my way out, set to go and position my problem to Danny. I make it to the door when I hear something from outside on my terrace. His voice?

  Intrigued, I back up, edging toward the open glass doors. I see him through the glass panel that separates this balcony from his. He’s sitting in a large wicker chair smoking a cigarette, staring out over the garden. He’s in his boxers. Slumped back in the seat. Legs extended before him, straight and crossed at the ankles. His hair is wet and falling into his eyes. Staring is easy, and I rest my shoulder against the doorjamb. This is a side of Danny I’ve never seen. Relaxed. He looks . . . peaceful?

  “I know you’re there,” he says to the garden, taking his cigarette to his lips and pulling a long drag.

  I pull my robe in and step out onto the terrace, having to squint a little when the sun shines in my eyes. “I have nothing to wear.”

  He casts me a sideways look as he exhales, looking me up and down. “You look good in that.”

  I let my shoulders drop. “You want to take me out in this?”

  “I’m not taking you out. You’re accompanying me.”

  “Whatever,” I snap. “I’m sure you’ll want me to wear clothes.”

  He flicks some ash in a tall ashtray next to his chair. “You sure about that?”

  My head tilts, my lips purse. “After your performance in your suite’s office in Vegas in front of your men, yes. Yes, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to parade me around naked.”

  His jaw instantly tightens, and I find a smile creeping up on me. Power. I feel powerful all of a sudden. Pushing himself up from his chair, Danny wanders over to the glass panel and takes another pull of his cigarette. “There are clothes for you in the wardrobe.”

  I withdraw in surprise, looking over my shoulder to the wall of closets. He bought me more clothes? Do I thank him? I’m pondering that question for far too long, but just as I decide that some appreciation wouldn’t hurt, a woman walks out of his bedroom pulling on one of his shirts. My words of thanks shoot to the back of my throat with an inhale and nearly choke me, and my reaction forces Danny to glance over his shoulder to what has my attention.

  The woman is taking me in, looking me up and down, her pretty face curious. She’s not a natural blonde, but, of course, she’s gorgeous. I rip my bitchy eyes away from her and find Danny poorly concealing a sly grin. So he walked out of my bathroom with a solid cock and had himself relieved by someone else? This woman here? Why? Why not me? And why the fuck am I injured by that?

  “Hello,” I say as evenly as possibly, straining something close to a friendly smile. I get nothing in return. No acknowledgment. No smile. No words.

  “This is Amber.” Danny takes another hit of nicotine. “Amber, this is Rose.” His smirk is growing by the second.

  Suddenly, Amber slaps on a smile and comes dancing toward me. “Nice to meet you.” She offers her hand over the glass, and I take it, holding my smile in place.

  “You too.”

  Danny puts his arm around Amber’s shoulder, pulling her in close to his naked torso. She looks up at him in surprise but goes with ease, settling against his skin. My strained smile is going to crack my cheeks soon.

  “I’ll leave you two to it.” I swivel on my bare feet and head back inside.

  “Please do,” Danny calls, and I turn when I get to the doors, catching him walking Amber back into his room, one hand in her hair, the other still holding the cigarette. I don’t mean to slam the doors. It just happens, creating a deafening crash. For a moment, I half expect the glass to shatter. “Probably bulletproof,” I mutter, going to the closet and yanking it open in a temper. My grievance is forgotten the second I’m facing the contents. Dozens of items grace the rails—dresses, sweaters, pants, tanks. Glamorous, casual, smart. My eyes drop to the shoe stand, where there are various pairs of sneakers, heeled pumps, and flip-flops. He’s covered every wardrobe eventuality. What’s going on?

  I start browsing through the pieces and soon realize that every single item is something I would choose for myself. None of it is tarty. None of it screams whore. It’s all tasteful and classy. Which means I have no armor. I pull out a cream dress with gold stitching on the hem and sleeves. There are gold-heeled pumps to match. Appropriate for dinner? Yes, I think so.

  I get myself ready, before applying some makeup that was left on the dresser too. And the whole time, I’m silently stewing over what could be happening next door while I’m in here getting ready to accompany him to dinner. Then I hear a collection of bangs. And a definite roar of pleasure. My jaw tightens, and my hand gets a little too vigorous as I swipe my lipstick across my bottom lip, painting it thickly in the bright red shade I wore the fatal night Danny Black took me. Whore red. I smack my lips and stand back from the mirror. And I stare into my empty eyes for the longest time as I slowly pin my hair into place, assessing myself. Perfect.

  Grabbing my purse, I slip my feet into the heels and make my way downstairs, not looking at his door as I pass. Is she still in there? I shake my head and my thoughts away, hitting the stairs, my heels clinking on the marble. The sounds distract the group of men at the bottom, and they all turn and look up at me as I descend, my hold of the rail tight, my chin high. I make it to the bottom, and the ugly guy, Ringo, looks past me. I turn and see Danny at the top of the stairs, watching me.

  I hold his eyes, my jaw solid, my mind ignoring the vision of his tall, hard frame looking fine in another expensive three-piece, this one navy. The deep blue makes his eyes pop, even from down here.

  He takes slow steps down, fastening his tie as he does, his eyes never leaving mine. Defiantly, I stare him down, refusing to look away. My grit amuses him. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he passes through a few men until he’s before me. The silence is heavy. He finishes fastening his tie and holds out his hand. Brad places something in his palm. I don’t know what. I refuse to take my eyes off his. Then he moves in, lifting his hand to my face, and wipes a handkerchief from one side of my mouth to the other, dragging off my red lipstick. My look must be pure indignation, but I say nothing, licking my dry lips once he’s done.

  “You didn’t like the red?” I ask.

  “Not today.” He slides his palm onto my neck and turns me, leading me out of the door by a firm hold on my nape. “Glad you’re back to your normal self,” he muses, opening the back door of a shiny Mercedes.r />
  I stop and look up at him, my face impassive. “My normal self?”

  He smirks, dipping and kissing my cheek. “Fiery,” he whispers, his tongue licking the shell of my ear.

  My inhale is loud. My body still. My skin erupts, my resolve becomes rickety.

  “Get in the car, Rose.” Danny pulls back, and I slide into the back seat, my heart hammering, catching sight of Amber standing in the doorway, now dressed. Her face twists in displeasure before she can correct it. And for reasons unbeknown to me, it thrills me.

  The restaurant is an Italian in the center of Miami, old and traditional. It’s also empty when we arrive, and I’m not sure whether that’s intentional or whether it’s not popular.

  We’re shown to a table at the very back, near a corridor that leads to the kitchens and restrooms. Six of Danny’s men take a table at the front of the restaurant as he pulls a chair out for me and takes my hand, helping me down. “Is it always this quiet?” I ask, looking around the restaurant.

  Danny settles to my right of the table for four, unfastening the button of his suit jacket as the waitress places a bottle of water down. “We’re early by Italian standards.” He orders wine and takes my cloth napkin from my place, flapping it out and laying it across my lap.

  “Who are you meeting?” I ask.

  “A local businessman.”

  I falter a second, studying his profile as he pours some water for me. His scar looks especially silver today, and not for the first time I wonder how he came to have the nasty wound. “So you’ll be talking business.” I accept my water when he hands it to me.

  “We will.”

  “I thought you don’t discuss business in the presence of the latest whore you’re fucking.” I bring my glass to my lips and take a small sip, watching as he holds back a faint smile.

  Collecting his own water, he turns in toward me, resting his elbow on the table. “I believe what I said was, I don’t discuss business with the latest whore I’m fucking.” A small sip around another small smile. “And, as you’ve pointed out yourself, I’ve not fucked you.”

  I pout a little, severing our eye contact to have another gaze around the restaurant. There’s too much satisfaction in his words, his tone, his eyes. Back at his mansion, I moved in and he pulled away. Then he went to his room and fucked that Amber woman. And what about the fact that he doesn’t like me being called a whore?

  “Why are you frowning?” he asks, and I look at him, wiping all evidence of said frown away.

  “I’m not frowning.”

  “You were frowning,” he persists, nodding to the waitress when she places a bottle of wine down.

  “Would you like to try, Mr. Black?” she asks, turning our glasses up the right way.

  “No.” His answer sends her on her way without her asking if he would like her to pour. Danny returns his attention to me.

  “I wasn’t frowning,” I confirm before he has a chance to challenge me again, because I just know he was going to.

  “Okay.”

  “Okay,” I mimic. “And thank you for the clothes.”

  “You like them?

  “Yes, but why?”

  “Because I can’t very well take you anywhere with no clothes on.”

  Ah. So it is a problem if I parade around naked. “Maybe don’t take me. Or maybe you could return me to my rightful owne—” I snap my mouth shut as Danny cocks his head in question.

  “Owner,” he finishes softly. “Right now, Rose Lillian Cassidy, I am your rightful owner.”

  “How many women do you own?” I ask, bracing myself for the answer.

  “Just one.” He takes the wine and pours each of us a glass. “You,” he adds, in case there was any need for confirmation.

  “Then what about Amber?” I wince as soon as I’ve asked, wondering where on earth that question came from. He makes me behave stupidly, makes me say stupid things. I take refuge in my wine, downing half the glass.

  His smile is truly epic, the sparkle in his pale eyes blinding. “Amber is the latest whore I’m fucking.”

  What’s that pain in my stomach? “But you don’t care for her?”

  “Do I look like the kind of man who would care for a woman?”

  No. He looks like the kind of man who doesn’t care about anyone at all.

  I look up when I hear the door to the restaurant open, seeing a middle-aged man in a black suit and a briefcase stroll in. He nods to Danny’s men, his movement jerky and nervous, and then makes a beeline for our table, his short legs working fast.

  “Danny.” He dumps his briefcase on a chair and takes the other, wiping his brow with a handkerchief as he does.

  “Gordon.” Danny swirls his wine casually, taking in the flustered mess of a man before us. “This is Rose.” He motions to me with his glass, and Gordon nods at me in acknowledgement, though he doesn’t make eye contact. One would think he had a nervous disposition, but, then again, he’s in the company of Danny Black. “Do you have my money?” Danny asks.

  Gordon’s eyes jump across the floral tablecloth. “It’s just—”

  “I’ll take that as a no.” Danny lifts his glass to his nose and smells, closing his eyes. It’s condescending and aloof. And the atmosphere just shifted from slightly uncomfortable to borderline unbearable. I glance over to the table where Danny’s men sit, each looking this way. “I lent you a lot of money, Gordon.”

  “And I’ll pay you back.” For the first time, he looks at me, and I see the fear in his eyes I expected. “Things haven’t gone as planned.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard.” Danny’s glass meets the table and he reclines in his chair, completely relaxed. He’s the only one. Why did he bring me here? “I had a pleasant little chat with Spittle.”

  Gordon’s eyes widen, and I look between the two men, my discomfort increasing. Who’s Spittle?

  “Oh, you didn’t know we were acquainted?” Danny asks. “Of course not. Why would an FBI agent be in contact with a criminal like me?”

  “Let me explain.” Gordon wipes his brow once more, his throat swelling with each swallow.

  “No need. Spittle gave me a rather comprehensive rundown of your latest endeavor, Gordon.” An edge of menace makes it into Danny’s tone, though he does a good job of keeping it from his expression, which remains stoic. Leaning forward, he gets closer, forcing Gordon to retreat. “You told me my money was for the extension of your pharmaceuticals business. For medical research.”

  “Please, Danny.”

  “Do. You. Have. My. Money?”

  A mild shake of his head, a face full of dread. “No.”

  It happens so fast, I don’t have the chance to look away or cover my ears. Danny pulls a gun from his lap and fires, and I jump and then still, watching as Gordon’s head jerks back on his neck before he slumps forward in his chair, his upper body crashing onto the table. I stare at the back of Gordon’s head, frozen in my seat, watching as blood seeps into the threads of the tablecloth, growing rapidly to form a perfect circle.

  “I think we need a new table,” Danny says calmly, holding his gun out to the side. Brad takes it, and Ringo, along with another man, whose name I don’t know, make quick work of ridding the chair of Gordon’s dead body.

  Raising his hand and clicking his fingers, Danny summons the waitress and indicates the mess of blood. “Another table, please.”

  “Of course, Mr. Black. This way, please.”

  I watch, utterly stunned, as Gordon is carried out the back of the restaurant and the waitress doesn’t bat an eyelid. The feel of Danny taking my hand doesn’t pull my attention away or have me standing. “Rose?”

  I look up at him blankly, and he smiles. It’s a mischievous smile, like he could have just stolen my last piece of candy or passed a rude comment. But he’s done neither of those things. He just killed a man. In front of me. No warning. No apology. I know he does this often, it’s a sport to him, but why in front of me? “Are you trying to make a point?”

  His lips
push together in silent contemplation. It’s as patronizing as could be. “Yes, I am. I’m pointing out to Gordon that he’s gone against the terms of our deal and in doing so, there are consequences.”

  I slowly stand, though I can’t deny my legs are wobbly. It’s not like I haven’t seen endless horrific things in my time. I’m not shocked by what I’ve seen. I’m shocked that he’s brought me along to watch. “But how can he appreciate the consequences?” I ask. “He’s fucking dead.”

  “And I feel much better about that.”

  “Why? Now you don’t get any of your money back.”

  “Maybe not, but I can guarantee no one will delay a payment to me in the future.”

  “So you’re making an example of him?”

  Danny laughs lightly, placing his palm in the small of my back and applying pressure to get me moving to a table near the front. A clean table. One that isn’t splattered with blood. “I make an example of many people, Rose. But that’s not the only reason I killed Gordon.” He helps me down to another chair and takes a new bottle of wine, pouring me a fresh glass. Placing it in my hand, he kneels before me, cupping my knees with his palms. I look down at him, still stunned. “I loaned Gordon one million dollars to extend the research program of a cancer drug,” he explains gently. “I found out that he used two thirds of that money to pay off his personal debts. To add insult to injury, his personal debts were amassed from sex and drugs. I despise both.”

  My eyebrows furrow as I stare into eyes that are now soft. “You despise sex?” It just falls out of my mouth, but . . . he despises sex? My only thoughts now are that of a tragic nature, and they don’t involve death or bloodshed. Inappropriate, yes, but still. He despises sex? That is going to make my task to extract information extremely tricky. My body is all I have to get what I want. He despises sex? But I’ve seen him hard. I’ve felt it too. God, is he a monk? A monk who battles his morals each day to not give into that sin called desire? My thoughts are running away with me. Of course he’s not a monk. He’s just left me not a few hours ago to find relief elsewhere.