This feeling is fuck all to do with diabetes.
“Carter please, wait.”
I turn and see her balanced on the edge of the grass, attempting to place her bare feet on the gravel. “What?”
“Do you want to take me?”
"What?” No, of course I don’t. Didn’t before I saw her figure, certainly don’t now with my dick jumping around in my pants. And her throwing questions like that at me really isn’t helping me keep this clean.
“I’m not having him palm me off on you,” she says.
Or that.
I suppress the dirty smile that wants to erupt, and watch her fingers tighten the robe as I stare at her face.
“I… I just want to understand. See what my father refuses to let me. If he’d just let me in, he’d see I could be an asset. I want to learn.”
Not about my dick, though.
I pull in a long breath and tug my tie again, releasing the knot completely. Quinn asked this of me. All the help he’s given me over the years deserves this simple errand—doing as I’m asked without complaint or any other intent in mind.
“You want to learn. I’ll teach you.”
“Okay,” she says. Her face breaks out into a smile, which is just as fucking disarming as the rest of her. “That’s great. Good. I mean, thank you.” She fidgets a little, hands still fiddling with her robe. “So, ten, yes?”
I nod, using everything I’ve got to keep my gaze as impassive as it needs to be and directed at her face.
“I’ll be ready.”
Good.
I turn away for home again.
Hopefully I will be, too.
Six
“Sofia?” Emily asks.
“Sorry, what?”
“You were miles away. Thinking of home?”
I bury my hands in my lap and look away, guilty that home hasn’t registered in my thoughts since last night. I've been too preoccupied with whom I’ll be spending the next couple of days with to care anything for home.
“A little. I really do appreciate you letting me stay here.”
Her brows knit together. She doesn’t want to go along with my plan, but Quinn and I have an agreement, and I know he won’t break it.
“Couldn’t you just let your mother know you’re safe? She’ll be out of her mind.”
“And Dad will send an army to drag me home, and I’ll never see the light of day again. Aunt Emily, would you expect Logan to stay at home and study, not even go out to celebrate with a friend because it was in the city?”
“Well, no, but you and Logan are very different.”
“Yes, and I am an intelligent, capable woman who is sick and tired of not only being locked up, but being kept in the dark, too. I’m about to start my master's degree in the fall. Do you think I don’t have some idea of what my father and uncle do?” We've been over this several times already, and it’s getting tiresome. “I can spend a few days on my own without getting into any problems. Carter will be with me. Then, I promise to let them know I’m safe and ready to go home.”
Emily smiles at me, and I can’t quite read it. “You’ve grown into quite the remarkable woman, Fia. I know your parents are so proud of you.”
And the guilt starts again.
My brief conversation with Carter last night distracted me from that particular emotion and replaced it with a more unfamiliar one. Not in this moment, though.
I finish the rest of my coffee and squeeze Emily’s shoulder as I pass on the way back up to my room. It’s nine thirty, and there’s no way I’m risking being late for Carter this morning.
Auntie Gabby and Aunt Emily came back late last night with several bags full of clothes for me. I had to borrow the bikini, but they doubled the wardrobe I carried with me from home. Most of the new clothes are now packed ready for my adventure, although I have no idea what we’ll be doing or what I should wear. There isn't a suit or formal pants in the collection. Just some tidy jeans, a couple of tops and a pretty dress. Nothing that indicates business.
Back home, it’s rare I need to dress up. My wardrobe contains all the clothes I’ve ever needed from the most desirable fashion names, but what’s the point of them if I never go anywhere or do anything that warrants me wearing them?
At ten before ten I head downstairs with my bag and linger in the lobby. My stomach is uneasy, and I can’t keep still, walking back and forth over the same couple of metres. It’s just excitement—excitement that I'm finally doing something. Nothing to do with the gorgeous man I'm flying off to Miami with.
Not at all.
“Ready?” his low, husky voice asks, startling me.
Carter stands in the doorway, dressed in an impeccable suit that only emphasises his build. But his face is flat. No emotion. Nothing I can read as either enthusiasm or impatience.
I nod, having lost my tongue once again, and follow as he leads the way to his car. As I dump my bag in the backseat my brain starts to switch back on. Questions begin to fire in my mind, but as soon as he starts the engine, and I watch his hands grip the leather of the steering wheel, they vanish. His presence and my proximity to him wipe out the brain cells that have never failed me before now. My eyes watch his hands as he tightens and relaxes his grip. All the heat of my blood rushes to my chest and my stomach as I assess his strength. His control.
I look away, frustrated with myself, and stare out the window as Carter drives. I'll focus my attention on anything but my companion, hoping sensible Fia materialises.
The journey is short, and we’re at the airfield in under twenty minutes. “This isn’t O’Hare.”
“Good observation,”
“I thought we were flying to Miami.”
“We are.” Carter doesn’t elaborate. Of course, we wouldn’t take a commercial flight. The holidays and trips we’ve taken have always been private. Why would Uncle Quinn operate any differently?
“Is this a company jet or chartered?”
“The company.”
I’m getting pretty fed up of the brief answers, but I need the blood to return to my brain in order to engage in some actual conversation. It’s like Carter has cast a spell over me, taking me back to the sixth grade. Add in my genuine excitement at getting a glimpse into a new world, and I can see why I feel like a schoolgirl again.
We drive around to a small hanger where there is a sleek jet on the tarmac. Carter exits the car and heads directly to a member of the ground crew. I wait and give myself a moment. If this is going to work, I have to snap out of it and get my errant hormones under control. I’ve seen good looking men before, although never a boyfriend, and he shouldn’t cause me to act like this.
I grab my bag from the back and follow Carter before heading up the steps to take a seat.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I reach the door.
“Getting on the plane. This is our ride, right?”
He nods, and I turn to take a seat in the plush leather chairs.
It’s a three-hour flight to Miami. That’s all the time I have to change Carter’s opinion of me. He might have agreed to teach me last night, but I’m not so sure he meant it given our level of conversation this morning.
Ten minutes later he climbs on board and sits in a spare chair on the other side of the jet, a few seats behind me.
“I thought you said you’d teach me?” I ask, not looking around at him.
“We’re on a plane to Miami. Not sure what you’d like me to teach you about that.”
“Why are we going to Miami?”
“Business.”
His answer pisses me off, but we’re interrupted by the captain announcing our departure. The plane taxis out and we’re in the air in less than a minute.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and move to sit in the empty seat opposite him, crossing my legs.
“Hey, careful.” Carter scowls at me, looking over his paperwork that might have moved an inch.
“What business?” I stare at him, which is a lot harder than it should be
, especially remembering my temper at him. All I can think about is the green of his eyes, the flecks of gold and hazel, which remind me of galaxies if I look hard enough. The edge of the scar creeps out from his shirt collar and instead of detracting from his features, it only adds to them. He looks dangerous, but for some reason I’m not scared, even though everything is telling me I should be.
“Quinn has a new casino opening. Wants me to ensure everything is in order. Planned and carried out.”
“Does he usually send you to open new casinos?” I tilt my head. I know how to use the internet. The Cane empire is vast. They own property and businesses all over the States and internationally.
“Sometimes.”
“And what is your job, exactly?”
“I run Cane business. Ensure certain facets are running smoothly and there are no problems.”
I nod but catch him shifting in his seat. “How long have you worked for my uncle?”
“A long time.”
“But you’re young, what, early thirties?”
“Near enough.”
“No college degree?” I find myself wanting to ask questions about Carter rather than Cane.
For the first time he smiles slightly. It's lazy, arrogant, as if something amuses him about my question. He leans forward, planting his arms on his legs. My own body shrinks back in response to the shift from him, a shudder coming from his sudden proximity. “No degree. None, Sofia. Any more stupid questions, or can I get on with my work?”
Everything I'm trying to be, the sense of calm I’m gripping onto, begins to crumble under his scrutiny. He looks at his watch, becoming bored with the wait.
“He trusts you. My uncle?” I'm not even sure why I asked that. It's just… I can't think.
“He wouldn’t let me do what I do if he didn’t. He certainly wouldn’t put you in my charge.”
“You make me sound like a child.”
“Aren’t you?” His challenge kills what little piece of me I was hanging onto, and I begin to feel resentment build at his reluctance and quick opinions. It spurs me onwards, annoyed.
“Do you treat Logan as a child?”
“No. He fucking acts like one, though.”
“Then please don’t presume to think of me as one. I’ve worked hard my whole life. People might only see me as spoilt and lucky for having Benjamin Vico as my father, but it’s hard. I’m here to learn what the business my father runs, the business I will rightly inherit should I want it, might involve. My father wouldn’t show me. Quinn is doing so.”
“Why does an Ivy League brat want to know about running casinos and clubs? I'm guessing you didn't major in business.”
“Organic chemistry. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know. How old was Logan when he started working?”
Carter looks away, not prepared to answer, because he knows what the truth will mean.
“Do you want a drink?” He stands and heads back to the small galley.
“Sure. A water is fine.”
He returns with two bottles of water and a chocolate bar for him.
“We’ll land in Miami and check into the hotel. The opening isn’t until later tonight. I’ll visit, meet with the manager, check the staffing roster and the setup, confirm the house limits and check over what big players are booked in and how much we’ll allow them to play with. Then we can grab some food in the restaurant before the customers start arriving. I’ll oversee the first hour or so. Make sure the tables are full and that people are putting their money down.”
“Great. If that’s the plan, I’ll need clothes for later.”
Carter’s eyes battle to stay locked on my face, but they drop to take in the casual shirt and jeans I’m wearing. “You’ll need a dress. Sophisticated. Knee length. You’re here representing Cane. Don't turn up like a…” He doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. But I can tell he's checking whatever language was about to leave his mouth.
“You have seen my mother, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, do you really think I would turn up looking like a slut?" He shifts in his chair again, but I catch the mild lift off his lips. “Or are you just a control freak?”
“Controlling and planning for every eventuality ensures success. I’m very good at success. Extremely focused on that goal.” For the briefest of moments, I catch a burning in his eyes, an intensity that wasn’t there before. It catches my breath, but as soon as I’ve noticed, it’s gone.
He stands, taking his chocolate bar and water to the small bank of seats, which have a table between them. “I have some emails to see to. You can have some time in Miami to get whatever you need before this evening. From four you can shadow me. Seven, dinner. This conversation is done.”
I'm left alone with that statement, and I stare out of the window, confused by him and this trip. I didn’t expect to have to battle with Carter for information. Perhaps he was just being polite last night, but now I’m here, I need to ensure I make the most of every drop of information I can because I get the distinct impression I’ll never get this opportunity again.
We land and a car is waiting, ready to whisk us off to the hotel. It’s attached to the casino—a grand, glass affair, situated overlooking Miami Beach. It towers among similar buildings, all sleek, modern and sexy. The familiar C insignia is displayed for all to see as we approach.
“The driver will take you downtown to wherever you need to go to make your wardrobe work.”
“You’re not coming with me?” He looks over to me, still with an unreadable face.
“You didn’t want me to treat you like a kid. Would you rather I babysit?”
“No, it’s fine. Just a surprise. I’ll be back and ready in time. Just text me the room number. Might as well get on with my errands now.”
We exchange numbers and Carter gets out of the car. “Don’t get into any trouble. Get what you need, and then back.”
“I promise. Shit, wait.”
“What?”
“If I use my credit card, Dad will know where I am.”
"What do you mean know where you are?"
"I'm… Erm. Uncle Quinn said…" I've got no answer for this. I don't know how much Carter knows, or if I should tell him. His eyes narrow, sharp and aggressive in nature, as if this is the first thing that's interested him about me since we met. And then he stands, obscuring his face for a moment, before leaning back down to look at me.
“Here,” he says, pulling out his black Amex card to hand over. "Go spend."
“Really?”
“You’re buying a few outfits. What damage can you do?”
“Is that a challenge?” I grin up at him, hoping he’ll give me a glimpse of that smile again. No such luck. The only thing I get is seriousness and a frown. “Okay. Thank you. I won’t be long.”
I run my thumb along the raised bumps printed on the card as he turns his back and walks away. Firm strides. Long strides. I watch him go for a moment, transfixed by his frame cutting through the people and his phone going to his ear.
Carter Wade. He’s a complete mystery, but one I’m more than happy to try to solve.
“Neiman Marcus?” I ask the driver.
“Sure, Ma’am.”
It’s a mad dash around the store to collect everything I need, and that’s still a guess. Plus, I don’t want to spend all of Carter’s money. Of course, several hundred dollars on clothes is probably a drop in the ocean for him, but it's not in me to blow someone else's cash.
On the way back to the hotel, I text him with the final amount spent, plus a request for a sandwich to be sent up. I’ve not eaten since breakfast, and there’s no way I’ll survive through until dinner tonight.
Sure, what do you like? We have the penthouse. Tell the desk you’re with the Cane party. You’ll be escorted up.
Wow. Okay. Let’s see how a Cane penthouse stacks up then.
No text back, but it doesn’t stop me bouncing in my chair. Suddenly, the fatigue that had started to grab hold of me is kno
cked back. When the driver pulls up, I head right up to reception and pass on my instructions.
“Certainly, Miss.” A gentle nod and I’m escorted to a bank of elevators. The doors open and the bellhop turns a key on the console before excusing himself.
Butterflies spring to life on the ride up. When the doors open, I step out into a glossy entryway—all white marble, exotic flowers, and glass. My footsteps turn timid as I look around the place, but my curiosity is attracted to the windows spilling sunlight into the room.
“Come on in. There’s room service set up for you.” Carter appears from nowhere. “I’ll take your bags through.” He seems brighter somehow than he was when I left. I follow him through the expansive and sleek room. He opens a set of double doors into a master suite and sets my bags down.
“Half an hour. We’ll be walking the floor, so don’t wear heels unless you can stand in them.”
He leaves, shutting me in.
My eyes blink, and I’m left a little starstruck for a moment, then I catch a glimpse in the mirror and know I need to get a move on. I dump the garments out of the bag and set about making myself presentable, in between mouthfuls of club sandwich.
A minute to four and I go in search of Carter. He’s standing in the main area with a glass of clear liquid in his hand. “Ready?” I ask. My heart pounds in my chest, waiting for his approval.
He turns around, and I study his eyes, hoping they’ll cover me, take me in. They don’t. His ice-glare is back, and he shows no flicker of interest in my outfit. High waisted, fitted pants with a wide leg, teamed with a V-neck cami top ensure I look professional, but this is not the reaction I was hoping for from Carter. At least the modest black pumps I’m wearing give me an extra couple of inches, although Carter still towers over me as he approaches.
“What happened to the dress?”
“The dress is for later. I thought this was acceptable for now.”
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 6
