I scrub my jaw. Whitson hadn’t appeared to be a thief of some other mad scientist’s invention. As Whitson rambled, Luxury stared in awe at me for humoring the old man. All of two reasons kept me from fucking the beauty where she stood:
Her father, of course.
And the person who requested Whitson’s demise appears to want his invention, which denotes that I’m associated with a lowly thief.
You’re here to expire a mark, Victor. Stop meddling.As Burt had asked, did I intend to fuck the tiny woman, then kill her father?
Or had he said murder the father,thenscrew the daughter?
“Burt the Butler, you can’t imagine how beautiful and tiny she is. If I could place her in my pocket, I’d pull her out whenever I fancied a fuck.”
“Shall I remind you I am not to be called ‘Burt the Butler?’ Perhaps I’ll saveherfromyou.”
“Rowdy bunch of buggers,” I mutter, watching a couple of rugrats scram from their baseball game to allow cars to pass. It’s not that my side of the pond is much different. The rascals who grew up keeping a healthy distance from me had a similar lifestyle—chuffed to bits while tossing around a ball.
Just as I approach the entry of Urban Gardens, further narrowed by potted plants, my eyes lock onto my new prey. I stuff my hands into my trousers as she walks out in a champagne dress, which complements her adorable cinnamon-sprinkle of freckles. I’ve never been drawn to someone so innocent and in dire need of my guidance.
“Victor.” Luxury’s silky voice plays a dangerous game with my cock. “How did you find my shop?”
I hike a shoulder. “You ranted about being a florist in Brooklyn.”
“Ranted?”The choice word has the desired effect. Luxury ceases chewing a plush bottom lip I’d like to pop into my mouth.
I stand my ground. “Sounds harsher when you say it. You’re a mean one. I tried to save you. You fought off my gentlemanly efforts.”
Her arms fold, accentuating breasts that are too tiny for a tit fucking but deserve my palms. “You’re forgetting something, Victor. After our little tug of war, I agreed you saved me from another suit.”
Little tug of war? Tosh!One side of my mouth tips. I won’t allow any defiance out of Luxury, only her full submission.
I glance around the lovely world I could never be a part of. “Anyway, I did a simple search of the area.”
Very simple. You’re young. College-educated. The deceased mother must account for some form of low self-esteem. Impressionable to a vulture like me.I reach into a basket of pinecones, touching one in thought.
Luxury smiles softly. “I take it you’ve only picked roses, right? You’re a long-stemmed kind of guy?”
“Picked up? Rubbish, sweetheart.” I glance around, having never ventured to a flower shop. “I make a quick call, and yes,long-stemmed roses.”
“Yeah, they are timeless. Anyway, give it a sniff. I call this fragrance Harvest Spice. The Purely Pumpkin sold out this morning. If you’re a holiday guy, our winter spruce has an earthy, masculine hint. It’s a December favorite.”
Shite, she’s measuring if I’m sticking around. Releasing the pinecone, I drop my hands in my pocket and inform her, “Luxury, I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”
To smooth over her slight undertone of nervousness, Luxurycoils her finger around a tendril. “I, uh, have a hair appointment.”
“Hair appointment?”Little liar.
“Yes, and stop laughing at me.”
“I’m not.”
“Your eyes. Either your eyes are laughing or—”
“Or?” My eyebrow lifts, but a second later, what I assumed was nerves looks a little like fear.Why?
My gaze flickers over my attire. No blood. Nothing blaring. Not even a tiny thread out of place.
“Victor, you look like . . . I’m sorry, but I’ve got the feeling you tell people to ‘do this’and‘do that.’ ” She emphasizes “do this” and “do that” in a commanding and stately tone.
I’d say I bodged this one. But if Luxury’s comparing me to a royal, perhaps I should take her home to the Queen.Here, Grandmummy, proof I’m no wanka like Father.