6
Luxury
Inever quite returned to sleep, engrossing myself in searching for homes that meet Dad’s relocation package requirements from Greco. I looked at places closer to his place of business and flowed with the bus route to the university that I have yet to receive a response from. Now, dressed in a jogging suit, I silently walk next to Brick toward Urban Gardens.
Once we’ve approached the stretch of brownstones that houses my flower shop and other businesses, my steps stall. Beams of sunshine stitch through honeylocust trees. I glance at a mural on the side of the building, then across the way to the memorabilia store, where I once purchased tiny, blue toy trains in lieu of vases for a customer’s first baby shower.
Brick looks me over, overzealous at the thought of danger.
“I’m being emotional today, sorry.” I shove the edges of my lips up, and seconds later, his peculiar stare vanishes.
After a nod, he sweeps his arm out for me to proceed.
God, I could really go for Vic’s insistence.
Before it dawns on me that I’ve returned to my indecent craving, the morning after our first night consumes my thoughts. The memory is a profound balm slathered over my aching heart as I reminisce on how Victor saw me, heard my feelings, emotions, and deepest regrets.
Damn it, Luxxie. You let him spill over from your subconscious.I reprimand myself, looking inside my shop, which looms on the opposite side of a wrought iron gate and door. I stuff my hand into my cross-body purse, fishing out the keys.
“May I?” Brick asks although I’ve no other choice.
“Thanks.” I hand the keys over. The gate creaks, shifting like an accordion. Brick opens the door, finishing off with a quick sweep of my tiny floral shop. As he nods me inside, my heart charges into my throat, beating wildly. I rub my now clammy palms onto my hips, elongate my spine, and enter the store, stripped of flowers. Only empty pots remain. Aliyah had sold the cash register earlier this week, and the floors look freshly polished. She has piled the few teddies in one area, and I run a thumb over a Christmas-ornament-shaped chocolate on top of the glass display case.Well, there’s not enough candy to take home to Dad, and Brick looked at me like a chubby chucker the one time I offered.
As a nervous eater, I quickly unwrap the confection while opening the drapes. The rose-shaped clock strikes nine a.m.
“Oh, do you mind taking down the clock?” I ask Brick. “It belonged to my mom.”
As he reaches on his tippy toes, the door chimes. I hadn’t heard the sound of it when the Russian came inside months ago. Brick hands me the clock, hand dropping to his waistband.
At the sight of Victor Tudor and his signature scowl, there’s a catch in my throat, along with a bit of unmelted chocolate. I feel like a fool, forcing it all down and tossing the last half on the counter.Really, candy in the morning, Lux?
My eyes drink in every inch of his tall, dark, and God-sculpted frame. The same butterflies that charged through my abdomen at first sight have another go.
Victor’s deep, blue eyes sweep the room in a second, but it feels like a thousand years pass before the calming depth of them land on me. He’s virtually unreadable.
My eyes narrow. I attempt some form of defense. All the while, my brain only registershisscent. His testosterone creates a cologne made just for Victor.
Tone dry, I ask, “What’re you doing here?”
“Miss Whitson, you’re even lovelier than the Kew Gardens on the first day of spring, unflattering garments aside.” Victor’s sharp grin kills me a little bit more.
“The . . . what?”
“Kew, the Royal Gardens.”
Something flits across his gaze. Suddenly, I remember the past, where thedickgot hiskicksat my expense.
God,thatlaughter that arises from the strength of perfectly, chiseled abdomens. It’s a melody in my ear. Then an irritant. I always hated when he laughedatme. “Mr., um, what was your name again, Finch? Special agent so-and-so? Forgive my confusion. My brain can’t sift through themountain of liesfast enough.”
“Victor will do just fine, Little One.”
Distance between us stretches like a chasm as he calls methatname. The one that sent me falling to my knees or consenting to his dark desires. Reading my mind, Victor steps forward.
One debonair step.
Then another.
A stunned silence descends around me, and I can damn near hear my pulse tremoring between my thighs. One more step. Brick quietly heads toward the door.