Because this thing between Marla and I wasn’t public just yet—whatever ‘this thing’ was—I had her wait for me at the park around the corner from her house, so nobody would gossip when they saw who was picking her up.
My dick stirred in my pants and my jaw just about dropped when I saw her. Holy shit. Her thick dark hair was pulled back and up in a kind of braided bun that had me itching to undo it and run my fingers through the strands. The sophisticated style exposed the pale column of her neck and the slope of her slender shoulders, making my mouth water to taste her creamy skin. And the dress she was wearing—the daring dark red, the strapless top, and the fitted skirt that accentuated her gorgeous legs all the way down to her fuck me heels—the outfit was practically screaming for me to rip it off her body.
Down, boy, I reminded myself. I wasn’t about to ravish her in the back of my car, as much as I wanted to. I’d seen the way her breath had hitched and her eyes had gone dark as I’d stood close to her last night. There was no doubt in my mind that I could coax her into wanting me, at least in bed. But I wasn’t in this for a quick fuck. I wanted more than just her enticing figure and soft curves—but I couldn’t deny that the things I could do to her tight, sexy body to make her scream with pleasure would just be a fantastic bonus.
Pulling up to the curb, I got out of the car and walked around to the other side, opening the passenger door for her. “You look stunning.”
Marla raked her gaze over me. I could tell she appreciated the bespoke suit, her pretty blue eyes darkening and her throat bobbing around a swallow. “You clean up well.”
“A high compliment, coming from you,” I replied, amused with her comment.
Marla narrowed her eyes at me, evidently not ready to be that easily influenced, and got into the car. Once I was driving on the main road, I reached into the center console for the item I’d put there earlier, then dropped the present in her lap. I figured it would be rude to put her on the spot by giving it to her at the dinner table, in public.
Marla stared down at the dark velvet box with no small amount of suspicion. Her wary expression was actually pretty damn adorable, although I wouldn’t ever have told her so out loud. I had a feeling she wouldn’t like me calling her cute. Yet.
“It’s not a ring,” I told her, certain that’s what she feared was inside. “But consider it an engagement present.” The first of many presents. I had every intention of showing her my appreciation regularly.
“I suppose crime does pay rather well,” Marla murmured, her tone one of quiet frustration.
There was some kind of story behind her tone, I was sure of it. But I didn’t dare ask. Not yet. Not when she didn’t trust me.
Marla slowly opened the small box and I heard her swift inhale before she tried to cover up her shock so she wouldn’t let me know I’d surprised her. That maybe, possibly, I’d impressed her.
“The earrings were Cartier,” I said, explaining my choice of jeweler. “And you do strike me as a bit of a wildcat.”
The white-and-black diamond jaguar pendant curled around like it was on the prowl, two green emeralds for its eyes, hanging from a platinum chain. Marla’s fingertips reverently stroked the jeweled cat before she quickly shut the box again.
“You can’t just buy me with gifts,” she pointed out, as if I’d somehow missed the pleased, awed look in her eyes.
She liked the necklace. She just didn’t want to admit it.
“I want revenge for my brother,” Marla added in a dignified tone. “And I want a man who’s my equal. I’m not a spoiled pet.”
“I would never treat you that way,” I said, a bit of an unyielding growl entering my voice as I addressed her. “I don’t want a woman who will just sit around and look pretty, or one who only wants a man for the gifts he can give her. If that was the case, I could have picked any of those other women in those files you saw last night. But I’m sure you want someone who’ll treat you like you deserve. You have high standards. Allow me to try and meet them.”
Marla bit her lip at my firm tone, and I saw her shift in her seat a little. Oh, she liked it when I got assertive with her. A thrill shot up my spine as I imagined the things I’d love to do to her with that in mind…
I nearly missed the turn to the restaurant, caught up in thoughts of taking her home with me tonight and doling out a little discipline, but I made it to the valet in time for our reservation.
When I helped Marla out of the car, she stared up at the establishment in shock. “This is impossible. We’re not eating here.”
“At Masa?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “Why not?”
“Reservations have to be made two months in advance,” Marla spluttered. She sounded both confused and like she was barely holding back her excitement.
I couldn’t resist a grin as I placed a hand at the small of her back and led her toward the entrance. “Luckily, I know the owner.”
“You know Masa Takayama!?” Marla hissed, unable to stop her fangirling from overtaking her efforts to not be impressed by me.
I held back a chuckle. Oh, this was going to be a fun evening.
Chapter Six
Marla
* * *
I’d had no intention of actually being dazzled by Vincent tonight, but this was more than I would have expected from the son of a mafioso.
Obliging me by taking me out to dinner and showing me that he would be a good husband instead of some drunk who slept around, or an idiot who would get himself capped before he hit forty. I figured Vincent would just flaunt his wealth a little, take me to a restaurant frequented by his family in their territory so I could feel how powerful he was, and that would be it. This would be an opportunity for me to weigh the price of my soul against the life of my brother.
But so far Vincent had been… he’d been nothing like what I’d expected.
First off, he’d been smart enough to pick me up around the corner so that nobody in my family would know what was up before it was time to announce things. Secondly, he’d driven his own car, no driver required. I didn’t know of a single guy that high up in a mafia family who actually drove his own vehicle. I knew it was usually for security reasons—the driver was also a bodyguard—but still, it was nice to see that Vincent Russo was a man who could do things on his own and didn’t want or need an entourage.
Then the necklace. It was beautiful. I’d been overwhelmed with shock and awe as I’d looked down at it. He’d recognized that my earrings were Cartier, which meant he paid a lot more attention to women than most men—and it meant he knew his jewelry. His knowledge probably shouldn’t have surprised me. Mafia smuggled gemstones and planned jewelry heists along with the many other forms of crime but I had to admit that all his efforts had more than flustered me. I’d been so determined to remain indifferent to Vincent, and instead he’d blown all my preconceived notions about him out of the water.
Now we were at Masa. The most expensive and exclusive restaurant in New York City. And Vincent knew the owner? The famous sushi chef?
Well played, Vincent Russo. Well played.
My head spun as we were ushered into the intimate dining room, the lighting bright enough to enjoy the carefully-chosen wood décor but low enough to create an intimate atmosphere. I’d always been a huge fan of Asian cuisine, especially Japanese, but—how did Vincent know that?