Chapter 72

Edward and I have barely begun chatting when Andre comes over to take our order. He plays it up a little bit, scowling playfully at Edward and ribbing him for taking away his best bartender, and I’m a little shocked at Andre’s acknowledgement of what Edward has done until I see that Edward is pleased by it all. That he likes seeing Andre a little miffed at the loss of me, like Edward’s truly taken something valuable from him.

And Andre – clever man that he is – knew that. I smile at him, genuinely impressed, when he turns his head to me, asking me what I’d like.

“We’ll have two of the bourbons I had yesterday,” Edward says, looking back at me, dismissive. Andre nods and walks steadily away and I raise my eyebrow at him.

“What if I wanted a pina colada?” I ask, leaning across the table, a little cheeky.

“I need to make sure the girl I’m with can drink her whiskey,” he replies, giving me a steady smirk and holding my gaze. Andre is remarkably fast coming back with our drinks, sliding the bourbon onto the table between us and then moving discreetly away.

As Edward watches, I pick up my drink and take a steady pull of it, my memory flashing to last night, when I picked up Christian’s glass of scotch and had a sip.

As I let the bourbon slide over my tongue and down my throat, I silently consider that Christian’s taste in liquor is better, and I smirk.

But Edward’s answering smile tells me that he thinks my smirk is for him, and then we’re off.

Our conversation is playful, bantering even, talking about little nothings that don’t really matter, neither of us getting anywhere close to the truth that we actually know about each other: that Edward is the heir to a mafia fortune, and that I’m supposed to be one of Romano’s “girls,” at his whim and service.

Instead, we pretend that we’re just normal people, getting to know each other.

Or at least, that’s what we do until Edward has his second drink. And then he starts to get handsy.

“So, Bambi,” he murmurs, my name a purr on his tongue. “What is it that you…like.” As he asks his shoulder dips down like he’s reaching down to adjust something in his shoe. But my eyes go wide when I feel his hand wrap around my ankle, lifting my foot so that it comes to rest on the padded seat between his thighs.

I stare at him and swallow once as he begins to slowly massage my calf, keeping his eyes on mine, smirking a little but asking me to pretend – as he is – that he doesn’t have his hands on me.

“Um,” I say, lifting my glass to my lips and taking another long sip. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…what do you like,” he says, his hand moving steadily up my calf now. “You strike me as the kind of girl who likes…to be told what to do?”

“And what gives you that impression?” I murmur, still pretending this isn’t happening, that his hand isn’t dipping beneath my knee now.

Edward huffs a little laugh and then gives a sharp tug on my leg, and I gasp as I slump down in the seat, my ass now barely balanced on the edge, my foot up against his hip as Edward smooths his hand up the inside of my thigh. “Maybe it’s your choice of profession,” he murmurs, rubbing his hand back and forth. And god, if a heat doesn’t coil in me.

Because, as much as I know Christian is attracted me – and as much as I know there’s something brewing between Frankie and I…

Well, Edward is hot. And it’s kind of nice to have a guy my age not turn me down, isn’t it? After all of these months of Christian and Frankie treating me like I’m untouchable.

I force my mind back to the situation, wondering how to handle this. “Is that the kind of girl you want me to be?” I ask, my voice soft, coy.

“Yes, Bambi,” Edward says, leaning forward to stare at me intently. “I like my girls…obedient. And I reward them handsomely when they do as I say.” He holds my eyes as his hand moves even higher, making me gasp a little at the gall he has to wrap his hand all the way around my inner thigh so that his fingers brush the crease where my ass meets the back of my leg. I suddenly thank god and all his angels that I wore tights today, because otherwise…

Edward’s eyes move to my open lips for a second, and I can see the hunger starting in him.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” I whisper.

He keeps his eyes on my lips. “Maybe I want to get you in trouble.”

I squirm a little, anxious, looking over my shoulder towards the bar, to where Andre and Frankie are, wondering if they’re watching, suddenly flushing.

Edward laughs, low and dark, and my eyes move back to him. I see the smile on his lips, the way his eyes have slipped half-shut, and I see that he likes this too – likes me anxious, a little out of my element, under his control.

“Please,” I whisper, playing into it a little, allowing myself to feel my discomfort and letting him see it. I wiggle away, but he holds me tight.

“Go out with me tomorrow night,” he commands, his words and his eyes hard, unwilling to be denied.

“I have to work,” I whisper, glancing again at the bar.

“I’ll tell them you’re with me,” he says, dismissive.

“But I work lunch too –“

“Bambi,” Edward says, his voice low with warning. “What did I say when I got here this afternoon?”

I cast my mind back, trying to remember precisely. And then his words come to my lips. “That you get what you want.”

“That’s right,” he murmurs, and I gasp for real now as his fingers trace, just briefly, over the silken crotch of my tights, sending a bolt of lightning through me. “I’ll pick you up here, after your dinner shift. Yes?”

Quickly I nod, terrified he’ll touch me again if I don’t agree immediately. Half terrified because I don’t want him to, and half terrified because…

I push the thought from my mind as Edward murmurs “good girl,” and releases my leg. I push myself up straight as he stands, holding out a hand to help me up from the booth.

As I stand, I stare up into his face, realizing that I am…completely outmatched here. This man, this Mafia Prince, is so sure of his power – and so willing to use it to cow others to his will – that I don’t have a shot of doing anything but what he wants me to do.

Quite suddenly, I wish that I’d let Christian lock me up in the penthouse forever. Or that I could now take him up on his offer to send me off to Europe to hide.

But it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?

Edward’s got my scent, and he’s on the hunt.

“I’ll look forward to tomorrow, Bambi,” he murmurs, stepping close and lowering his head so that our lips barely brush, though he refrains from kissing me. He waits, seeing what I’ll do.

“So will I,” I whisper, looking up at him and tucking my hands behind my back.

And then Edward smirks and strides out of the bar.

And every head in the place turns to watch him go.

And then turns back to me to stare.