‘Goodnight, Lenny.’
I kill the call and lay the phone down on the table. Tomorrow night looms on the horizon. What on earth am I going to do? Oh God! I cover my face with my hands. What a mess.
My phone rings again making me jump. I pick it up and look at the screen.
Number withheld.
My heart starts beating fast in my chest. I accept the call.
‘Hello,’ I say cautiously.
‘Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?’
My heart soars with joy. He called. He called. It isn’t over. Then reality hits. My heart sinks like a heavy stone inside my body. ‘I can’t go. I’ve already agreed to meet Lenny for dinner.’
‘Yeah? Well, poor old Lenny won’t be able to make it for dinner with you tomorrow. He will be otherwise tied up.’
I feel a wild rush of joy flash through every cell and nerve in my body. It comes out as a mad giggle even as I wonder what exactly he means by tied up. More prostitutes? More business deals that Lenny simply can’t say no to?
‘Snow,’ he calls softly.
‘Yes,’ I whisper, gripping the phone hard.
For a few seconds he is quiet. ‘Wear something pretty tomorrow.’
‘I will,’ I say, and I am smiling from ear to ear.
‘Goodnight, Snow.’
‘Goodnight, Shane.’
Oh my God. We’re having dinner tomorrow.
I place the phone on the table and, jumping up to my feet, do a totally mad dance around the coffee table.
‘Yes. Yes. Yes.’
It seemed as if he couldn’t wait for me to get out of his car so I thought he didn’t want me anymore. But he does want me.
I stop suddenly. And what of the next day? What will I tell Lenny when he wants to have dinner with me on Tuesday? Or Wednesday? How long can Shane keep him busy? How will I escape from Lenny?
Monday passes with interminable slowness. Lenny gets into Heathrow at nearly midday and calls me from the back of his car. He sounds upbeat, but ends the phone call by saying that something has come up and he won’t be able to make dinner today.
‘That’s OK,’ I say quickly. ‘I need an early night anyway.’
‘Why?’ he asks immediately, his voice suddenly different.
But I am a better liar than I could ever have imagined. ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘Nightmares?’ he asks quietly.
And instantly I feel like a bitch. What I am doing is so wrong. I am cheating on someone who has only ever been good to me. I have to do something about my situation, and fast. I close my eyes and, taking a deep breath, I lie. ‘No, not nightmares. I think I ate something that didn’t agree with me. I kept going to the toilet.’
‘Ah well, in that case it’s for the best that we are not doing dinner today. Rain check for tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow,’ I repeat softly, guiltily.
Nineteen
SNOW
More than an hour before Shane is due to pick me up I start panicking. I don’t know why I am more nervous today than I was even when he was taking me away to France. Then I had no expectations. Now my feelings are involved. I really, really like Shane.
I practically pull nearly all my clothes out of my wardrobe, and still feel that nothing I have is suitable for tonight. Everything is either too short, too long, too tight or just too meh. I want to look perfect for Shane.
A bath, I think. A bath always calms me right down. I chuck a soap bomb into the water and wait for it to fizzle out before I pour a good one fifth of a bottle of oil into it. I lie in it and take deep calming breaths, but even that doesn’t relax me. The turmoil is inside my tummy.
Impatiently, I wash my hair and get out of the bath. I wave the hair dryer at my head and brush it until it is as sleek as the coat of a black panther. Wrapped in a towel, I go back into the bedroom and stand in front of the clothes strewn all over my bed.
Red. I’ll wear red. I slip into red, satin and lace matching underwear. I hook on suspenders and carefully pull on sheer nearly black stockings.
I look in the mirror. Not bad.
I put all the other clothes back into the wardrobe and slip into my red dress. It is a fitted, tailored thing with buttons all the way down the front that makes it look like I am wearing a long, tight jacket that comes to the middle of my thighs. Because it has long sleeves I will only need to carry a light coat for when it gets colder.
I paint my lips in a similar shade to the dress and carefully pull the mascara wand a couple of times over my eyelashes. Then I sit on the bed and pull on shiny black, patent leather boots. I find a little red clip in a drawer and I slide it into my hair. Finally, I dab perfume at my pulse points.
I find my red purse and put my lipstick, my credit card, a wad of tissue, a couple of mints, and as I always do, my little pill container with a few of my pills in them. That done, I kill the rest of the time by pacing the floor restlessly.
When Shane arrives he calls me on my mobile and waits for me downstairs. I go down and for a second he does not see me. He is leaning against the glass, his hands jammed into the pockets of his black jeans and he’s staring at the floor. He looks remote and preoccupied. As if the weight of the whole world is on his shoulders. I start walking towards him. He looks up and straightens, stares at me with such an odd expression that I stop walking, my stomach sinking, and I ask, ‘What is it?’
He shakes his head and a small smile lifts the corners of his lips. ‘Everything’s good. You look amazing.’
Shane takes me to a restaurant called Lady Marmalade. It is only when we get there that I realize that Lenny has taken me there before. I debate whether to tell him and I decide that I will, but later, when we are seated, I will casually mention it then. It’s not like it is important.
We walk in through the doors and a man in a navy suit rushes out to greet Shane. He claps his hand on Shane’s back in a familiar manner and Shane calls him as Mario. There is only one word to describe the man’s behavior: effusive. His eyes turn to me and quickly travel down my body the way Italian waiters do, half-professional, half-over-the-top-leering. With great enthusiasm he shows us to a table in the middle of the restaurant. Almost immediately, waiters start dancing around us, flicking napkins open, flourishing menus.
I am still studying my menu when a tall, broad man strides up to us.
‘Hey,’ the man says to Shane, his face lit up with genuine pleasure. He looks very much like Shane, but he is a little older, and while Shane’s looks are more classically handsome, this man is more aggressive looking with a strong, stubborn jaw.
Shane looks up and smiles at him. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Bloody cheek,’ the man says with a laugh. ‘I’m on my way out actually.’
Shane turns towards me. ‘Snow, meet my brother, Dom. Dom, meet Snow.’
Dom turns to me with a smile which freezes on his face. He frowns as he tries to remember. I recognize him at the same time he remembers me. I’ve seen him once before. Then it suddenly comes to me. He owns this restaurant. He came to say hello to us when I was here with Lenny, but it was months ago, and I was so spaced out on my pills then that I did not really take note.
‘Hello, Snow,’ he says. His voice has lost all its humor and cheer.
‘Hi,’ I say awkwardly. I look at Shane and he is staring quizzically at me.
‘I’ve been here before with Lenny,’ I explain quietly, my heart sinking.
Shane nods slowly, his eyes betraying a spasm of fury, then he squashes it down and turns to his brother.
‘Look,’ Dom says tightly, ‘it’s none of my business, but—’
‘Then don’t fucking get involved,’ Shane cuts in. His voice is cold and clipped.
I stare at him in shock. I have never seen him as anything but cheeky and charming, but Dom doesn’t appear to take any offence at his brother’s openly hostile tone.
‘I’ll talk to you tomorrow,’ he says quietly. There are deep worry lines
on his forehead. Unlike my brother who can’t even stand to be in the same room as me he must love Shane very much to care so deeply that his brother is going out with Lenny’s girl.
‘Sure. I’ll call you,’ Shane says distantly.
His brother turns towards me. ‘Goodnight. Enjoy your meal,’ he says formally.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
He turns away and takes two steps before turning back to look at Shane. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’
Shane nods.
His brother walks away and Shane turns back to me. ‘I suppose you’ve lost your appetite.’ His voice crackles with aggression, but his gaze is innocuous.
I nod slowly.
The expression on his face changes and he looks at me wistfully. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
Seeing the look of disappointment in his eyes as if I have betrayed him, is unbearable. Tears sting the backs of my eyes. I feel as if I have ruined everything. Unable to look into his eyes I gaze down at my clenched fists. ‘I’m sorry,’ I tell my hands. ‘I was going to. Really I was. I just didn’t want to spoil our evening.’
I look up and he is leaning back against the chair and looking at me expressionlessly.
Mario appears at Shane’s elbow, his large smile quickly faltering at the tension he finds between us. ‘Something to drink perhaps?’ he suggests uneasily.
Shane doesn’t look at him. ‘Can you give us a minute, Mario?’
‘Certainly,’ Mario says, and with an expansive gesture, backs off.
Shane sighs. ‘Do you want to stay, Snow?’
‘Are you going to carry on being angry?’ I ask anxiously.
His mouth twists ruefully. ‘I’m not angry now.’
‘It sure looks like it to me,’ I say miserably.
He reaches a hand out and gently traces his knuckle along my jaw line. ‘My poor Snow. Did you have fun here with Lenny?’ he asks.
‘No.’ My voice is strangled.
‘No tequila shots upstairs?’
I shake my head.
Shane laughs suddenly. ‘Then you haven’t really been to Lady Marmalade at all,’ he declares, and raises his hand. Mario must have been hanging around watching because he materializes at our side like a genie out of a bottle.
‘Give us the works, Mario,’ he says.
Mario raises his hand like the conductor of an orchestra and says, ‘Bravo.’
So the evening begins. A bottle of champagne is popped and glasses filled. Shane is funny and cheeky and sexy all at once. We eat the insanely good food and then he takes me upstairs where there is a bar and a dance floor. We do tequila shots at the bar and then Shane whirls me off to dance. We join the conga line of someone else’s party and I laugh until my stomach aches.
‘If I die tomorrow, I’ll die happy,’ I tell him.
He pulls me towards him. ‘I won’t. Not while you’re with him. Even dead I don’t want him to have you. He doesn’t deserve you,’ he growls.
I stare up at him, shocked by the passion in his voice.
Mario gives me a little box of chocolate truffles as we are leaving. ‘I noticed that you liked them. Have them for later,’ he says with a nod and a wink.
‘Thank you,’ I say, surprised and touched by the gift.
In the car, Shane tells me that we will be dropping by Eden.
‘We’ll have a quick drink there. There’s something I have to do at the office.’
We are nearly there when my phone goes. I freeze with fear.
Shane stops the car at the side of the road and switches off the music.
‘Take the call,’ he says tautly.
‘What if he is calling me from my apartment?’
‘He’s not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Just trust me.’
He takes my purse from my lap, pulls my phone out and gives it to me.
I click accept and Lenny says, ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No,’ I say, and even to my own ears my voice sounds shaky.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Where are you?’
Paranoia grips me. I swallow hard and try to keep my voice neutral and casual. ‘In my bedroom.’
‘Are you just about to go to bed?’
‘Yes.’
There is a pause, then he says, ‘I have a surprise for you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ll give it to you tomorrow night.’
‘All right.’
‘Sweet dreams and don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘Thanks. And goodnight, Lenny.’
‘Goodnight, luv.’
I disconnect the call and put the phone back into my purse. Shane starts the car and drives on. He doesn’t say anything. The atmosphere in the car is so tense I feel it pressing down on me.
Twenty
SNOW
Inside Eden, the manager comes forward to help me with my coat, but Shane forestalls him, lifting my coat away from my body and tossing it carelessly on the counter. He places his hand on the small of my back in an unmistakable gesture of ownership and leads me into the club.
Flushed and tense with nerves, I let him guide me into the club. Music throbs around us and I am conscious of almost everyone staring at me because I am with Shane. Some of those looks are filled with malice and envy. Their faces swim before me. I force my spine straight and hold my head up high.
A blonde woman dressed in a powder blue suit hurries towards us. Her face is wreathed with a friendly smile that encompasses both of us. ‘Hello,’ she greets.
‘Briana, meet Snow, my girlfriend. Snow, this is Briana, the housemother of this club.’
‘Hi,’ I say, taking her cool hand and feeling suddenly shy. I feel as if I am floating on cloud nine. I can’t believe that Shane introduced me as his girlfriend. It feels strange and fantastically wonderful.
She turns to Shane. ‘She’s simply gorgeous.’
Shane moves closer and slides his arm around my waist. He looks down at me, his eyes gleaming with triumphant ownership. ‘Yes, she is rather ravishing, isn’t she?’ he murmurs.
‘Would you like to stay and have a drink?’ Brianna asks.
‘I’m actually here to pick something up from the office.’ He turns to look at me. ‘Would you like to stay for one drink?’
‘OK.’
‘Come on,’ Brianna says and leads us to a booth in the corner. We sit down and a waitress comes with a bottle of champagne and fills our glasses. When she is gone we clink glasses.
‘To us,’ Shane says.
‘Is there an us?’ I ask softly.
‘Yes, there is an us,’ he says, and his voice is terse, almost brutal.
‘To us,’ I whisper.
He raises his glass to his lips and watches me over the rim with a dark, brooding look. A muscle twitches in his cheek. The atmosphere between us grows tense again and I feel myself start to tremble. I have never seen Shane angry. I don’t know why he is, but I know he is seething under the surface. It all started when Lenny called.
‘Come here,’ he says with an edge to his voice.
I put the glass down on the table and, licking my lips nervously, shift closer to him leaving six inches between us. He ruthlessly jerks me sideways towards him so I tumble off the seat with a surprised gasp and land in an ungainly fashion in his lap. My hands searching for balance are both gripping his body. He puts his hands on my hip and thigh and pulls me closer to him so my body is molded to his and my thigh is pressed against his erection.
‘I want you like hell,’ he whispers into my neck. ‘I want to fuck you, right here, right now.’
‘No, please, Shane,’ I protest, even though I am already embarrassingly wet at the thought. It is amazing how he can arouse me with a look, a touch, a suggestion. ‘Can’t we wait till we get to your place?’
‘I’m sick of waiting. I’ll have you now and you’ll fucking enjoy every minute of it,’ he says, his face hard.
I shake my head, staring at him with a jumble of excitement and horror. My body seems to be flaming with heat and my heart is beating so fast I feel it like a flutter in my chest. ‘We are in a public place,’ I whisper.
‘Snow?’ His eyes are as hungry as a wolf in the night.
‘Yes,’ I say.
‘That wasn’t a request.’
‘This is madness. There are cameras, aren’t there?’ I cry.
‘They get turned off when I get into a booth.’ His face is dark with desire. A horrible thought enters my head. Does he bring all his women here and have sex with them here? Is that why there are no cameras here?
‘No,’ he says violently. ‘I don’t fucking don’t do this with all the others.’
He kisses me then, so brutally I taste the salt of blood on my tongue. Shocked by the intensity of his mouth, I automatically try to push him away.
‘Don’t fight me, Snow,’ he grates harshly. ‘I need this.’
I look into his eyes and I see that he is telling the truth. For whatever reason he needs to take me here in this public place where anyone could come by and see me taken like some cheap slut. The fight goes out of me. I lie in his arms while his fingers snake into my dress and push aside my panties. There is nothing I can do.
He is going to make me climax here.
SHANE
Her eyes are wide open with surprise and affront, but she’s practically vibrating with excitement and anticipation. Like biting into a ripe summer cherry, my fingers sink effortlessly into her tight, little pussy. The sound of her helpless whimper turns my blood to fire. I feel the kind of feral hunger that makes me insane with need. My cock pulses hard, right on the edge of something.
If I don’t get into her soon I will fucking explode.
I want to lay her on the table, tear her clothing off and bury myself so deep inside her that it obliterates the memory of that sick bastard. She doesn’t know, but I still see him in her eyes. She still thinks of him. She doesn’t want to ‘hurt’ him. She feels ‘grateful’ to him. And the worse part of all: she feels ‘guilty’ when she’s with me as if she still belongs to that sicko. I hate that. Fucking hell, she’s mine.
‘Open your eyes,’ I tell her. My voice throbs with fury.
You Don't Own Me: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (The Russian Don Book 1) Page 27