Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 1(59)

If only I could convince myself of that fact, my life would be a lot easier.

"I imagine this is much like becoming involved with someone who is terminally ill," Malcolm said, interrupting my thoughts. "But all things end. That is the way of the world."

I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, and it was cool and dry in my hot palm, as though he were already halfway to dead. "I don't want this to end just yet," I said. "Let's go sailing."





Chapter Eleven

Malcolm didn't waste any time. After our final course—a warm chocolate soufflé—he drew a small pad of paper from his back pocket and wrote something down—in French, of course—before carefully selecting an enormous wade of bills from the depths of his wallet, wrapping them in the piece of paper, then placing the whole burrito on the table. He put a heavy glass on top of them, to keep the half-folded stacks from popping open again.

Hush money, I thought to myself. Money to pay for the meal, money to keep Dominic from spilling the beans to the FBI. Or would it be the CIA, since we were out of U. S. jurisdiction? I had no idea. The famous infighting between departments was probably why we weren't already on a prison plane back to the states.

Smoothly, Malcolm stood, and I sensed a change in him. A purpose. I couldn't help but let my eyes wander over his body, and I noted, before it was obscured by the fall of his coat, that his cock was hard and straining against his trousers. My breath caught.

He looked down at me, his face cool but his eyes burning. “I have to make a few quick phone calls. I think you should go to the ladies room and remove your panties,” he suggested mildly, but I could tell from the hard edge beneath his voice that it was more of a command than a suggestion.

Well, I'd agreed to this. I nodded and stood up, tottering back to the bathroom again, toting my purse. When I reached it, I took out my cell phone and turned it off so it couldn't be used to track us, then I hiked up my skirt and slid my panties down my legs. The crotch was already wet with anticipation, and I stuffed them into my purse for safekeeping.

The wine was wearing off, and I was starting to get a headache, but it didn't matter. I stood in the middle of the tiny bathroom and smoothed my skirt over my generous hips, adjusted my bra over my modest breasts, and tried to look presentable. Civilized, even. Not like a tramp from Jersey who was about to get fucked good and hard.

The very thought sent a rush of heat between my legs, and I had to take a few deep breaths to cool the flush from my cheeks.

Throwing my shoulders back, I left the bathroom and re-entered the dining room.

Malcolm was behind the bar, talking on the phone in what I recognized as Japanese. I wondered who he was calling, but decided it didn't matter. He was making arrangements. That was what he did. That was how the moneyed world operated, I had learned. You made arrangements, and things happened, just the way you wanted them to. I gathered my coat from the chair where I had left it and noted the stack of bills was already gone.

After another minute, Malcolm hung up the phone. He turned to me. “Put your coat on,” he said. “We're going for a walk.”

That much was obvious, but something in the way he said it made me think the particular walk we were going to go on would be a bit longer than the walk we'd taken to get here. I nodded and shrugged into my coat. Malcolm put his broad, warm hand on my back and, to my surprise, ushered me into the kitchen.

It was small, but very modern. Slick steel gleamed, brushed and burnished to a fine shine. The great sink was full of dishes, and Dominic was standing over it, washing them with a curious intensity that I only realized was deliberate when we slipped past him and out a back door into an alleyway. He hadn't looked at us, I realized, because he was pretending to not know where we had gone.

Did Malcolm think the police were already on their way? I realized that his cell phone was still back at the apartment. If it had been tracked, Don would know Malcolm's haunts in Dubrovnik. It was obviously a place he came to often, or often enough to have an apartment here. My heart picked up the pace and a queer feeling spread through my belly, a tight anticipation not unlike desire. The thought of being on the run from the feds in a foreign country, a handsome billionaire at my side—well, I'm not totally immune to the thrill of sex and danger. Malcolm took my hand and led me out into the dark, medieval night.

Together we wove through the back alleys of old Dubrovnik, my hand clutched in his, though neither of us said a word. Would we even make it to the boat? I wondered. Or did Malcolm think we had enough time to go back to the flat and get our things? All those clothes, just wasted. I had the important things I needed in my possession, but I felt a pang at all those warm clothes newly bought languishing in a flat, never to be worn.