Junior
I force myself to work out at the gym, because Dio, if I watch Desiree shaking those hips in her yoga pants and tank during Zumba, I’m going to march in there, throw her over my shoulder and carry her to the locker room shower. And let me tell you, I wouldn’t be washing her hair in that shower.
I text Earl to find out the significance of the day for Desiree.
He replies right away-it’s the boy’s birthday.
Well, fuck.
I know how hard those dates are. Except my child is dead. And Desiree’s isn’t, he’s been stolen from her. I fire off another text to Earl putting more pressure on him to find her son. Hire every detective in town. Get them all on the case, I tell him. I want this kid found yesterday.
Cheering people up isn’t my strong suit, as evidenced by my wife’s mental state following Mia’s death.
I wait for her outside her class. Fuck if it isn’t still going and I do get an eyeful of those hips lighting the room on fire. The class runs over and I can’t move because I don’t want to miss a single second of it.
It’s worse knowing what she likes, because I start imagining forcing her to have sex in a thousand dirty ways. But she doesn’t want that.
Not anymore.
And the fantasy’s only hot if she’s actually into it.
The five minutes feel like fifty, but finally the class ends and she walks out, a towel around her neck. I don’t dare look at the way her breasts stretch that tank top or I’ll sprout a chub that everyone will see.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” she tells me. “Meet you outside the locker room.”
I nod and watch her ass as she walks away. She’s not strutting-I still see the defeat in her posture-but she has all the right junk in the trunk.
Desiree is the full package. Smart, sassy, hot as hell. I wonder what went wrong with her marriage. The guy has to be a douche not to do everything he could to keep her.
Well, obviously he’s more than a douche. He’s a testa di cazzo. He stole their kid from her.
I shower and change and meet her outside the locker room. Her hair’s still wet, like she rushed to get out and meet me. It’s fucking freezing outside.
“Get back in there and dry your hair,” I tell her. “You’ll fucking freeze.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
I block her path. “Hey,” I make my voice sharp, like I’m coming down on one of my soldiers for disrespect.
She jerks a little, then slaps my chest. “Jesus, you are such an asshole. Do you seriously have to bully me every second of the day?”
I might feel bad, considering she’s having a shit day, but it’s good to see the spark back in her. I give her a hard stare until she rolls her eyes and turns around with a huff, marching back to the locker room.
When she comes back out, her hair is a dark, glossy curtain over her shoulders, framing her lovely face. She always has it back in a ponytail, so I’m momentarily struck by her model-worthy beauty.
I look at my phone. “No messages from Paolo. I’m taking you shopping.”
She doesn’t want to like it, but I can tell she does. I know she’s been scraping by. A woman like her deserves to be spoiled.
We’re not close to any big malls, but I take her to an area of my suburb with the fancy shops and find a spot to park on the street. I should probably call in one of the guys to stand as bodyguard, because Vlad could be anywhere, but I don’t think I’ve been followed, and I don’t see anything suspicious.
“You have three thousand dollars to spend in fifty minutes. You don’t get to keep any money you don’t spend, and everything you buy has to be for yourself.”
She stops and turns rounded eyes on me, lips parting.
I want to kiss them.
Fuck.
What’s wrong with me?
It’s one thing to want to fuck a girl. But kissing? I haven’t kissed a woman since Marne. Not one.
I don’t know-it’s too intimate. Or too emotional. It’s just not something I ever want to do.
But yeah, I want to kiss her. Right fucking now.
“Are you serious?” she croaks.
Serious about claiming that mouth, yeah.
I flash a wad of cash. “I’m gonna follow you around like your goddamn sugar daddy. Let’s see how fast you can spend my money.”
She starts walking, her silky hair swinging behind her. She tosses a look over her shoulder at me and I’m thrilled to see a playful light in her eyes. Mission accomplished. “Is there a bonus involved if I spend it before the fifty minutes are up?”
I shrug, noncommittal. “There might be other stipulations.”
Merde. I didn’t mean to start throwing sexual innuendos out, especially ones that make her sound like a whore, but she seems to like it, tossing her hair again with a smirk as she struts off.
She beelines it for a jewelry store and I smile. Clever girl. She knows she could spend the whole amount in one stop there. I’m all for it, if that’s what she wants, but I also think she could use some practical shit, like a new pair of boots or a jacket. I glance around at the shops, to take in what they have. There’s a boutique shoe store, and a couple clothing places.
I saunter after her into the jewelry store where she’s already leaning over the glass cases. There’s light in her face again, which eases the tension in my chest. She steals a glance over her shoulder at me, like she’s making sure I’m not tricking her or making fun.
I lift my chin and raise my brows as if to say, “are you going to do it or not?”
She has a smile as she turns back to the case. She tries on a bunch of rings. I watch for a while to see what she likes, then walk around the store and look myself. There’s a beautiful pink gem, emerald cut, set in 18K gold. It costs a little over two grand. I ask the woman behind the counter to bring it over to Desiree to see if she likes it.
She looks over at me in surprise when it arrives, then slips it on her finger and stares at it. “What is this gemstone?” she asks the attendant.
“Morganite. It’s a cousin to emerald and aquamarine. It looks good on you.”
“It does,” I agree. I don’t know why I picked it for her-it’s not like she’s a baby pink kind of woman. Maybe because it’s both unique and stunning-like her.
Desiree looks from her finger to me, back to the attendant. “I’ll take it.” Her shoulders are thrown back, chin high.
I love her decisiveness. I pull out my wad of cash and count out 23 hundred dollar bills. “Does it fit? Do we need to get it sized for you?”
She twists it around her right ring finger. “It fits perfect.”
I wink at her.
Cristo-have I ever winked in my life? I seriously doubt it. I’m not the winking type. That would be Stefano, my slick-talking youngest brother.
The clerk gives me my change, slips an empty ring box in a bag with the receipt, and hands it to us. “Enjoy.”
“Seven hundred to go,” I murmur to Desiree as we leave. “You like shoes?”
“I love shoes.” There’s color in her cheeks as we walk out-not a blush, just a flush of excitement. Desiree is definitely thriving on the retail therapy. Good. I may lack many qualities-manners, kindness, hands unsullied by blood, heart darkened by violence and pain, but I do have money. I’m not stupid enough to think I can buy her, but at least this one day I can give her something.