Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes #3)(52)

‘You’re scaring me, Shane.’

‘Don’t be scared. I’m just writing my will. Not because I expect to die tomorrow, but because if I should, I want to go to my grave knowing that those I … care about are protected.’

‘Why did you choose Zane?’

‘Because he is more, far more dangerous than Lenny.’

‘And he’s a friend of yours?’

‘As friendly as you can get with the Russian mafia,’ he says dryly.

‘Shit, Shane. I thought you said you were not a gangster.’

‘I’m not. But like I said, I know people.’





Thirty


SNOW

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3Fa4lOQfbA


When we get back to Shane’s apartment I am feeling tense and unsure of myself. Shane has showed no signs of wanting me sexually. As if all the passion has cooled since my meltdown.

‘Nightcap?’ he offers, walking into the sitting room.

‘OK,’ I say, following him in.

‘What do you want?’ he asks.

‘Whatever you’re having is fine.’

‘I’m having Cognac.’

‘Great.’ I perch at the edge of the sofa and watch him pour our cognac.

He comes over and holds out my glass and then sits next to me, but not too close. There is a good three inches between my thigh and his knee. He leans back into the seat. I lick my lips and turn back to look at him.

‘I don’t have to stay here, you know. I feel strong enough to make it on my own now. I could get a room …’

He frowns. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

I shrug. ‘Well, ever since last night you are different. You’re friendly and protective and kind, but it’s as if you don’t want me anymore, sexually, I mean.’

He stares at me incredulously. ‘What?’ he explodes. ‘You think I don’t want you?’

I bite my lip. ‘It’s not like what it was in France, is it?’

He sits forward and shakes his head in wonder. ‘What a crazy thing to think?’ It’s not like France because I didn’t want to rush you. Can’t you tell I’m f*cking fighting with myself to keep my hands off you because I don’t know if you are ready after last night?’

‘I’m ready now,’ I whisper.

He smiles slowly, his eyes glinting. The old Shane is back. ‘Prove it by doing a strip dance.’

‘You own a strip club. I’d have thought you’d be bored with that by now,’ I say with a smile. In truth I want to shout with joy. He still wants me.

‘I want to see you dance.’

‘Now?’ I ask with my eyebrows daringly lifted.

‘Can’t think of a better time.’

‘OK.’

He stands and walks to his music system and chooses something.

‘What song have you chosen?’

‘Je T’aime … Moi Non Plus by Serge Gainsbourgh and Jane Birkin.’

‘God, isn’t that like a really old number? My mother used to listen to it,’ I say, surprised.

He grins at me. ‘My grandfather had a thing for Bridgette Bardot and Jane Birkin. I’ve got all kinds of boyhood fantasies around this song.’

I laugh. ‘Do you know what the title actually means?’

‘It translates as, ‘I love you … Me neither.’

‘Interesting,’ I say.

‘That’s what couples in the throes of lovemaking say to each other,’ he says with a wink.

‘Right. I’ll be back in a minute,’ I say crisply, and taking my glass of cognac with me and swaying my hips with attitude, walk to the bedroom. I close the door and go to his wardrobe. I pull out a white shirt. Quickly, I undress. I leave my panties on, but take off my bra. I put on his shirt and leave it unbuttoned to the waist. I don’t do the last two end buttons either. Then I roll up the sleeves until my wrists show. Keeping my high heels on, I choose a blue striped tie and knot it loosely around the collar of Shane’s shirt. I put on my new super shiny lip gloss. Then I look around the drawers and find a cap. I arrange it at an angle on my head and look in the mirror.

The look is just what I wanted. A little bit ‘je ne sais quoi.’

I finish my glass of cognac, Dutch courage and all that, and walk out to the living room door and pop my head around the doorframe. He presses the remote on his hand and the music comes on. The old fashioned guitar cords of rhythm and bass guitars and snare drums fills the spaces between us.

‘Je t’aime, Je, t’aime,’ whispers in her breathy and ethereal voice, so high it is almost the unbroken voice of a little choirboy. But extremely erotic all the same.

I drape myself around the doorframe and, raising my leg slowly, caress the door with my foot. I step into the room and teasingly lift one edge of his shirt exposing the top of one thigh and a glimpse of my black lace panties. He doesn’t know my sex is already wet. I catch his eyes and he is staring at me, mesmerized, and that gives me the confidence to go on.

I tug at the tie and it comes off. Holding it in my hand, I twirl it before flinging it at him. He catches it mid-air.

I face away from him and, swaying my hips, let the shirt drop off one shoulder, exposing bare flesh. I drop the other end and the shirt falls to my mid back. I turn my head back and look at him and smile.