Claimed by the Sicilian Tycoon (Criminal Seduction #3)(26)

It had to be the hair, he thought. It was so bright, so vivid, if he hadn’t known better he would have said it was fake. But he’d seen proof, knew it was as natural as every other bit of her.

“They are all staring at you,” he grated.

“I told you in situations like this that they do,” she said, and her voice was brimming with amusement.

“Situations like this?”

“When I’m not at home I mean, when I’m glammed up, it’s different then.”

“How so?”

“Well if this was in the area where I live, I wouldn’t even look like this so it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Andros thought of what he had read about that area and scowled. “How would you look?”

She shrugged. “Jeans, a hoodie, hair in a pony. I wouldn’t get too much attention looking like that.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

“Well yes, but when you’ve lived somewhere a while people stop looking and they eventually get the message. This, however,” she laughed. “This is a whole other ball game.”

“This is funny to you?”

“It is. Usually by now several of them would have tripped over their own feet trying to get to me. I’d have a row full of drinks ready and waiting. I’d be fighting the f*ckers off.”

“But now…”

“You’re here. Right next to me and look at them, they won’t dare.”

“I will snap the fingers of any man who attempts to touch you,” he growled, that same anger still flowing. It was primitive, a reaction to others coveting what was his—he knew that and accepted it. Right now Lyra was his and that was that.

His mistress. Tucked away for him alone.

“ Okayyyy…”

“You are mine, are you not?” he growled. “Mine alone.”

“I am. That is what we agreed.”

“Well then.”

They made their way over to the table where his guests sat. Andros kept Lyra close to him, her arm in his, her body rubbing along his side every time they squeezed past too many tables tucked together.

“Who are the stiffs?” she whispered, and despite himself Andros grinned.

“Reginald and Barclay Peterson. Blue bloods.”

“Pervs?”

“Probably. Regardless, they own a company I want. They’ve agreed to sell, so this meeting is simply closure.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

Introductions were made, and Andros stiffened when the eyes of Reginald and Barclay fell upon Lyra. Both men’s eyes widened, both swept over her, and both were practically panting to take her f*cking hand.

He did not allow it.

Instead, Andros pulled out her chair and settled Lyra into it, that possessive anger hitting again at the thought of either man’s pallid skin touching hers.

“Are you joining us?” Reginald asked, waving at the food in front of them.

Originally, Andros had meant to, but Barclay had his eyes fixed firmly on Lyra’s cleavage. He decided there and then not to stay any longer than was necessary. He would make the meeting as short as possible, and then he could sprint Lyra away, they could eat somewhere with a bit more space, before heading back to her apartment where, he decided, he would eat her until she begged him to stop.

“We have reservations elsewhere.”

“Of course, old chap…”

They launched into their closure discussion. Lyra sat patiently by his side, hands in her lap, a slight smile on her face. Every time one of the men moved to speak to her, she fluttered her eyelashes, and turned to Andros as though she didn’t have a thought in her head.

Her actions amused him, because it was so far from the reality of her personality, and yet at the same time he wanted to reach across the table and cuff both men around the head. By the time the meeting was through Andros was just about ready to do just that. Perhaps Lyra sensed it, because, just as he opened his mouth to say something that would likely leave his deal dead in the dust, she turned to him and frowned.

“I’m not feeling well, Andros. Take me home?”

Her brow scrunched, she lifted a hand to fan herself gently, and really, it was a perfect show. Except he could see the twinkle in her eyes, the laughter brimming in their depths.

“Of course, Rossa.” He turned to the brothers. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us?”

They made a rapid escape, Andros doing his best to ignore the gawking looks from the other men in the room, choosing instead to keep Lyra practically welded to him.

“I’m losing feeling in my arm,” she whispered as they got outside and his driver pulled up.

“My apologies.” He relaxed his grip, before asking, “How did you know?”


“That you were bored shitless?”

He grinned. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

“I knew it was time to blow the joint, put it that way,” she said fluttering her wrap around her shoulders. “Plus I’m starving.”

“Then we’ll eat.”

“Andros…”

“What?”

“Nothing…it doesn’t matter.”

He sighed and opened the door of the Bentley for her. “Come, tell me.”