chapter 19

And it's official. I'm the biggest creep on the planet. I didn't feel so bad watching it last night, but replaying it in my head makes me feel like I should be on some predator list splashed on the front page of the local paper.

"You look tired," I say instead.

She snaps her head in my direction, narrowing her eyes but not saying anything.

I know what I just said, and I've been married, so I know what it sounds like to a woman. You look tired, to them, translates into you look like shit. Somehow, females, with a very clear understanding of the English language translate those few words differently than any other words a man could use.

She doesn't take it as concern from me but as an insult.

"Tired, huh?"

"Just a little," I placate because Lord knows I don't have the energy for another verbal sparring session with her.

"Okay." She pops up from the couch and walks away.

"Crap," I mutter, turning my head just in time to see the bedroom door snap shut.

After twenty minutes of not hearing anything from her, I finally settle back into my sloth position on the couch. The game is over by now, but I just can't muster the energy to reach for the remote and change the channel or turn it off completely so I can sleep.

My lead-heavy eyes flutter when the bedroom door opens, only Anna isn't popping out for a bottle of water or something to eat. She's dressed to the nines in a sleek blue dress that moves like waves of the ocean when she walks.

"What the fuck?" I hiss, sitting up fully on the sofa and glaring at her. "Playing dress up or something?"

I default to agitation because that emotion is ten times better than wondering which set of sexy lingerie she's wearing under that amazing dress. I had to hightail it out of the living room earlier this afternoon at the sight of it in order to prevent her from getting an eyeful of what seeing it did to me.

"I'm going down to the bar for a drink."

"Like hell you are." I almost add not dressed like that, but that would only encourage her to ask more questions. I still haven't gotten the sound of her saying wouldn't you like to know what this filthy mouth can do out of my head. On the surface my answer is never in a million years, but truthfully, I wanted to unzip right there and—

I shake my head, looking from the tips of her painted toenails to the layers of shiny hair floating around her shoulders in sleek waves.

Do not think about wrapping that around your fist.

Don't do it, Dean. Be strong. Be—

"What?" Her knowing grin reminds me of the way I imagine a female octopus would look at her mate before strangling him to death while they're mating. It's all coy and alluring when really, it's just a trap.

"You need to stay in the room."

"I need a drink."

I point to the phone on the table. "Call room service."

"I need the ambiance," she says with a wave of her hand before she breezes away.

"You need your ass whipped for being so damn stubborn," I mutter.

I doubt she heard me because the door to the suite closes with a mocking hiss before I get the words fully out of my mouth.

I've taken enough precautions to get her here that I highly doubt she's in danger, but it isn't the threat of Russian mobsters hurting her that has me standing from the sofa and cursing under my breath. It's the knowledge that once she sits down at the bar that she's going to be swarmed by assholes that have a much greater chance of deciphering the lingerie question I thought of earlier than I would, namely by having a chance to pull that silky blue fabric from her body.

My pulse is pounding in my ears by the time I step off the elevator and head to the bar. Soft music plays overhead, and surprisingly the bar is fairly calm. A few guys dressed in expensive suits lean in close telling bullshit stories over a bottle of Glenlivet. An older couple people watch, each holding a glass of red wine. The bartender wipes down the counter with a bored expression on his face.

Anna sits in a corner booth away from them all, peering down into an amber liquid-filled rocks glass. She looks lonely and desolate, and I should turn to leave. Other than the businessmen jaw-jacking about times gone by, there isn't anyone here I can picture Anna leaving the bar with, but I don't go back to the room.

I spend a moment unnoticed just taking her in. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, the woman is gorgeous. The sun-kissed, no doubt chemically enhanced tones of her multihued dark hair glitters under the soft light over her head. Her pouty lips are meant to be kissed, and if we didn't have a history, if she was just a girl in a bar, I'd be on her in a split second. Even though she looks high-class and too expensive to get tangled up with, I'd take my shot. Not only would I try to pick her up, I'd count my lucky stars if she looked up and smiled at me before she told my ass to get lost, which she no doubt would. Because Diesel jeans or not, there are just some traits to people who grew up with money that those who didn't can ever fake, and Anna doesn't seem like the type of girl to go slumming with a man like me.

After gaining the attention of the businessmen, and the way they dart their eyes from me to Anna, I know it's only a matter of time before one of them builds the courage to walk up to her.

I belly up to the bar and order a glass of whiskey before carrying it to her table and taking a seat. I don't know if she looked up while I was at the bar, or if she doesn't give a damn who sat down with her, but she doesn't lift her eyes in question or to greet me. I'm fine with it. I'm not one for conversation anyway.

After sitting quietly for ten minutes, Anna pulls her clutch from some magical pocket in her dress. I guess the glass of whiskey she's drowned didn't provide the answers she was hoping for. She thanks the bartender when he comes over and refills her glass, but other than that she doesn't take her eyes from her phone.

"Please tell me you aren't updating your social media with your location."

Her lips twitch, but she doesn't answer. I think she was scared enough last night that I won't have to worry about shit like that, but then again, this is Anna Grimaldi sitting beside me. All I have to go on is my knowledge of who she was in the past. I don't know a damn thing about her other than what I had Wren pull for me. He gave me shit about it when I requested it after getting back from Altieri, Inc. earlier.

As suspected, Anna doesn't have a single thing in her current life or in her surprisingly squeaky-clean past that would make me suspect that she's got something going on that would lead to her apartment getting ripped to shreds. Her world is being turned upside down because of her friend.