Page 35 of Wicked Ambition

“Holy cow,” she said, watching the rain come down in sheets.

“Grab that table,” Oz said, pointing to the only empty spot in the ice cream parlor. He handed her the cupcakes again. “I’m going to get us a couple of cones.”

She didn’t want ice cream, but Ayla did as he said. The parlor had a curved banquette in red, white, and black along the walls. Small, round bistro tables with oval-backed chairs in a houndstooth pattern sat in front of the banquette. Oz was going to want to watch the door, so she took the chair, setting the box down to her right. The woman at the next table sat across from her grade-school-age son, and Ayla gave them a small smile as she settled in.

In other circumstances, she would have been charmed by the parlor. The décor was old-time-Americana, and she could imagine having a date with Oz and coming here after dinnerfor ice cream. Of course, if they were dating, he wouldn’t be a mercenary. She wouldn’t be wearing a disguise, and most importantly, Russian mobsters wouldn’t be following them.

It didn’t take long before Oz came to the table with two cones. He handed her one. “I got you a small vanilla.”

He pulled a bunch of napkins out of a pocket on the thigh of his camo pants, set them in the middle of the table, and took a seat on the banquette. The woman sitting there slid over, closer to the end, away from Oz, and Ayla had the sense that if it wasn’t pouring, she’d take her son, gather up her packages, and leave.

She checked out his cone. He’d gotten himself a much larger serving, and his ice cream was a near-gold color. “What flavor did you choose?” she asked and licked at a drip of vanilla.

“Lucuma.” He must have read her puzzled expression because Oz added, “It’s a fruit. Want some?” He held his cone toward her.

Curious, Ayla leaned over to take him up on the offer. After helping herself to a small bite, she said, “It sort of tastes like caramel and…sweet potatoes?”

“I’d say caramel and butterscotch, but yeah, I could see sweet potatoes.”

For a moment, it seemed normal. Ordinary. Like that date, she imagined earlier. And then Ayla realized Oz only had part of his attention on her. Most of his focus was on the door, on the room, on the people in the room. It reminded her she was in danger, and it squashed the small burst of pleasure she’d felt.

“Your ice cream is dripping,” he pointed out.

Automatically, Ayla licked around the bottom of the scoop, catching the rivulets. As Oz’s gaze scanned the parlor, she studied him. He hadn’t shaved this morning and the stubble was thicker. His damp hair hung loosely to his shoulders. Because he’d allowed her to go inside first, she’d gotten a few drops, but he’d taken some full rain.

She sort of wished he didn’t have a long-sleeved shirt on because Oz in a wet T-shirt would definitely be worth the price of admission. She knew just how muscular he was beneath those clothes. Seven weeks ago, she’d spent hours exploring every inch of him.

The last thing she should think about was doing it again, but Ayla couldn’t help herself. It had been good with him. Better than good.

She wouldn’t mind a repeat.

Before she could push that idea out of her brain, Oz caught her staring. He didn’t call her on it, but his lips did curve.

It made him even better looking—as if he needed the help—and Ayla licked at her ice cream to give herself something to do. She wanted to distract both of them with questions about how they’d search for Io, but she couldn’t, not when that other table was right next to theirs. The woman and her son would hear everything, and she didn’t need Oz to tell her that was something to avoid.

Thinking of Io brought back her worry. Sitting here, doing nothing, increased her anxiety, but there was no other choice. Trying to walk in a torrential downpour would be foolish and theyneededto lose the mobsters. But every minute spent not looking for her sister was a minute she was in danger.

“Are you okay, Pollita?”

Aware of the interest of the woman next to them, Ayla managed a smile and came up with a lie. “I was worrying about the car windows. Did we remember to close them?”

“I think so. If not, I’ll deal with it. You won’t have to sit on a wet seat, I promise.” He discreetly winked at her.

Ayla nodded. He knew she lied. He knew she was worrying about her sister. And he knew the waiting was getting to her. The wink was Oz’s way of sending her a message.

It also made something clear to her. While most of his attention was centered on the other people present, he was keenly aware of her. Part of her was flustered by it, but something inside her warmed. Something she didn’t realize was cold. She’d never been someone’s primary focus before. Not even her parents.

The feeling was fleeting. She told herself it was the situation because there was danger nearby. He was a mercenary for heaven’s sake. She didn’t know his last name, where he was from, or anything else about him.

Ayla understood all that. But it didn’t stop the warmth blossoming in her chest.

Oz didn’t seethe Russians when they left the ice cream parlor, but just because he didn’t spot them didn’t mean they weren’t around.

The rain had stopped a few minutes ago, and the pavement was already drying. Tucking Ayla’s arm through his, he leaned down and said quietly, “We’re going to meet up with Baggs. He has the car.”

She nodded and Oz set a brisk pace. Once he was confident she had no problem keeping up, he began executing evasive maneuvers. Still no sign of Petrova’s men.

It was too convenient. He didn’t like it, but he could logic it out. According to what Baggs overheard, they didn’t like their boss. Their assignment had nothing to do with Oz or Ayla, and they were only following them because his Pollita’s actions were unusual enough to warrant some reconnaissance. When the rains hit, they easily could have thought,fuck this shit,and gone back to their job when the skies cleared.

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