Page 59 of The Right Garza
“Are you?”
“Nope.”
“It is serious?”
I set my items down on for the cashier. “Does it matter?”
He leans against the counter, his lascivious gaze molesting my face. “Of course. It lets me know if I’ve got a chance or not.”
The cashier voices the total, and as I start to open my purse, I pause. Because I feel him before I hear him. A riot of flutters erupts in my belly and I’m not even looking at him.
I’m about to turn when I feel the heat of his large hand at the back of my neck. It glides up my nape, massaging the soft, erogenous spots below my ear, then drifts back down and settles possessively. His voice comes next, deep and delicious, sending shivers down my spine. “I’ve got it, Hellcat.”
Handsome Aston Martin Guy holds his hands up and backs off. “Got it. No chance.”
And I’d bet the last $1,674.96 left in my bank account that Trent is glaring him down.
The cashier looks bored with the whole ordeal. Poor girl just wants to be done with her shift and go home.
Twisting my torso to look up at him, I say, “It’s fine. I can pay.”
He makes a single shake of his head and gets out his wallet. “This is one of the ‘things’, Lexi,” he says. “If you’re mine, you’ll never pay for anything.”
Turning fully this time, I place my hand on my hip. “And what if Iwantto pay, Mr. Sugar Daddy?”
He shrugs. “You can. But you’ll being doing it knowing you don’thaveto.” As he passes cash over my shoulder to cashier, he dips his head and says, “Not now, though. I’m trying to make a point. Don’t ruin it.”
This makes me giggle, bumping my forehead to his chest. He smells divine. “You’re ridiculous.”
By the time we leave the store, Handsome Aston Martin Guy is gone. Had Trent intimidated him so much that he left without purchasing what he came for?
“You can’t be acting all jealous like that with me,” I tell him once we’re in the jeep and on the move again. “Wearen’ta thing.”
To that, he says nothing. He controls the stereo from the steering wheel, skipping songs until he finds the one he wants, then ups the volume untilSmokeby Bobi Andonov fills the car.
And…yes, I want to have sex with this man.
Badly.
Very badly.
When we arrive at the guesthouse, the lights are on in the condo. Good, Maggie’s home.
Trent jerks up the handbrake. “I’ll walk you to the door.”
“It’s fine,” I’m quick to say, jumping out of the jeep. “Maggie is home.”
Why I’m so terrified at the prospect of him walking me to door, I have no idea.
“Don’t worry,” he says with an amused dip in his voice. “I’m not gonna kiss you again.”
The relief I feel in my chest answers my question. I don’t think I can handle another of his hurricane kisses right now. It’ll only muddle my head, make me feel things that aren’t real, and make me want more.
I walk ahead of him, quickening my steps so I’ll get to the door faster. But five of my steps equates to one of his, so out-walking him is a futile attempt.
“This is it,” I say when we finally get to the side door. “You can—”
He kisses me.
