Page 27 of At Your Mercy
He stepped away from the booth, not waiting to see if I’d follow. He already knew I would.
I swallowed, forcing my steps steady as I caught up to his side. “God, what is it with you and feeding me?” I awkwardly laughed.
Wes chuckled as he led us through the market. “Maybe I just like taking care of you.” Those steady, seemingly ageless eyes glanced over at me, meeting my gaze, and I swore my knees almost buckled.
I cleared my throat. “You’re… uh. You’re not exactly what I expected.”
“Mm.” His voice was deep, rumbling, unbothered. He looked ahead, guiding me through the aisles. “And what is it you expected, Ro?”
The way he said my name made something hot curl low in my stomach. I forced a laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Less… I don’t know. I mean, wouldn’t most people not want to hang out with the guy ordered to kill them?”
Wes placed a hand on the small of my back, making me hold in a whimper. “Like I’ve said, you haven’t even tried it yet, doll. I’m waiting patiently,” he murmured into my ear.
I ducked my head, hoping to hide the blush that was no doubt coloring my cheeks. “I’m just biding my time.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “Or maybe you’re here because you don’t quite know what to do with yourself anymore.”
My nails dug into my palms. “You think you’ve got me figured out that easy?”
Wesley’s hand seared heat into my skin even through my sweater. “I don’t need to figure you out. You’ll show me everything I need to know,” he answered languidly.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Elias’s plan was supposed to be simple: play the role, lure Wes in. But Wes wasn’t beinglured—he wasleading, and I hated how badly I wanted to follow.
Scratch that—how Iwasfollowing.
I forced myself to laugh, even as it shook. “Christ, you’re really full of yourself, old man.”
The corner of his mouth curved—just slightly, just enough to feel like a win he wasn’t bothering to hide. “Maybe.”
We stopped in front of a small bistro nestled within the market stalls. Inside its walls, it sheltered its patrons from the noise outside.
We were led to a small, cozy table in a back corner, where a tealight flickered in the dimness.
I sat down and shifted in my seat, my knees jiggling under the table. The leather-bound menu in front of me might as well have been written in code.
Wesley sat across from me with that unshakable composure, reading over the wine list like he’d memorized half of it already.
I cleared my throat. “Don’t think I’ve ever had French food before.” I tried to make it sound casual, not defensive. “Unless you count chocolate croissants from the grocery store.”
Wes’s gaze lifted from the page, eyes sparkling with fond amusement. “No, I don’t think that quite makes the cut.”
My ears burned. I shrugged, trying not to squirm. “Well, guess I’m in for a new experience, then.”
“You are,” he said simply. Then, with the same quiet authority he’d had last time, he closed the menu, handed both his and mine to the waiter who’d approached, and ordered for us both without even asking what I wanted—again.
Something prickled in my chest. Irritation, mostly. “You know, I can order for myself.”
“I know,” Wes said, unbothered. He picked up his glass of water and took a sip, like that was the end of it.
The thing was—itwasthe end of it. My protest fizzled in my throat, leaving me sitting there like some sulky kid while the waiter disappeared with the menus.
I just hoped he hadn’t ordered snails.
I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Do you usually boss people around like that?”
His eyes sharpened with a glint I didn’t trust. “Yes. But I don’t usually take this much pleasure in it.”
The words shot through me like a spark to kindling, and my chest tightened before I could stop it. “Oh.”
