Page 33 of Protection (Mobsters + Billionaires 2)
“Uh, I could use a water,” I call after him, feeling more than a little snippy.
“Of course, sir,” he says primly, bringing me a hastily poured crystal tumbler of water with a fixed smile on his face.
After Chadrick returns to his section, Anthony, finally finding the correct button, snorts as he sets himself to rights.
“Shut up,” I grumble.
“Oh no, did someone forget who the billionaire was in this scenario?”
“Whatever. You couldn’t even work the seat without assistance.”
My eyes slide in his direction, watching his mouth twitch before it blooms into a sexy little smile. It’s a smile I’ve only seen a handful of times, and…yep. It’s going to be the death of me. It’s the kind of smile that makes every part of me want to rub up against every part of him.
Jeez, Mads. Horny much?
In a word, yes. Having him bodyguard me, even after I told him no—especially after I told him no—is not awful. I didn’t realize how much incidental touching came with the whole bodyguard package. I mean, I’ve been fighting a boner all damn day. And that move of putting me closer to the wall so he was between me and the street? The way he made me feel all small and protected?
Thinking about it makes me all shuddery and inhale-y.
Glancing over again, I let my eyes trail down his sexy, strong body. I’d love nothing more than to walk over and straddle him, slide down on what I imagine to be a glorious cock, then ride him into the sunset as he digs his fingers into my delicate skin…
Mm.
He clears his throat, and my eyes meet his. Oops. He raises a brow, and I reengage my brain cells and refocus on my glass.
“Shut up.”
“You already said that.”
I snort, then go back to my lackluster water. Anthony adjusts the angle on the head cushions, finding a comfortable setting. After the requisite announcements and safety demonstrations, we have a smooth take-off and are over the Atlantic in no time.
I glance over as his eyes drift shut. Now that I can look without getting caught, I see the deepened lines around his eyes and the hard set of his mouth. I sometimes forget that I’m not his only client, and I wonder what he would have been doing today.
As he gives himself over to sleep—a wondrous thing to behold—his face loses that hard edge of concentration and the skin between his brows softens.
He’s handsome, of course, but almost pretty when he relaxes. His lips, when not fixed in a snarl, border on pouty. Between those and his enormous blue eyes, he could’ve easily skated by on his looks. Not that he would.
No, I imagine that the very concept of skating by would rankle Anthony Edgerton. Then again, I can’t imagine what would sit well with the man. I stifle a laugh. If I told Anthony he’s one of the great unselfconscious beauties of the world, he’d probably pop my head off. Scratch that. He’d cite a rule while his neck flushed with agitation.
I do love spinning him up.
Hm. Maybe if Vienna gets boring, which it absolutely will, I'll tease him. See how much I can make him flush before he cries uncle.
“I can hear you thinking over there, Mads. Shh. I'm trying to sleep,” he mumbles, his eyes still closed.
I laugh to myself, grateful he can't read minds because I’m over here trying to figure out how to get him to give in and play with my no-no square.
Wait, is reading minds one of your tools, Anthony?
I wait for an answer and receive none, but I've got my eye on him. Truth be told, I'm exhausted too. I follow suit and recline my chair and, cradled in comfort, quickly drift off, never unaware of the beautiful man inches away from me.
