Page 42 of Wicked Dares
Piper turns to me first, biting the inside of her lip. “Oh my God,” she breathes.
“I’m sorry about that. Thanks for playing along.”
“That’s okay. It was odd but definitely the most exciting thing I’ve done all day. Of course, apart from eating ravioli and drinking amazing wine.” She smirks.
“Glad it excited you.”
Her gaze thins. “Why did he think I was your girlfriend?” She flicks her wrist toward the doorway as if Arthur is still there.
“Long story.” I try to sound like it’s nothing. “I’ll take care of it.” Even as I say it, I know I have absolutely no fucking idea how.
“Okay. He was nice, though. It’s not every day I run into a real Southern gentleman.”
“You’ll find a lot of different people here in New York.” And none of them are quite like her.
I switch gears by pointing to the closest wine bottle. “Let’s have some more wine and dessert.”
“That sounds good.”
Her smile is the sweetest, too innocent to be around a wicked devil like me.
We drink the rest of the wine and finish up with dessert. By then, the candles have burned lower around us and the restaurant has thinned out, leaving the whole place softer and quieter. Too intimate for a woman I’m supposedly letting go.
It’s time to leave. Better to go before I start getting more ideas I shouldn’t have about her.
I accompany her to her apartment, riding in the back of the Maybach in strained silence. I catch her stealing occasional glances at me. I purposely keep my gaze ahead because it’s safer when I’m conflicted.
I’m conflicted by her, by wanting her, and by that damn Arthur.
Things are colliding in ways I didn’t anticipate.
I dug this hole myself and jumped right in. Now I’m in too deep.
But maybe if I still have some luck on my side, tonight may have been enough to appease the bastard and he’ll just close the deal without any further delay. I can only hope.
When we reach Piper’s apartment, I take in the building as the car rolls to a stop. The brick is worn in places, and it looks like it’s seen better years but keeps going anyway.
It’s also on the edge of the rougher part of town. Streetlights flicker outside the building, casting a weak yellow light over the cracked sidewalks and graffiti-tagged brick.
The place screams danger.
“I know it’s not the Hamptons,” she says, noticing where my attention lingers but jumping to the wrong conclusion.
“Are you safe here?”
“I’m fine. My neighbors are a retired wrestler and an old Kung Fu master.” She tries to joke, but I can tell she’s nervous.
“Sounds like fun, but I’m walking you to the door.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
I’m already getting out of the car. The second her door opens, my instincts sharpen in a way they never usually do. I help her out, and she gives me this cautious look. It makes me wonder if she wanted to use Curtis, my driver, as a buffer, so saying good night would be less hard.
It doesn’t matter now. I’m with her.
We go inside the building, and I see more things I don’t like—shady characters lurking in dark corners and the scent of piss and something else.
I keep going against my better judgment that’s telling me to take her right the hell back to the car and get her to my place.
