Page 62 of Lord of the Dark

"It’s urgent."

Rachel’s face had flushed crimson by now, her gaze darting frantically between us. She looked like a fuse about to blow. Justmoments ago, she’d been lecturing me on morality—yet there she sat, paralyzed, utterly overwhelmed by his mere presence. So much for resilience. "Apparently, I wasn’t the only one susceptible to this devil in a tailored suit."

"Uh… no. It’s fine. I… I’ll leave you two alone." She practically leapt up, fumbling for her bag as she muttered something about an appointment before stumbling away without so much as a backward glance.

"You scared her off," I noted, lips pursed.

"She didn’t seem particularly thrilled. What did you tell her?"

"The truth. She warned me you were dangerous."

"Then she’s smarter than she looks." Alessandro shrugged, unmoved, still making no move to sit. "I’ll grab ice cream and settle your bill. We need to talk—urgently, and without an audience. It’s about Vaughn."

"Wait, what?" I asked sharply but kept my voice low to avoid drawing more attention. "And I’ll pay for myself."

Of course, he didn’t wait for a reply. He was already striding ahead. I snatched up my bag, haphazardly clearing the table, my gaze lingering on the half-empty glasses and barely touched salads.

When I looked up to pay, Alessandro was already back in front of me—utterly unruffled, ice cream in hand, his tongue dragging slow and deliberate over the creamy surface. A familiar ache throbbed between my thighs as I stared, transfixed by that casual, obscene display—far longer than the situation warranted.

Jesus Christ. It was just a damn ice cream cone. Yet every movement of his felt like a direct line to my pleasure centers.

Of course, he’d noticed.

"Should I lick slower?" he taunted, the corners of his mouth curling into a devilish grin.

"No idea. You’ve never eaten me."

His tongue stilled for a fraction of a second. My bluntness had caught him off guard.

I shook my head—more at myself than at him. "How did you know where to find me?" I changed the subject quickly, following him. "And where exactly are we going?"

"Didn’t I tell you I’ve got eyes on you?" He didn’t even glance my way. "Ever since you tried blackmailing me, I’ve made it a point to stay updated."

"That’s psychotic, Alessandro." My voice was bone-dry.

He stopped, turned slowly to face me, his grin widening. "It’d be psychotic if I didn’t. You’re... a special case."

"A special case?" I barked a laugh. "Is that your charming way of justifying stalking me?"

"Stalking is such an ugly word. I prefer ‘precaution’." His gaze dragged over me like he was memorizing every inch—as if I were under a goddamn microscope. "We’re going to my car."

No matter how mundane the situation seemed, no matter how harmless the conversation started—the tension between us always boiled over the moment we got too close. This damn attraction was a game we’d already lost, even if neither of us would admit it. "Where’s your car?" I asked, feigning nonchalance.

"Just up ahead, around the corner." A curt nod.

We rounded the corner—and I halted abruptly. Alessandro gestured with the last of his ice cream cone toward a black Defender, parked like a hulking shadow between glossy, pastel-colored convertibles. A laugh burst out of me. "That? Seriously? It clashes with your suit. And with Miami."

"It’s my work car." A roguish grin flashed as he finished the last bite of his cone. "For the kind of work that gets messy."

My steps slowed. I shot him a look—challenging, loaded.

"Work that leaves marks on your skin?" I asked, sarcasm dripping.

"You said it."

"Why this tank, though? Trying to cosplay as a mafia diplomat, or just desperate to stand out while pretending to be subtle?"

He exhaled an irritated scoff. "Can you ever just shut up?"