No Strings Attached

Chapter Eight

Nate sat and drank his Americano in the small cafe where Shannon was having the meeting with the rep from Nabokov’s.

With his teeth grinding together, and his arms crossed over his broad chest as he reclined in his seat, he was trying not to be affected by the uninhibited chuckles that were emerging from her throat at the handsome young man’s no doubt God-damn awful jokes. He was trying not to notice the representative’s dark eyes as they lingered on her eyes, her smile – her fucking chest, for Christ’s sake! The steel toe cap of his military boots tapping relentlessly against the metal table leg belied the fact that he was completely failing.

His mobile vibrating in the pocket of his jeans shook him out of it momentarily, but he still watched the two of them intensely while he pulled it out.

From: Tony                                                    

Delivery is in. I’ve also got the details you were after. Meet me at 147 King’s Street. 2pm.

It should take maybe 45 minutes to drive over there, Nate mused, looking at the silver Rolex on his right hand – it was still only 10.45, so there was plenty of time to get Shannon some food, collect her stuff and get over to Franchetti. He wasn’t massively happy about her being around the unit, but it was isolated enough, and it would be a must if he was going to get to drive her back – two hours sitting next to her, inhaling her sweet Vanilla scent, just being inches away from her – he couldn’t pass it up, even though, if this morning was anything to go by, she’d probably do it in a dead silence.

But he needed that information – if he was going to have the little trip he had planned. And the “delivery” that Franchetti had been watching for could be the answer to getting an inside wire on the workings of Tourniquet – something they desperately needed if they had any chance of burning the fucking place to the ground.

So she’d have to come, as long as he parked three streets over.

Almost on cue, he saw the rep scraping back his chair over the hardwood floors, and stand up in his tailored suit – all suave, bullshit sophistication as he snapped shut his briefcase and leaned over to offer his hand for Shannon to shake, but she politely swerved it, faking a distraction as she stood up herself, and the idiot seemed to get the hint.

She looked stunning, he had to admit, her pale lemon silk wraparound dress just skimming over her curves and ending just below the knee. Paired up with a pair of glittery bronze fuck-me heels, she looked positively delectable.

Next time she was in his bed, he decided, she would be wearing them ... and only them.

That damned idiot that stood with her seemed to be thinking the same thing as he watched her bend to retrieve her purse and the portfolio – his dark eyes leering over the soft curves of her willowy frame.

Two split seconds before every possessive instinct in Nate’s blood reared its ugly head and had him storming across to the table, and smashing this prat’s head into the heavy granite bar behind him before bending her tall, sleek body over the table, stripping away the silk skirts and plowing deep inside, Shannon waved goodbye to her rep, and he walked away with a long, lingering look behind him on his way out.