Chapter 27

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Anya

I nstead of Kevin, Sav waits for me when I get off work. He leans on the Corvette with his arms and ankles crossed, looking too hot in a dark tailored suit and a white slim-fitting shirt without a tie. The first two buttons of the shirt are undone, giving a hint of the impressive muscles underneath. His thick black hair is brushed back, and his lighter-than-sky blue eyes are trained on me with an intensity that sends a flush over my skin.

I try to get my blood pressure under control as I cross the street, but the way he follows my progress with unfaltering attention doesn't help. Neither does the images of last night and this morning that flash through my mind.

We took things too far.

No, not we .

I did.

He gave me a chance out and I didn't take it. If I wanted to, I could've gotten away. He would've let me. And what did I do? My cheeks burn when I think about how I displayed my body for him. Then, this morning, I jumped on him like a horny woman.

Fine.

I am horny. More than usual. But that's no excuse. I just got carried away. His dirty mouth did things to me. And the spanking… I can't even put my reaction to that in words. Yet I should know better, especially after the lesson Evan taught me.

I take a deep breath as I get closer, preparing myself to face him.

He straightens when I stop in front of him, studying me with that piercing look that never wavers. "Anya."

I lift my chin and summon my self-confidence. "Saverio."

A sexy smile tilts his lips. "So it's only Sav when our clothes come off."

So much for controlling my blush. My face flames under his stare.

Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me in for a kiss. It's a lingering kiss that wakes every nerve ending in my body. It's just for show, but I can help my reaction as little as I can move out of his house and back into my own place. Not that I have a place any longer.

"Come," he says, guiding me with an arm around my shoulders to the passenger side.

After helping me inside and securing my seatbelt, he slides behind the wheel with the ease of man who's used to driving expensive collectable sports cars. He takes a gourmet pasta salad with a fork attached to the inside of a transparent lid from the dashboard and hands it to me.

"Food?" I ask with a frown, accepting the offering.

"So you don't get hungry." He starts the engine. "We're not going straight home."

My stomach tightens with apprehension. "Where are we going?"

He flashes me a smile. "You'll see."

His playful manner puts me at ease. I'm learning to read him. If our destination held something unpleasant for me, he would've been broody or serious. Whenever he grins like that, he's got something non-life-threatening up his sleeve.

To be honest, I am hungry. I open the container and dig in.

Yum.

The roasted veggies and buckwheat spirals tossed in sun-dried tomato vinaigrette are delicious.

I hum my approval.

"Like it?" he asks, shooting me an amused glance before steering the car into the traffic.

"It's divine," I say around a mouthful.

"I got the only salad with a tomato dressing the deli had."

"You did well." I take another bite. "Do I get to know where you're taking me now?"

He motions at the container on my lap. "Finish your food. I'll drive carefully."

I can't help but smile. It makes me think of those considerate guys who drive slowly so their girlfriends can put their make-up on in the car.

As always, the traffic is hectic. He doesn't have a choice but to advance at a snail's pace. Before we're on Tenth Avenue, the container is empty. I'm grateful for the bottle of water he left in the console between the seats.

In Manhattan, he parks in the underground parking lot of a skyscraper. We ride the elevator to the eleventh floor and exit into a lobby that's arranged like a cozy coffee shop where small groups are seated on sofas and armchairs.

A circular refreshment area takes up the center of the floor. A young woman with a pretty smile mixes drinks for the customers waiting at the counter. A wide variety of fruit and vegetable smoothies as well as herbal teas are listed on a framed menu that's posed on an easel next to the bar.

The décor is colorful with red, yellow, and green scatter cushions and landscape photos on the walls.

"What are we doing here?" I ask under my breath as Saverio takes my elbow and ushers me inside.

"Here," he says, leading me to an empty sofa next to the window.

I take a seat and look around. All the groups are made up of pairs, some male and female and others women only.

"Couple counseling?" I tease as Saverio sits next to me.

He takes my hand and places it on his thigh. "Prenatal classes."

"What?" I exclaim.

"Isn't that part of the birth preparation?"

I did consider classes, but I haven't had time to look into it yet. I was more thinking of doing the free classes at the community center. That he brought me here catches me by surprise. It's the last thing I expected. The place is fancy, like one of those establishments with a waiting list of a couple of years. In other words, I can't afford it, which means Saverio is paying.

I glance at him. He sits with his legs stretched out in front of him and one arm draped around my shoulders while still holding my hand. He appears relaxed, but I don't miss the way he takes stock of the room and the people, no doubt on the lookout for potential risks. I also didn't miss the men who got out of the car when he parked and followed a couple of paces behind us. I recognized their faces from the house. They're Saverio's guards.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask. "You don't have to go this far to keep up the show."

"Do you think I'd let my girlfriend do this alone? If that's your take on the kind of man I am, you've got me figured out wrong."

"Hi," an attractive woman with short blond hair says, shoving her hand in my face. "You're newbies, right? I'm Tersia."

I take in her stylish sleeveless black dress and the diamond tennis bracelet on her wrist. She looks to be in her late twenties or early thirties. Her smile is warm, and there's a mischievous glint in her striking blue-green eyes.

Accepting her handshake, I say, "I'm Anya."

She nudges the man who stands tall beside her. "This is my husband, Richard." Cupping her belly, she continues, "I'm thirteen weeks. How far along are you?"

"Fourteen," I say.

She turns her gaze on Saverio and raises a brow. A beat of silence follows before I catch on.

"Oh, this is Saverio." I clear my throat. "My boyfriend."

He stands and shakes their hands. "Happy to meet you."

"First time?" Richard asks.

With the natural highlights in his curly brown hair and a darkly tanned skin, he looks like someone who spends plenty of time outdoors. The fine lines in the corners of his eyes suggest he also smiles often. I judge him to be close to forty.

"Yes," Saverio says.

Richard grins. "You'll fly through it." He pats Saverio's shoulder. "If you ignore the video introduction."

Tersia jabs him hard enough with an elbow in the ribs to make him grunt. "You'll scare them off." Turning to us, she says with a roll of her eyes, "It's his second time. Richard's oldest is ten. I'm the second wife. This is my first time too."

"Whereabout are you guys from?" Richard asks.

Saverio's smile is stilted. "Park Slope."

"So are we," Tersia says, clapping her hands and shooting her husband an excited look. "Hey." She pokes me. "We should sit together. We can meet up and come in one car in the future."

Saverio's tone is dry. "We'll keep that in mind."

"We better get inside," Tersia says, checking the time on her Rolex. "The class is about to start."

I shoot Saverio a frown when he pulls me to my feet.

Tersia and Richard go ahead of us.

When they're out of earshot, I whisper, "You brought me here without asking me first. The least you can do is try to be nice."

He stops and frames my face between his palms. The playfulness of earlier is gone. In its place is that serious expression that makes him look both dangerous and hot. "This, baby girl, is me being nice."

I swallow. I know exactly just how bad he can be.

"I didn't ask you because I booked the best preparation course in the state of New York," he says. "I didn't think you'd disapprove."

I glance at the people who file past us, embarrassed that they're witnessing our quiet dispute, but they're absorbed in their own conversations. "It's not that I disapprove."

He searches my eyes. "Then what is it?"

"You know I can't afford this, and you know how I feel about that."

"Anya." He threads his fingers through my hair and cups the back of my head. "I already made myself clear. What part of the fact that you're my responsibility don't you understand?"

"It feels wrong."

"Wrong?" He chuckles. "Explain that to me."

"Like I'm taking advantage."

The look in those icy blue pools turns even more earnest. "Are you? Is that what happened this morning?"

"Is that what happened last night?"

Letting me go, he takes a step back. "What happened, happened. We're not going to analyze or overthink it. You're under my protection now, and I don't take my responsibilities lightly. I want the best for you, and I can afford to pay for the best. That's all there is to it. I don't expect your gratitude or anything in return. If I give someone something, I don't see it as an exploitation on their side. I take care of what's mine, and I happen to enjoy taking care of you. Does that clear things up for you?"

Not nearly. I don't understand his motives. I get why he's so invested in my health. He needs me alive. He needs me in case the murder investigation produces evidence that may blow up in his face.

But why go to such extreme lengths?

Because booking the most exclusive prenatal class for his girlfriend is what the world expects Saverio to do. Because that's just who he is.

And there's my answer.

It's not about me.

It's about appearances.

The truth leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. The envy that stabs into my gut feels a lot like the jealousy of last night. It's petty and immature, but I can't stop myself from being stupidly envious of the real girlfriends, of the women he loved and the wife he will love one day, of the woman he'll bring here for the right reasons.

"Anya," he says, reminding me that he's waiting for my consent. For my understanding.

Yes, I get it. This is a stage act, a fake performance. I definitely don't want it to be more. I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I must be developing the infamous pregnancy porridge brain.

"Anya," he says again, this time, more insistently.

"Yes." Even as I give him that affirmation, something twists inside me. "I understand perfectly."

Instead of making him happy, my words put a frown on his face.

Before I can ponder the reason for that, a woman sticks her head around the jamb of the adjoining door and says, "We're about to start, guys. Come grab your place in the hall."