Rhiannon is obviously nervous, and I think she’s already realized why I have her here. She pushes her food around on her plate, forcing a smile every now and then. She squirms in her seat, and I place my hand on her thigh under the table to calm her. Or stop her. Stella and Hank Davenshire probably think I’m crazy for bringing the daughter of DeLaurio here, but Hank owes his company to me so they won't say a word. And maybe I do have a death wish. Maybe I just give absolutely no fucks.

There’s a method to my madness here. Waltz into a dinner party with DeLaurio’s daughter on my arm with the chief of police sitting across from us making fucking small talk. It’s almost comical. Yes, I want him to let DeLaurio know I’ve got her, and yes I know they can’t do a damn thing about it.

I don’t think Gordon has even recognized either of us yet. Probably just thinks we’re business associates of Hank’s. But, rest assured, he’ll definitely know who we are when we leave. And I’m sure the rat bastard will personally be the one to tell DeLaurio I’ve got his daughter.

We work through an assortment of pecan-crusted salmon with asparagus and potatoes, and before I can finish off another bite, Rhiannon leans over.

“Can I go to the restroom?”

We’re in a house, what harm can she do?

“Come right back.”

She excuses herself from the table, and I continue discussing menial bullshit with Hank and Ken. Once dinner is over, and the wives aren’t around, is when I plan to make exactly who I am known, and then, he’ll go run along like the crooked cop he is.

“A toast,” we all raise our wine glasses, so they’re good and drunk later, “to keeping the streets safe,” I toast Ken.

Everyone cheers, and I smile at him over the rim of my glass before checking my watch.

“Excuse me, everyone,” I say, rising from my seat.

I quicken my steps down the hall and round the corner to the first-floor bathroom.

“Rhi.” I knock.

No answer.

Shit.

I jimmie the knob and bust the door open.

And with the sight I see, I don’t know if I should laugh or be furious.

I lean against the door frame. “I can see right up your skirt.”

She freezes in her attempt at crawling through the tiny window above the whirlpool tub. It’s like damn Winnie the Pooh getting stuck in his tree trunk from the cartoon Rhiannon and I watched as kids. For fucks sake.

“I don’t care. Enjoy the view; I’m leaving. That man out there will have my father here in ten seconds once he realizes who I am.”

“I doubt that.” I move further into the bathroom. “Seriously, Rhi? You’re never going to get your hips through that window.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

The sight is a ridiculous one: her black dress pushed up and a peek of the soft-blue lace of her panties underneath as her legs dangle before me.

She loses a shoe. Those sexy as fuck red shoes that make her legs look endless.

“Oh, that’s gonna suck when you need to run,” I call out.

She wiggles a bit, twisting and turning, and then her body slumps against the window. “I’m stuck,” she says with defeat.

“Shocker, didn’t see that one coming.” I move closer and reach out to touch her leg. It’s silky smooth. “What were you thinking? Do you know how far out in the woods we are?”

“I don’t care. I need to get away. I’m not going back. I’d rather take my chances with the coyotes than be forced into that marriage.”

“Ah, you underestimate me.”

“Just help me down.”

“You know, on second thought, I might just leave you here. Let Hank and Stella deal with you.”

“You wouldn’t dare leave me here, Xavier.”

“Are you going to be a good little girl and promise not to run away?” My mind fills with images of her being a good girl just for me. I run my hands up her toned legs and grip her waist.

“Scouts honor,” she says.

“You were never a girl scout, sweetheart.” I yank on her waist just enough to free her as she shimmies back through the pane of the window. She slides like water down my body, and her delicious ass runs over my cock. It pulses, wanting to sink between her cheeks, and I try to steady my hands on her hips.

This is not the time to have my dick go rogue and pop up for any ass that comes within a two-foot radius of it. This isn’t high school, and I should be able to control the big fella. But, no, my body wants no part of what my mind’s got to say. And I have a semi as she turns in my arms and wets her lips.

“We should get back out there,” I breathe out, huskier than I mean it to sound.

She arranges her dress back into place and smoothes her wild mane of auburn hair. “Ok.”

I grab her elbow on the way out. “Promise me you won’t try anything like that again.”

“Promise me you’ll let me go,” she counters.

“Ah, I see you still haven’t mastered those bargaining skills.”

“You don't really know what I've mastered,” she says as we step out of the bathroom to rejoin the party.

She walks in front of me, and I take a second to appreciate the view of her fine ass in motion as it walks away from me.

After dessert, I grab Rhiannon’s hand. “Sorry, we have to get going.” She steps closer to me, as if she's afraid he's going to snatch her away from me. “Rhiannon, you remember Ken Gordon, right?” Her eyes dart to me, silently asking how to answer. “He works for your father.”

Recognition dawns on Mr. Gordon’s face, and he shakes his head. “No, I don’t work for DeLaurio.”

I step closer. “Of course, you do. Hiding murders, turning the other cheek to hidden deals.” His pathetic excuses, that he’s on the up and up and not in cohorts with a known mafia boss, are useless.

“Let him know his daughter had a great time,” I brush past him, “and Xavier sends his regards.”

* * *

After dinner tonight, I need a stiff drink. I head into my study, pour a glass of scotch and grab a cue stick. I move over to the billiard table and rack a few balls for a few shots. What was Rhiannon thinking tonight?

It’ll be nice to be back in LA tomorrow, in my city.

Rhiannon walks past the cracked door. I hit a ball into the pocket. She walks past again.

“What are you doing, Rhiannon?”

She pops her head in. “Nothing, just thinking.”

“Get in here.”

She slowly enters with both hands behind her back. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Wanna play?”

She takes a few more steps closer and smiles. “Sure, I should tell you, I’m really good.”

“Oh, yeah, ok.” I laugh a little.

Is it odd that being around her slips me back into the boy who walked away so many years ago? Like it’s easy to just be with her.

I rack the balls, and she grabs a cue stick from the wall.

“Isn’t there some captor handbook that says you shouldn’t interact with your prisoners?” She moves over, and I step back so she can break.

“I don’t like to follow the rules.”

She leans over the table, glancing back at me. “Yeah, you weren’t really much for rules growing up.”

She breaks and a stripe lands in the corner side pocket. Her jeans hug her ass, tight, as she leans across the table again, lining up her shot.

I divert my eyes back to the green felt. “Yeah rules are meant to be broken.”

She hits the cue ball and all the balls just roll along the table. “I agree completely.”

I shake my head, knowing full well she’s referring to earlier when she tried to escape from me. “Do as I say, not as I do.” I knock a few solids in one shot.

“Show off,” she says, sashaying around the table to give me more room for my next shot.

“Corner pocket,” I call, tapping my stick in that direction. “You never used to hang out with me in my prime.” I make the shot and move around the table, studying my next move.

“Oh, when was your prime?”

I laugh. “High school. Friends and I would hang out and play pool all the time.”

“Yeah, I didn’t leave the castle much.” She takes a seat while I knock in a few more shots.

On my next attempt, I miss, and she heads back over to the table.

“No,” I say to her. “Go for this one.” I point at the twelve ball.

“Oh.” She leans across the table, the angle all off, and I step closer.

“Like this.” I lean slightly over, trying my hardest not to smell her sweet fragrance as I teach her how to line her shot up correctly. “It’s all about the angles.”

I stand up in a rush when she turns her head slightly to catch a glance of my face.

She makes the shot. “High school was rough for me,” she says, her eyes catching mine.

“How so?”

I move to the table, grab my drink and take a long swallow. I raise my glass to her, silently asking if she wants one. She nods, and as she takes her shot, I pour her a scotch neat.

“Well, not many friends. You remember, I couldn’t even pick my own prom date.” She leans her ass against the pool table, and I stalk closer to hand her the drink in my hand.

Our eyes lock. “Who’d you have in mind?”

She brushes her fingers against mine as she takes the glass from me. “Who do you think?” she asks before taking a sip.

“Me?” My heart stalls, waiting to see if I guessed right.

She pushes her hand against my chest, laughing slightly. “Maybe.” She steps away. “It’s your turn.”

I line my shot up, shoot with just enough force, and another ball goes into the far pocket. “Maybe? Or am I right?” I lean over the table, aiming, and then sink another ball.

“Yes.” She takes another sip, and I stand straight, my eyes catching hers.

“I’m sure your dad would have loved that.”

She blows out a breath. “Oh, I know.”

As intriguing as this conversation is, I don’t like talking about the night of her prom. It was a bad time for me. And I change the subject. “Listen, Rhiannon, what happened tonight…”

She cuts in, “I still can’t believe you did that.”

I shrug. “Didn’t seem like a big deal to me.” I move closer. “But, what was a big deal was your little stunt.”

She holds up a hand. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” She places her cue stick down and takes another sip of her drink.

“Well, I’m sure your dad has the news I’ve got you by now.”

She visibly shakes a bit. “I expect him here any minute.”

I laugh. “I don’t.”

She cocks a brow. “What game are you playing, Xavier?”

I step closer. “Billiards?”

“No, really.”

I set my stick on the table, caging her in with my arms against the table. “I’m playing don’t fuck with me.” She sucks in a breath. “And anyone who does I’ll make sure they get theirs.”

And I will.

Her wide eyes don't leave mine. There’s about zero inches between us, and I breathe in her scent as my heart beats an edgy rhythm. “You should get to bed. We leave early tomorrow,” I say, pushing my arms off the table to stand back.

She doesn’t say a word, just rushes out the door, swaying that ass like a swinging watch to hypnotize me. I don’t think she realizes how sexy she walks. I shouldn't realize how sexy she walks.

And I sure as hell shouldn't be hard.

But I am.