The Shadows (Black Dagger Brotherhood #13) - J. R. Ward Page 0,188

back down, she nearly yard-saled it by falling off the side of her chair.

Over at the elevators, Mary whispered, “I think she likes you.”

“Who?”

“The receptionist?”

Leaning down, he said back, “She might as well be a vacuum cleaner for all I care. And I mean that with all due respect.”

As the doors opened, that small, secret smile on his Mary’s face was a gift from God as far as he was concerned.

Up, up, up they went, and then they were outside and he was sheltering her with his body as he put his arm around her and led her over to the GTO. By some stroke of complete luck, he’d parked the car in a darkened patch, away from the security lights—and that was just perfect.

Opening the driver’s-side door, he put the seat forward and indicated the way into the back.

Mary frowned, but bent down and shuffled into the backseat. As he joined her, he shut them in, and was really glad the glass had been recently tinted.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s going on—”

Taking her hand, he put it on his rigid arousal. “This.”

“Rhage!” She laughed some more. “You brought me out here just to—”

He started kissing her mouth and putting his hands around her waist. “Outcome engineer. You knew it when you mated me.”

As she kissed him back, he and his Beast were all about the thank-fuck, and he moved fast, because he didn’t want them to get caught—not because he had anything against sex in semi-public places, but rather because he didn’t want to have to tear the throat out of some innocent son of a bitch who had come for a Band-Aid and ended up with an eyeful or an earful of what they were doing.

Talk about your boo-boos.

He got her loose pants off one of her legs and her in his lap before pulling a fly-away in front of his hips.

And then it was go time.

When he thrust up hard, Mary let out a curse—as her head bonked into the roof of the car.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” he groaned.

“Like I care?” she said, taking his mouth with her own. “I need you so badly.”

SIXTY-THREE

Trez pulled Manny’s Porsche up in front of Marcus Reinhardt’s jewelry store. The oldest jeweler in town, the place had been featured in things like the New York Times, and even the Robb Report, for its extensive inventory.

And by extensive, that was carat weight.

Glancing over at Selena, he said, “You ready?”

“I have never had a ring of my own.”

“Really?”

She shook her head. “There were jewels in the Treasury—” She stopped. “Are jewels in the Treasury, but as Chosen, we were unadorned except for our pearl—and that was not really ours.”

Unlatching his door, he said over his shoulder, “Yet another pity as far as I’m concerned.”

But he was going to rectify of that tonight. Walking in front, he opened her door, and as her beautiful hand extended, he caught hold and gave in to the urge to bend down and kiss the back of it. Then he pulled her carefully to her feet and offered her his elbow.

As she took it, he had a feeling that both of them were ignoring how the gesture was not just that of a polite gentlemale, but something that was needed.

She wasn’t walking as well as she had been.

Before they got to the door, the iron-barred thing opened wide. “Mr. Latimer, greetings.”

The man was dressed in a formal suit and had a neat head of hair and a precisely cropped beard. Along with his patrician accent, and the fact that he had a three-point pocket square, he was pretty much central casting for what you’d blue-sky as a guy who specializes in six- to seven-figure engagement rings.

“Thanks for opening things up for us,” Trez said as they shook hands. “This is my fiancée, Selena.”

“My pleasure. Madam.”

Okay, you had to approve of that bow.

Inside, everything was set up for a private showing, and Trez suddenly felt really fucking good about all this. The cases with their fillings of precious gems twinkled under the special lights, as if they were applauding Selena’s and his arrival. Champagne was cooling in a silver bucket, and a pair of crystal flutes had been set out.

“May I offer you some Veuve Clicquot?” they were asked.

“I think I’m good,” he said. “Selena?”

She tilted up her chin as if she were determined to enjoy herself. “I would like some, please.”

“Make that two,” Trez amended.

Pop! Fizz! Pour and hand over.

He clinked their glasses. “Let’s do this.”

Mr. Reinhardt took