worst day ever.’ He tosses down another note before taking my arm and leading me across the square, constantly peeking around. He isn’t speaking, his anger palpable, and it’s refuelled my nerves. I knew he wouldn’t be happy, but . . . yikes.
Pulling me down an alleyway, he stops, swings me around, and pushes me front forward into a wall. I yelp, knowing what he has planned. I don’t fight. I may as well just get my punishment out of the way. Then I’ll rip him to shreds.
My dress is yanked up, my knickers shoved to the side, and his palm comes down on a punishing, belter of a smack. ‘Fuck, Becker!’ I’m being spun back around in the blink of an eye and thrust up against the wall.
He gets his angry face up close again. ‘I’m fucking furious, Eleanor,’ he whispers menacingly, threading his fingers through my black, glossy bob. ‘And if this isn’t a wig, I’m going to spank you until your hair has grown back and returned to its natural colour.’
‘It’s a wig,’ I murmur, watching as he visibly deflates in relief.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he hisses. ‘And where’s your phone?’
‘I left it at The Haven. Do you think I’m stupid, Hunt? I know your little whizz kid will be keeping tabs on my movements.’
‘I should have had a fucking chip put under your skin.’
My lips twist in annoyance. ‘You fucking lied to me, you scoundrel.’
A wave of realisation travels across his face, one that suggests he’s comprehended just how pissed off I am. Good. Because I’m really pissed off. He won’t turn this around on me. No way. ‘I . . .’ he begins. ‘It’s . . . I . . .’ He stammers all over his words, getting more and more worked up and redder in the face. ‘I prefer you with red hair!’
I snort and push him off me. ‘Yeah, well, I prefer you in London with me, but you’re not fucking there, are you?’
He breathes in deeply and squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘It’ll drive me insane for the rest of my life if I don’t follow this, princess.’
‘I know,’ I reply simply, making his eyes snap open. I pull my bag onto my shoulder and straighten myself out. I spent the entire flight coming to terms with that. ‘So let’s see if it’s there, and then we can get on with our lives together.’
His neck retracts on his shoulders. ‘What?’
‘Let’s find some treasure, Hunt.’ I push past him, my small case bouncing across the cobbles as I drag it along. ‘Where are you staying?’
He doesn’t answer, forcing me to stop and seek him out. He looks a bit dazed.
‘Well?’ I ask.
He shakes himself back to life. ‘Well, what?’
‘Hotel. Where are you staying?’
‘Across the square.’
‘Are you going to show me?’ I cock my head in question, and the hollows of Becker’s cheeks begin to pulse.
Slowly, he flexes his head from side-to-side, rolling his shoulders. Then he strides over and snatches my case from my hold, virtually ripping my arm off in the process. ‘It doesn’t look like I have a fucking choice, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ I sniff, watching as he stomps off down the alleyway, hauling my small case behind him.
‘Move that arse, princess,’ he spits, and I grin, starting to totter along behind him. ‘Why the fuck are you wearing a wig?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘It’s fucking ridiculous.’
‘I wouldn’t be wearing one if you hadn’t done a disappearing act,’ I retort indignantly as we breach the end of the alley and emerge onto the square. The sun has completely fallen away, and now the Pantheon is glowing, the surrounding area lit by the bustling cafes.
‘This way,’ he mutters, striding off. I tail him, noting he’s looking around vigilantly. It makes me wonder if he suspects Brent Wilson is loitering somewhere, but I think better than to ask. He might swing for me.
He leads me to a small boutique hotel just off the square, and after the tiny elevator has carried us to the top floor, he exits first, leaving me to follow on behind. Letting us into the last room at the end of the long corridor, he throws my case down on the bed and goes straight to the window, throwing it open and pushing the shutters back. I breathe in my surprise when the Pantheon comes into view over a few dilapidated rooftops, almost close enough to reach out the window and touch.