Giorgio (Vigilance #1) - Silvia Violet Page 0,21

excellent at boiling ramen.”

“That’s about what I expected. I’ll be the one preparing the food.”

“You can cook?”

“Baby, I can do anything. I’m multitalented.”

“I already knew that, but I thought you wanted me to treat you like a professional.” He cleared his throat and stepped back, an annoyingly neutral expression fixed on his face. I longed to break through his false coldness and get him to flirt with me. I wanted to make him truly smile.

He picked up a toiletry bag which held the various elements of my skincare regimen and glanced at all the bottles. “Why the fuck do you need all this?”

“Do you think my skin stays this soft by neglecting it?”

“A cleanser and a moisturizer would surely be enough.”

I scoffed. “That is definitely not enough. If I hadn’t had your cock up my ass, I’d question if you’re even gay.”

He raised his brows. “Seriously?”

I rolled my eyes. “I know that’s a total stereotype. I just… I don’t travel light.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” He lifted something else out of my suitcase, and his eyes went wide. Heat filled my cheeks as I realized he’d found my favorite butt plug. So I liked something nice and thick in my ass. I wasn’t going to be embarrassed about that.

“Jesus. That’s… impressive.”

“You said you weren’t going to put your hands on me. A girl’s got needs.”

I glanced down at his crotch again, more surreptitiously this time, and fuck me, his cock was pressing against his fly, hard and ready to go. It took amazing self-control not to bend over the bed and offer my ass that second.

I found the courage to meet his eyes, even though I knew my cheeks were bright red.

He laid the sweater he’d lifted back on top of the butt plug. “I know all about your needs.” His words were low and husky, and I had a feeling he hadn’t really meant to say them.

“Then you understand.”

“I understand that you’re going to make this job as difficult as you possibly can.”

“I never said I wasn’t difficult. I’ve been a pain in the ass since the day I was born.”

“Jesus. Get packed, and speed it up. This building’s security measures are nonexistent.”

“I could have told you that. That’s how he got up here before.”

“What? Hendon came here? After the restraining order? Is that why you were so jumpy when I came in the door?”

“I can’t tell you anything until you stop asking me questions.”

Giorgio stepped away from my suitcases and propped himself in the doorway. “Talk.”

“I already told you Alan has broken in before. He painted messages threatening my work on some fresh canvases I’d had out. That’s why I filed the restraining order and got a security system. I was more worried he’d sabotage my art than attack me. His driver or bodyguard or whatever the hell the guy is has shown up at my door too. He rattled the doorknob, and I think he was trying to get in, but he didn’t succeed, and he hasn’t been back.”

“Why didn’t you report it?”

“Because he didn’t actually do anything, and since he’s not the one the restraining order is against—”

“But you know he works for Hendon, and you—”

“No one’s going to listen to me.”

“I am. Describe the man.”

I did, and Giorgio pulled out his phone. “Who are you calling?”

Giorgio waved toward my bedroom. “Pack faster.”

“Yes, sir!” Did he intend to order me around like this the whole time? I was fairly certain he did.

I assumed he was calling one of his colleagues since he gave whoever was on the other end of the call the description of Alan’s driver.

When Giorgio came into my room, I was closing up my suitcases knowing there were things I’d regret not taking with me.

“I still have to pack up my art studio.”

Giorgio sighed. “I’ll help so we can get on with it.”

“You’ll have to do exactly what I say.”

“About packing your art I will. About everything else, I’m the one in control.”

“I remember how much you like control.” His expression heated before he turned away.

With him helping, the packing didn’t take as long as I’d anticipated. After delivering a loudly protesting Mittens to Tara, I tried to help load the car. Giorgio just got annoyed with my inability to read his mind about where everything should go and told me to let him handle it.

As he slid an easel in on top of the bags in the back, his shirt rose up, and I saw the gun tucked into his waistband.

“You’re caring a gun?”

“Two