I choked on my milkshake for the third time, my nails digging into my palms under the table to disguise my need.
Marco looked me over with a heated expression in his eyes and smiled smugly. "Hands, Kat."
Trying not to glare at him, I unclenched my hands and grabbed my milkshake cup with them just to give my fingers something to hold on to.
He'd been true to his word, turning the fastidious device in my jeans on and off at his whim and leisure, bringing me to the edge only to turn it off. In public.
When he'd said lunch, I assumed his cook had made something for us but once again, I was wrong. Marco had simply tucked a gun into his jeans, slung on a jacket and told our bodyguards to take us somewhere.
Mac and Pietro followed us around obliviously while I had to try to keep it together around them.
First, we went to a quaint little restaurant with a gorgeous view, which Marco indirectly owned because he owned the owner—does that make sense?
