Spectacular Rascal: A Sexy Flirty Dirty Standalone Romance by Lili Valente

Author:Lili Valente [Valente, Lili]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: alpha male, tatoo artist, new york city, romantic comedy, sexy romance
Publisher: Self Taught Ninja
Published: 2016-07-25T21:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

By the time we get out of the cab near Cat’s friend’s building on the Upper West Side, dawn has stained the sky above Central Park bright yellow with streaks of orange, and Fang is starting to whimper in Cat’s lap. It’s an encouraging sign, but I know Cat’s not going to feel better until we hear from a licensed professional that her fur baby is going to be okay.

I won’t, either.

This never should have happened. I should have kept it from happening. Or at least kept Petey from getting away.

Some bodyguard I’m turning out to be.

I follow Cat into the grand old building at the corner of 72nd Street and Central Park West, attempting to look non-threatening as the man at the front desk eyes the bruise on my cheekbone. Finally, after he calls upstairs to ensure that Shane is expecting a “large man with several tattoos,” he adds our names to the guest register and motions us through to the elevators. I may have earned a battle scar—and done at least a little damage to Nico’s thug—but it never should have come to this.

Neither my client, nor any of her nearest and dearest, should have been hurt on my watch. This is my fault. If I hadn’t underestimated mobster security system hacking abilities, and ignored Cat’s warning that her ex would lose his shit if he found out I was spending the night at her place, Fifi wouldn’t be shivering and crying, and Cat wouldn’t be so pale that she blends in with the white elevator walls as the lift zips skyward.

I’m so busy mentally ripping myself a new one, and thinking of all the things I could have done better, I don’t realize we’ve stopped on the penthouse level until we step out into an apartment so enormous it reminds me of the museum on the other side of the park. The Met is the only other place I’ve ever been that has rooms with twenty-foot ceilings and artfully lit paintings on the walls.

The museum vibe continues in the rest of the space. Heavy couches with carved wooden arms, draped with blankets from at least a dozen different countries, create a welcoming conversation area in the center, while floor to ceiling bookcases with a sliding ladder lend gravitas to the far side of the room. To our left, a galley-style kitchen long enough to fit in a luxury cruise ship, filled with stainless steel appliances and dominated by an island larger than my entire apartment, gleams in the early morning light.

Sitting cross-legged on top of the island is a plush woman in pink harem pants and a tight black tank top with a white towel folded in half in front of her. As soon as we step through the elevator doors, she motions urgently to Cat with both hands.

“Bring the little love over here, Sweet Pea,” she says, her blue eyes kind and compassionate behind her black horn-rimmed glasses. “We’re going to make it all better, I promise.

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