Read Online Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes Book 2) by Georgia le Carre - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Georgia le Carre
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No, you just keep on pushing yourself, constantly expanding the business. It’s why billionaires in their eighties put in eighteen hour days.’
I think of my parents. They’re poor, yes, but they’re happy in their small world outside the rat race. And except for my resentment of the people who don’t pay their taxes, I love my little matchbox flat and my little life.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks suddenly, jerking me away from my thoughts.
‘Ravenous,’ I admit.
And he laughs. ‘Good. There’s plenty of food.’
I hear his laugh inside my chest. ‘What’re we having? A takeaway?’
‘Sort of.’
His idea of a sort of takeaway and mine are worlds apart. Mine is a small pepperoni pizza with garlic bread, or chicken biryani and poppadoms, or a quarter crispy duck and special fried noodles from one of the takeaway joints inside the five-mile free delivery radius. His is a three-course meal from one of his restaurants.
The food—well, the raw ingredients—is brought by a man in a chef’s uniform whom Dom introduces as Franco. Franco then proceeds to cook and serve us as we sit at the dining table. I take a careful sip from my glass of wine. I woke up with a massive hangover this morning and I don’t want to repeat the experience tomorrow.
‘So, you can’t cook,’ I say, cutting into my perfectly baked leg of milk-fed lamb.
‘Nope.’ Holding his food at the side of his mouth, he says, ‘My brother Shane can, though.’
‘He’s the youngest, isn’t he?’
‘No, my sister Layla is. He’s the second youngest.’
I pick up a dab of artichoke and pearl barley mash at the end of my knife. ‘Ah, yes. I forgot. He’s the youngest boy. Being a stay-at-home mother, your sister didn’t quite make it on to our radar. But she’s married to a rather … um … interesting character, isn’t she?’
He leans back and looks at me expressionlessly. ‘He may be a rather … um … interesting character, but outside of my brothers I’d rather have BJ guard my back than I would any other man on earth. He’s a totally straight and loyal guy. Maybe one day you’ll meet him.’ He smiles. ‘He might not like you too much, though. As you’ve probably figured out, us gypsies have no love for tax collectors.’
‘And yet here I am.’
He takes a sip of his whiskey and puts it down on the table, then remarks almost to himself, ‘Yes, yet here you are. Real enough to touch.’
Whatever the thought was that passed through his head, it made him suddenly pensive.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I blurt out.
He looks up at me, one sooty eyebrow raised. ‘Doing what?’
‘Fraternizing with the hated tax collector.’
He gives my question serious consideration and then says the most unexpected thing. ‘It is a lucky man who finds an enemy who is so intoxicating.’
I frown. Hearing him say that is surprisingly wounding. ‘We’re not enemies,’ I say softly.
His eyes narrow until they are dark slits. ‘Ah, but we are, sweet Ella. We just find each other physically irresistible. That is all. Never make the mistake of thinking otherwise.’
NINE
W e’re having sweet grapes and cheese from Hervé Mons on the balcony when Franco comes out to say that he’s leaving.
‘Thank you for a really delicious meal. I’d never tasted Sauternes jelly until tonight,’ I say with a smile.
He bows. ‘I’m glad. Maybe I will cook for you again,’ he says, and then shoots a wary look at Dom.
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ I say.
‘Ciao, bella.’
‘Ciao, Franco,’ I say, surprised at how normal my voice sounds. Quite frankly, I’m more than a little tipsy. From the moment Dom made that statement about us being enemies who find each other sexually irresistible, everything changed for me. Until then, I’d allowed myself to fall into a ridiculous fantasy that I was dating the most gorgeous man on earth. I was actually drifting through my evening in a cloud of naive happiness, dreaming of a life
I think of my parents. They’re poor, yes, but they’re happy in their small world outside the rat race. And except for my resentment of the people who don’t pay their taxes, I love my little matchbox flat and my little life.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asks suddenly, jerking me away from my thoughts.
‘Ravenous,’ I admit.
And he laughs. ‘Good. There’s plenty of food.’
I hear his laugh inside my chest. ‘What’re we having? A takeaway?’
‘Sort of.’
His idea of a sort of takeaway and mine are worlds apart. Mine is a small pepperoni pizza with garlic bread, or chicken biryani and poppadoms, or a quarter crispy duck and special fried noodles from one of the takeaway joints inside the five-mile free delivery radius. His is a three-course meal from one of his restaurants.
The food—well, the raw ingredients—is brought by a man in a chef’s uniform whom Dom introduces as Franco. Franco then proceeds to cook and serve us as we sit at the dining table. I take a careful sip from my glass of wine. I woke up with a massive hangover this morning and I don’t want to repeat the experience tomorrow.
‘So, you can’t cook,’ I say, cutting into my perfectly baked leg of milk-fed lamb.
‘Nope.’ Holding his food at the side of his mouth, he says, ‘My brother Shane can, though.’
‘He’s the youngest, isn’t he?’
‘No, my sister Layla is. He’s the second youngest.’
I pick up a dab of artichoke and pearl barley mash at the end of my knife. ‘Ah, yes. I forgot. He’s the youngest boy. Being a stay-at-home mother, your sister didn’t quite make it on to our radar. But she’s married to a rather … um … interesting character, isn’t she?’
He leans back and looks at me expressionlessly. ‘He may be a rather … um … interesting character, but outside of my brothers I’d rather have BJ guard my back than I would any other man on earth. He’s a totally straight and loyal guy. Maybe one day you’ll meet him.’ He smiles. ‘He might not like you too much, though. As you’ve probably figured out, us gypsies have no love for tax collectors.’
‘And yet here I am.’
He takes a sip of his whiskey and puts it down on the table, then remarks almost to himself, ‘Yes, yet here you are. Real enough to touch.’
Whatever the thought was that passed through his head, it made him suddenly pensive.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I blurt out.
He looks up at me, one sooty eyebrow raised. ‘Doing what?’
‘Fraternizing with the hated tax collector.’
He gives my question serious consideration and then says the most unexpected thing. ‘It is a lucky man who finds an enemy who is so intoxicating.’
I frown. Hearing him say that is surprisingly wounding. ‘We’re not enemies,’ I say softly.
His eyes narrow until they are dark slits. ‘Ah, but we are, sweet Ella. We just find each other physically irresistible. That is all. Never make the mistake of thinking otherwise.’
NINE
W e’re having sweet grapes and cheese from Hervé Mons on the balcony when Franco comes out to say that he’s leaving.
‘Thank you for a really delicious meal. I’d never tasted Sauternes jelly until tonight,’ I say with a smile.
He bows. ‘I’m glad. Maybe I will cook for you again,’ he says, and then shoots a wary look at Dom.
‘I’ll look forward to that,’ I say.
‘Ciao, bella.’
‘Ciao, Franco,’ I say, surprised at how normal my voice sounds. Quite frankly, I’m more than a little tipsy. From the moment Dom made that statement about us being enemies who find each other sexually irresistible, everything changed for me. Until then, I’d allowed myself to fall into a ridiculous fantasy that I was dating the most gorgeous man on earth. I was actually drifting through my evening in a cloud of naive happiness, dreaming of a life
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