Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(7)

“You know.” I wave a hand to indicate his general luminosity. “That.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Bizarrely, he seems sincere. His expression is one of genuine confusion. But how is that possible? If I were gorgeous, I’m sure I’d know it.

Like Sloane does.

It occurs to me that maybe Spider’s elevator doesn’t go all the way to the top floor. I might need to clarify things for him.

“What I’m saying is that you’re very good-looking.”

I’m astonished when his cheeks turn bright red.

He sputters some kind of nonsensical denial, adjusts his tie, and stares straight ahead out the windshield, blinking comically.

Aw. He’s bashful! Gorgeous, well-endowed, and bashful!

I want to crawl into his lap but smile at him instead. “You must be very popular with the ladies, Spider.”

More sputtering. He finally composes himself enough to say stiffly, “I don’t have time for a relationship.”

I laugh at that. “Gotcha. If I were you, I’d be a player, too. Why keep all those cookies in one jar when you can hand ’em out all over town and make everyone happy?”

He says gruffly, “You’re off your rocker.”

“Oh, don’t be mad. I’m paying you a compliment.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Would you prefer if I said you were homely and repulsive? Because I’m happy to indulge your charming delusion that you’re not extraordinarily attractive. It’s cute.”

His entire face is now red. Bright red, from the top of his starched white collar to the tips of his ears.

This guy is ridiculously appealing.

I flop against the back passenger seat and heave a sigh. “Okay, we’ll move on. How about if you tell me where we are?”

“Bermuda.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Bermuda? No wonder the air is so humid.

Noticing my expression, Spider says, “It’s temporary. We were in Martha’s Vineyard last, but there were some, ah…” He makes a strange face. “I’ll let your sister explain.”

Hmm. The plot thickens.

I say drily, “Were you run out of Martha’s Vineyard by the daily stampede of Sloane’s admirers beating down the door? I bet it must be hard for her fiancé to deal with the way every guy drops to his knees at her feet.”

He pauses for a beat before saying quietly, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

It takes my breath away. I look out the window at the passing scenery, my cheeks burning with shame.

We drive for a while in silence until I admit grudgingly, “Whenever she’s around, people look right through me like I’m invisible.”

“That’s because people are bloody morons.”

He’s being nice to me because I gave him such effusive compliments.

Whatever. I’ll take it.

I smile at him. “Thank you, Spider. In addition to being very hot, you’re very sweet.”

His ears turn a darker shade of crimson.

Then we’re turning onto a long private drive, and I’m distracted by the size of the iron gate we’re going through. It’s enormous, creaking open slowly to let us pass. The gate is flanked on either side by high stone walls and a grove of trees that obscure the view beyond.

When I spot the security cameras mounted on top of the walls and all the armed guards lurking under the trees, I frown.

“Spider?”

“Aye, lass?”

“Is my sister’s fiancé famous?”

He quirks his lips. “Something like that.”

“Don’t be cryptic. I get nervous when people are cryptic.”

“Mr. O’Donnell is…a powerful man.”

The hesitation makes me even more nervous. “Like how powerful? Is he a politician or something?”

He scoffs. “Politicians wish they had his kind of power.”

“Oh, god. That sounds scary. Is he a supervillain?”

His smile is small and mysterious. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“So he’s a good guy?”

He shrugs. “Depends on who you ask.”

“Seriously? You’re killing me!”

He finds my blossoming panic amusing, because he starts to chuckle. “It’s not my place to tell you, lass. But don’t worry. You’ll be safe here.”

We drive by a guy in a black suit holding a big black rifle. He’s crouched in the bushes, watching us with narrowed eyes as we pass. He lifts a hand to his mouth and speaks into what looks like his wristwatch, but is obviously some kind of communication device.

Like a spy would have.

Or the henchman of a supervillain.

I say drily, “Oh, yeah, I feel totally safe already.” Then I gasp. “Whoa. Is that our hotel? It’s huge!”

When Spider only gives me another chuckle as an answer, I get it.

“Holy fuck nuggets. That’s his house?”

“Aye.”

I gape at the sprawling stone estate at the top of the hill. I’ve seen smaller castles. “That’s one house? For one person?”

“Two, if you count Sloane.”

I shoot him a sour look. “You’re laughing at me.”