Wounded Beast (Gypsy Heroes Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

The waiter who brought it explains what the little titbits are, but his French accent is so thick I catch only the words ‘black radish’, ‘fromage frais’ and ‘steamed mussels with pickle and Guinness’. He disappears as silently as he had arrived.
    I pick up one of the ceramic tasting spoons holding a little cube made from three brightly colored, unrecognizable ingredients, sitting in a pool of soy sauce, and slip it into my mouth. There’s a delicate burst from the green base of avocado, the rich meaty taste of tuna tartare and a complete texture and taste change with the rice crispies and deep fried shallots on the top.
    ‘Good?’ Dom asks.
    ‘Very,’ I reply sincerely.
    He pops one of the smoked salmon shells between his lips and suddenly I find myself hungrily watching his incredibly sexy mouth. I drag my gaze away quickly and cast it around the opulent room.
    If his intention is to dazzle me then yes, I’m dazzled—the suit, the car, the impossible to miss deference of the waiting staff toward him, the splendor of the restaurant, the five star excellence of the food—but it doesn’t mean a damn thing.
    That strange look we shared in his empty restaurant is worth more to me than one thousand nights in the lap of unrivaled luxury. I know that moment is gone forever. The man in front of me is wearing a mask and he has no intention of ever letting me see underneath the mask again.
    He is either with me now because he wants to take me to bed or he is trying to get some information out of me. Most likely a bit of both. I won’t give him any information, but I also know I can’t be the one to hurt him either. Not after what I saw this afternoon.
    Tomorrow, I will tell Rob that I want to be taken off this case. He’ll ask why, and I’ll tell him that I don’t feel comfortable around Mr. Dominic Eden. That is tomorrow. Tonight belongs to me and the man in the mask.
    I take a sip of the delicious champagne cocktail and meet his gaze. ‘I notice you don’t have a Facebook page?’

FIVE

    H e stares at me. ‘Is that a crime?’
    ‘No,’ I concede. ‘But it is rather unusual.’
    ‘Why?’ he demands.
    I shrug. ‘Everybody uses some form of social media. Twitter, FB, MySpace, Picasa, Tsu, Instagram, Plaxo, Xing, Ning … You can’t be found on any platform.’
    He bares his teeth suddenly in a pirate grin. And ooh … devilishly attractive. My heart flutters a bit.
    ‘Can it be,’ he mocks softly, ‘that HMRC’s latest and most formidable weapon, the eighty million pound super-computer Connect, needs me to supply it with data so it can effectively spot signs of potential non-compliance from me?’
    ‘Hardly,’ I reply. ‘Connect holds over a billion pieces of data collected from hundreds of sources. As it happens, a lack of participation on social media is also “data”. It indicates a desire to conceal suspicious activity.’
    He raises one straight, raven-black eyebrow. ‘Really?’
    ‘Yes, really ,’ I say with emphasis.
    At that precise moment, the sommelier appears with a bottle and tries to display the label to Dom, but Dom doesn’t take his eyes off me. Not willing to be outdone, I stare back. When the bottle is uncorked, he makes a slight motion with his hand to indicate that he wants to dispense with the business of tasting the wine. The sommelier comes around to my side and fills my glass. When he goes around to Dom’s glass, Dom gives a slight shake of his head. Quietly, the man slips the bottle back into the ice bucket and disappears.
    I take a sip of wine. It is so smooth and ripe with different and distinct flavors that it makes every type of wine I have ever consumed seem like bootlegged versions of squashed grapes and vinegar.
    ‘Just out of interest,’ Dom says, ‘what information does Connect hold about me?’
    ‘And there I was thinking I was here to learn more about your business and not the other way around.’
    ‘Touché.’ He chuckles good-naturedly.
    I smile