Claimed by the Sicilian Tycoon by Emma Shortt

dare.”
    “I
will snap the fingers of any man who attempts to touch you,” he growled, that
same anger still flowing. It was primitive, a reaction to others coveting what
was his—he knew that and accepted it. Right now Lyra was his and that was that.
    His mistress. Tucked away for him alone.
    “
Okayyyy…”
    “You
are mine, are you not?” he growled. “Mine alone.”
    “I
am. That is what we agreed.”
    “Well
then.”
    They
made their way over to the table where his guests sat. Andros kept Lyra close
to him, her arm in his, her body rubbing along his side every time they
squeezed past too many tables tucked together.
      “Who are the stiffs?” she whispered, and
despite himself Andros grinned.
    “Reginald
and Barclay Peterson. Blue bloods.”
    “Pervs?”
    “Probably.
Regardless, they own a company I want. They’ve agreed to sell, so this meeting
is simply closure.”
    “Let’s
get this over with, then.”
    Introductions
were made, and Andros stiffened when the eyes of Reginald and Barclay fell upon
Lyra. Both men’s eyes widened, both swept over her, and both were practically
panting to take her fucking hand.
    He
did not allow it.
    Instead,
Andros pulled out her chair and settled Lyra into it, that possessive anger
hitting again at the thought of either man’s pallid skin touching hers.  
    “Are
you joining us?” Reginald asked, waving at the food in front of them.
    Originally,
Andros had meant to, but Barclay had his eyes fixed firmly on Lyra’s cleavage.
He decided there and then not to stay any longer than was necessary. He would
make the meeting as short as possible, and then he could sprint Lyra away, they
could eat somewhere with a bit more space, before heading back to her apartment
where, he decided, he would eat her until
she begged him to stop.
    “We
have reservations elsewhere.”
    “Of
course, old chap…”
    They
launched into their closure discussion. Lyra sat patiently by his side, hands
in her lap, a slight smile on her face. Every time one of the men moved to
speak to her, she fluttered her eyelashes, and turned to Andros as though she
didn’t have a thought in her head.
    Her
actions amused him, because it was so far from the reality of her personality,
and yet at the same time he wanted to reach across the table and cuff both men
around the head. By the time the meeting was through Andros was just about
ready to do just that. Perhaps Lyra sensed it, because, just as he opened his
mouth to say something that would likely leave his deal dead in the dust, she
turned to him and frowned.
    “I’m
not feeling well, Andros. Take me home?”
    Her
brow scrunched, she lifted a hand to fan herself gently, and really, it was a
perfect show. Except he could see the twinkle in her eyes, the laughter
brimming in their depths.
    “Of
course, Rossa .” He turned to the
brothers. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse us?”
    They
made a rapid escape, Andros doing his best to ignore the gawking looks from the
other men in the room, choosing instead to keep Lyra practically welded to him.
    “I’m
losing feeling in my arm,” she whispered as they got outside and his driver
pulled up.
    “My
apologies.” He relaxed his grip, before asking, “How did you know?”
    “That
you were bored shitless?”
    He
grinned. “That’s not quite what I meant.”
    “I
knew it was time to blow the joint, put it that way,” she said fluttering her
wrap around her shoulders. “Plus I’m starving.”
    “Then
we’ll eat.”
    “Andros…”
    “What?”
    “Nothing…it
doesn’t matter.”
    He
sighed and opened the door of the Bentley for her. “Come, tell me.”
    “I
just wondered where we were going to get food from.”
    He
waved a hand around, taking in the streets around them. Numerous lights were
twinkling, discreet signs advertising this restaurant or that. The choices were
endless. “Wherever you would like.”
    “Truly?
Wherever?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Then
can we get some fried