Maiden and the Lion by Lizzie Lynn Lee Page A

before. But who was she to judge about men and their obsession with breasts? The compulsion was deep, as if it were coded into men’s DNA.
    She ordered a gin and tonic and threw the attendant the sweetest smile she could manage. She hoped he’d be distracted enough not to ask why she was here in the first place. The gentlemen’s club, Rococo Country, was a private establishment catering to members only, a watering hole in which wealthy businessmen in the upper crust of society could socialise, kiss ass, and plot on how to make themselves even richer. She told the attendant in black livery that she was here to meet her lawyer. He was going to be suspicious when her lawyer never arrived.
    In the meantime, her target, Gabriel Larousse, stood in the billiards room about twenty yards from where she sat. He was leisurely chalking his cue. His gaze was fixed on the white, red and yellow balls strewn across the table as if they were his mortal enemies. He tapped the cue ball with the precision of a sniper, scattering the other balls into the pockets.
    Cat didn’t know much about pool, but that had been pretty impressive. Gabe seemed like one of those people who treated everything as if it were a challenge to conquer. Maybe that was why he was a successful businessman.
    As she’d suspected, one of Gabe’s brothers was with him. Alexandre Larousse, Gabe’s second—or Gabe’s shadow , as people nicknamed him—was leaning by the wainscoted wall, talking in hushed tones on his cell phone. Gabe never went anywhere in public without one of his brothers. Alex and Ren, both younger than Gabe, were very protective—like capos to the don. One didn’t just flounce up to Gabe without Alex’s or Ren’s approval. If Alex or Ren didn’t like what they saw, one couldn’t get within ten feet of Gabriel Larousse without risking one’s neck.
    Luckily, she wasn’t here to talk to the big guy today. She was just stalking him. Observing what he was like in the flesh. The media had painted him as an enigmatic young god. Rumour had it he was a dangerous man to have as an enemy, and yet some vouched for him as a child-loving philanthropist. No one had ever figured out what kind of man Gabe really was.
    Aside from the fact that he was fucking hot.
    The club attendant came over with her order. She murmured her thanks and batted her eyelashes, flirting a bit.
    The man looked happy with the attention. “If I may ask, what would be the name of the gentleman you’re waiting for?” He drew himself straight, as if to make himself taller than he really was. “So I can direct the gentleman straight to your table, madam.”
    “Jackson,” Cat lied smoothly. “Marvin Jackson.”
    He inclined his head in a perfect gesture. He withdrew in silence. His eyes weren’t straying to her boobs any more.
    Good riddance.
    She sipped from her glass while furtively spying on Gabe. He wasn’t dressed in his usual tailored Brioni suit. He was wearing a white shirt with sleeves folded to his elbows and a pair of crisply pressed, black Armani slacks. No tie. No suit jacket. The black, casual Bruno Magli loafers on his feet must be the real thing, unlike the knock-offs she had bought for her ex-boyfriend as a birthday present a long time ago.
    Since Gabe had sent all the balls into the pockets, he set up a new rack. He stalked around the table like a predator hunting its prey before he leant forward and took a shot. Loud taps filled the billiards room as he sent the different coloured balls scattering across the green baize.
    Cat took another sip of the gin and tonic and fished out a small journal from her purse. She leafed through it, looking for her notes on Gabriel. Particularly her interview with her client, Judith Rossi.
    On October fourth, fourteen years ago, Judith and her brother Cameron had gone to South Africa for a safari vacation. They’d met Gabriel Larousse and his friend, Oliver Duval, both students from the University of Cape Town, at a local