#cleslie

In the brothels of Wall Market. Tells the story. A prostitute. And a man who falls in love… with her.

First, there is desire.

Then passion.

Then suspicion. Jealousy! Anger! Betrayal!

He’s staring at a tight blue corset—Gaia, he hadn’t realized the mercenary’s waist was so tiny. He can’t believe this is happening. He knew they seemed a little desperate the last time he’d sent them off, but going this far . . .

“Is there a problem?” The brown-haired girl is the mouthpiece this time, but his gaze keeps getting dragged back to the blonde at her side in shock. (And maybe a bit of mild appreciation).

He can’t say anything, not in front of the other guards, but he wants to. It’s clear the brown-haired girl is still miffed about her treatment from earlier that afternoon. Well, they have standards to uphold and if the Don don’t get what he wants, there’ll be hell to pay for everyone else.

‘Kinda cute’ doesn’t cut it.

Drop dead gorgeous, on the other hand . . .

There’s an impatient sound and his attention swings back up to the mercenary like a magnet. Despite the murderous glint in those glowing eyes, the intensity only serves to make Leslie feel like Cloud’s less interested in stashing his body in a dumpster and more contemplating jumping his bones, the look only enhanced by smoky makeup and delicately glossed lips.

With a mental pause, he realizes he’s been staring.

The short brown-haired girl is growing more and disgruntled at being ignored, even though she keeps that saccharinely sweet smile on her face. It’s clear she doesn’t appreciate being looked over in favor of the SOLDIER at her side. As if she’s less attractive than a grungy mercenary who had probably never worn a dress before today. Leslie has to admit that it’s also completely true, but only in the safety of his own mind.

Almost against his will, his gaze drags down and then back up one last time, careful not to linger in the middle. Cloud’s gaze bores into him, daring him to say anything. Even from their brief interactions before, Leslie never would have considered the SOLDIER to even contemplate dressing in something so . . . feminine. But this whole setup has Andrea’s touch all over it, and Leslie has the beginnings of an idea of what might be going on behind the scenes.

“Just hope you know what you’re in for.” His flat voice is far from what he’s feeling right now, but they’re ready to head through and he can’t afford to entertain guilty daydreams about the blonde. The other guards aren’t helping him either, just standing there and ogling the potential brides. Everything’s in order, they have the letters, they’re made up enough to tempt anyone, regardless of their preferences. And all he can do at this point is step aside for the two candidates to sweep by. The brown-haired girl gives another smarmy grin before pushing past them, tailed by her friend.

He watches them go, especially the slender blue-clad back, the proud set of the shoulders. Just before the heavy doors close between them, he sees Cloud glance back. That smoldering gaze spears through him, leaving him frustrated and confused.

Then he’s facing the massive gold knockers of the Don’s front doors. Oblivious to his discomfort, one of the other guards gives a low whistle. “Who d’you think Corneo’ll pick? My money’s on the blonde bombshell.”

“You sure? I wouldn’t mind if that red dress dipped a little lower. But if the Don don’t pick her, we can have our own little after party.” The guards’ lewd comments and laughter make Leslie tense up, even as he cuts his eyes away to hide his own interest.

He recalls the sight of long legs from earlier in the afternoon, albeit covered in cargo pants at the time, and now he has to rescue his mind before it goes someplace he’d really rather it didn’t. Tries not to imagine glossed lips and pale skin—

“Fuck,” he mutters.