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"He likes me."
"Which should tell you that his perception is skewed since you do actually want to sleep with me," she huffs. "You're the one with a penis he shouldn't trust."
"It's a cock, Sparrow. I'm the one with a cock." I don't deny wanting to sleep with her, though. We both know it'd be a lie if I uttered it. She's too smart to fall for that bullshit, and I'm not dumb enough to try to lie to her about it. Besides, I want her to know where we stand.
One way or another, I intend to make her mine. It's a proposition fraught with complications. Zayne and Zion are going to flip shit when they find out that I'm considering breaking our biggest rule. We made it for a reason. Getting tangled up with clients is never a good idea. But I don't intend for this to be a casual hookup. That isn't something I do anyway.
When I take Kenna to bed, it'll mean something. And that's been fucking with my head all damn day. I've never been interested in the white picket fence, a wife, and two-point-five kids. But visions of that shit have been swirling through my mind all goddamn day.
It's ironic, really, that I'm the one hearing wedding bells while she's ready to run in the opposite direction. Isn't this supposed to go the other way?
Ha. I don't get the impression that Kenna does anything the traditional way. She strikes me as a woman who marches to the beat of her own drum and does things her own way in her own time on her own terms.
I mean, she calls it a penis, for fuck's sake. But she's also more than capable of telling me to go fuck myself when she thinks I'm talking over her. I love that mix of innocent sweetness and ballsy sass. It's sexy as hell.
"Same difference," she sniffs.
"No, it's not," I say with a chuckle. "But I'll let it slide until I teach you the difference."
"Oh, my God," she whispers. "Why did I hire you?"
"Because your brother is an excellent judge of character."
"Or he likes you because you're just like him. He can't dislike himself, so he doesn't dislike you." She smirks at me. "But you're the problem with the penis here, Gideon. Not John."
"Me and my cock aren't a problem, Kenna," I growl.
"Why are we even talking about this?" She presses her hands to her cheeks, shooting me a look that says I'm stressing her the fuck out. "I don't want to talk about you or your penis or what you want to do with it."
"Not yet." I smirk at her. "But you will soon enough."
"I'm so glad I already added killing you to my to-do list. I won't have to do it when I get home." She bats her lashes at me before turning to glance out of the window. "You know the light is green, right?"
I follow her gaze and clock the green light. "Shit," I growl, stomping the gas a little too hard. The engine roars, and we shoot forward into the intersection.
Her evil little laugh does things to me that should be illegal.
"New rule. No talking about my cock while I'm driving, Sparrow."
"You started it," she singsongs.
I chuckle, shaking my head.
Ten minutes later, we pull up outside of Kane's to get her car. He drove her to the studio this morning. I think he intended to stay, but opted to head out once he knew I was going to be sticking around.
He's an interesting man. I don't get the impression that he trusts many people with his sister. Actually, I don't think he trusts anyone with his sister. But he's choosing to trust me. Whether that's because he did his homework on me and Carmichael Security or because he trusts Bryant Denver's judgment, I don't know, but he clearly knew who the fuck I was. As soon as Kenna ducked into the studio, he started grilling me. He didn't let up until he was satisfied that I'd be a good fit.
Then and only then did he answer my questions. The dead flowers started showing up two months ago. The poem came three weeks ago. Apparently, she didn't take the threat seriously enough because the bird came two days ago.
The poem itself is fucked up.
You dare not turn, you cannot flee,
For fear of what you cannot see.
A phantom watcher, ever near,
A constant source of lurking fear.
