“Yeah.”
“Are you going to go back to your old job? Research assistant in the history department?”
I frowned. “I don’t know, why?”
She paused before saying, “I know your official job as undercover cocktail waitress is over, but Flynn is still going to need you by his side.”
“You mean as his girlfriend? It’s a full-time job?” I teased.
Lacey didn’t smile. “No, I mean as aconsigliereof sorts.”
“Consigliere? Really?”
“You know enough about his enterprises. He’s let you in—more than anyone in the past ten years.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Are you saying he trusts me?”
“To a degree,” she said. “Flynn doesn’t really trust anyone completely.”
“Why?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.”
After I made peace with my former coworkers, who all demanded the story I wouldn’t give them, I walked into the lobby and was immediately pounced on by Flynn. I tried not to falter, but the heat radiating off him was too much. The set of his jaw was hard and unyielding.
“Barrett,” he greeted, his voice low and gravelly.
It instantly made me want to strip off all his clothes and devour him. One night with Flynn and I was an addict.
“Flynn,” I answered, striving for casual.
“A word?”
I nodded, and he set his hand at the small of my back and ushered me to his private elevator. I refused to meet the gazes of the surprised employees that lingered in the lobby. Flynn pushed the elevator button with his free hand, his other tightening on me. When we were in the privacy of the elevator, Flynn pressed me against a plush wall and kissed me. His tongue sought mine, insistent, demanding.
“You left me sleeping in your bed this morning,” he said, his hands threading their way through my ponytail, loosening it. His mouth found my neck, and he gently bit my skin. “Where did you go?”
“Out.”
“Barrett,” he growled.
“I went for a run.”
I kissed him as if I’d die without his breath. My hands were greedy for the feel of him, and I was insistent in wanting to touch his bare skin. I yanked at his shirt.
The doors opened to the penthouse, and we stumbled into the foyer, tearing at each other’s clothes. He ripped at my white blouse, buttons flying everywhere. His hands cupped my breasts encased in a lacy white bra. He brought his mouth to a nipple and laved it through the thin material.
I groaned, wanting to be naked as soon as possible. My shirt was off, but everything else was still on. I made a move to unclasp my bra, but Flynn’s voice stopped me.
“Leave the rest on.”
I nodded, lust filling my brain, zinging through my veins. He pushed me toward the glass windows of the penthouse and turned me around so that I was facing the tree line of Central Park. Down below, I saw joggers and street traffic.
Flynn’s hands traveled up my A-line black skirt, his thumb grazing me through my underwear. I gasped when he exerted a little more pressure. Placing my palms on the cool glass, I needed something to steady me as Flynn tugged down my panties. He cupped me, his hand warm and strong.
His breath was hot on my neck as he kissed his way across sensitive skin. I shivered, a dull ache building inside of me. I wanted him between my legs—tongue, fingers, everything. But he was toying with me, playing, punishing.
“Please,” I begged.
