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Then she licks her lips and my cock twitches behind my shorts like it’s been electrocuted. “Turn around,” I order, and she does, lifting her arms a little and resting her chin on her shoulder to look back at me. I wrap her in the towel and push my chest into her back, grazing her shoulder with my teeth, inhaling. “You smell like me.” She’s used my body wash, and, fuck me, if it doesn’t smell gorgeous on her.
“I have nothing here, so I had to borrow yours.” She’s tense, though trying her hardest not to be. And then as brash as can fucking be, she subtly rolls her hips, compressing her arse into my groin. I hiss, unable to stop it.
“Thank you.” She breaks away from me and strolls off, and in a moment of pure fucking weakness, I take hold of the sink and talk down my wayward cock, breathing my way through it. Fucking hell, if anyone could read my mind right now. Cold, ruthless killer being affected by a little woman. Where the fuck has she come from?
With a quick swipe of my hand down my face, I follow her into the bedroom, finding her shimmying her black lace G-string up her legs. I swallow, my jaw tensing. For fuck’s sake. What the fuck am I doing to myself?
I walk over and grab her hand, hauling her naked form out of my room. I expect resistance. I get none. She follows obediently, despite only having a small scrap of material covering her pussy.
All the men look up as I yank her through the suite toward the office.
“In here now,” I order them, positioning her at the side of the desk facing the door. On full show. Her hands hang by her sides. Her wet hair splays her shoulders. Her perfect breasts rise and fall with her even breathing. Steady breathing. Completely unaffected breathing.
The men all enter, Brad the last, closing the door behind him. None of them look at her. It pisses me off. What, do they think I’ll have a problem with that? They know better than anyone that women mean shit to me. I shove her phone in her hand. “Call him. Tell him I’m in the shower.”
She looks up at me through her lashes. “And what?”
“Tell him you want to go back to him. Beg him. Tell him to pay the money he owes me so you can go back.”
Her frown is slight, though I know Brad’s will be heavy as fuck. He knows I don’t want that money. What I want is results. I reach for the gun sitting on the desk and disengage the safety, pushing it into her forehead. “Do it.” She doesn’t bat a fucking eyelid, and that just angers me more. Why the hell isn’t she scared? Why the hell isn’t she having an epic meltdown while I’m displaying her naked body for all my men to see? Adams worships her. Really, that’s fucking obvious. He wouldn’t hurt her; it’s not his style. So what the fuck happened to her to make her so fucking impenetrable? And where the fucking hell did that bruise come from? “Cry,” I order.
“I don’t cry.” She bores holes into me with a suddenly steely gaze. “Not for anyone.”
I’d slap her face if I knew it’d have the desired effect. She doesn’t cry. The woman is iron. I move the gun to her mouth and force it past her lips, taking her throat with my spare hand. “Sound convincing.”
What she does next has me caught between admiration and fucking fury. It has my dick screaming and my mind ready to explode. She pulls back, letting the gun slide from her mouth slowly and seductively. And eyes on mine, she kisses the tip. I hear the sounds of feet shuffling nervously behind me, all of my men probably talking down their hard dicks.
Just like I am.
With a salacious smirk tickling the edge of her mouth, she dials and puts the phone to her ear. I snatch it away and click it to loudspeaker while I take my gun back to her forehead.
“Hello?” Adams voice is hoarse and tired.
“Perry, it’s me,” she says, eyes on mine. “I have to be quick. He’s in the shower.” She reels it all off like she could be reading from a script. Auditioning for a role she’d die for. There’s urgency in her voice that almost has me believing her too. Jesus, she’s good.
“Oh my God, Rose, sweetheart,” Adams gasps. “What has he done? Has he touched you? The bastard. I’ll kill him. I swear, I’ll kill him.”
I look over my shoulder to Brad. There are three things in his short spurge of words that have assisted in white-hot rage turning my veins to ashes. First, of all the things he could have called me, he calls me a bastard. Second, he’ll kill me? The man just hung himself. Just as soon as I’ve got what I want, I’ll cut every organ out of his body and feed them to the Dobermans that guard my mansion back in Miami. Those two things are enough. But hearing him call her sweetheart has the gun vibrating in my hand. She must be able to feel it.
