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I knew Cato was the killing machine Landon described him as, but I also knew there was a small layer of softness underneath his hard exterior. He did have some good in him, some understanding. “I still think I have a better chance telling him the truth than going through with this plan. It’s obvious I’m only doing it to save my father. I’m not after his money or his power. Any human being would understand that.”
Landon shook his head. “I disagree.”
I wouldn’t make my move right this second anyway, so it didn’t matter. I still had time to think about what I was going to do.
“You’ll need to make a decision soon. You’re running out of time. Damien and Micah won’t be patient much longer.”
“Well, it’s way too soon. There’s nothing I can do right now.”
“If the guy is only sleeping with you, I’d say you have some leverage.”
“But when my job ends, we’re over. I can’t stretch it out forever.”
Landon took a drink. “Look at it this way. This is the first time in the guy’s life where he’s only wanted one woman. He went from threesomes to a twosome. Not only that, but he wants it just to be the two of you. That’s called ownership. That’s called possessiveness. That’s called a man marking his territory. When a man gets to that point, he doesn’t walk away. Maybe he doesn’t realize it now, but he will eventually. So if you keep this up, you’ll eventually break through his exterior. The question is, do you have enough time for that?”
I sat in the living room with a glass of wine in hand. My laptop was on my thighs, and I was researching the artwork I wanted to put in the hallway on the second level. Cato’s house was so enormous that finding enough artwork to fill every space was difficult. After I was finished with it, it would practically be a museum itself. Anyone who had the honor of visiting his home would be in awe of the masterpieces he owned. Just the Monet painting alone cost him ten million dollars.
The sound of the front door pulled my attention from the screen. It sounded like the knob was turning or the lock was being picked. Damien had no problem breaking in to my home, so I tossed my computer off my lap and grabbed the gun I kept hidden underneath the table. I clicked off the safety then faced the door, my gun aimed and held at the ready.
The lock was opened, and Cato walked inside.
Like he owned the place.
He was wearing black jeans and a gray t-shirt, and his height gave my vaulted ceiling a run for its money. His eyes moved to mine as he shut the door behind him. Unaffected by the loaded gun pointed right between his eyes, he sauntered into the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” My heart slowed down when I realized Damien wasn’t there to shoot me again, but I kept my gun pointed at the asshole who was trespassing on my property.
He walked right up to me and let the barrel of the gun press against his chest. Fearless, he looked down at me, that distinct look of amusement on his face. He cupped my cheek then tilted my face so my lips were angled toward his. “A beautiful woman with a gun…that’s pretty sexy.” He pressed his mouth to mine as he pulled the gun out of my hand.
My fingers turned lifeless as I let him pull the metal away from my grip. His kiss immobilized me, like I was the one being held at gunpoint. His warm mouth was as comforting as I remembered, soft and full. He gave me purposeful kisses that nearly made me forget he’d barged into my house without knocking.
He pulled down the straps of my yellow sundress and pushed it over my chest so my tits were on display. His lips didn’t break from mine as he gripped both of my breasts in his large hands and squeezed them. He moaned before he gave me his tongue. “I missed you, baby.”
I loved how sexy his hands felt as they groped me. So large and warm. They were a man’s hands, big and callused. They knew how to handle a woman’s rack, how to squeeze and massage until I was running out of breath. His thumbs flicked over my nipples as he kept kissing me.
“Say you missed me.”
I didn’t have an urge for disobedience. I turned into mush in his hands, my hormones overriding my rage. This man had done something unforgivable, but I was letting him kiss me and feel me up. “I missed you.”
He gripped my dress then pulled it over my head, revealing my choice of a white thong. He stared down at me in approval, his fingers moving to my slender tummy and my wide hips. He turned his hand over and trailed the backs of his fingers down my stomach and toward the apex of my thighs. When his fingers reached my clit, he rubbed it gently, using two fingers to supply the perfect amount of pleasure. He touched me better than I touched myself, as if he could feel my own pleasure. “Say it again.”
