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Chapter Three
Conrad
I sit outside the rundown apartment block, a heavy drumbeat inside me as I take in the degradation of the building. I might not be the sort of man who places massive importance on my wealth, but when I set eyes on where my woman is living, I can’t help but think about taking her somewhere better, cleaner, somewhere befitting my queen.
Chuckling, I shake my head and sit back, letting out a long breath.
My woman?
How the hell am I thinking of her in those terms so quickly?
Maybe she didn’t give me her correct address and this will end in an anticlimax, with me knocking on some innocent person’s door who has no clue who I am.
But somehow I know she gave me the right address.
It’s been torture trying not to think about her all evening, as I focused on the unconscious patients on my table, switched off my feelings and my thoughts, and becoming a machine, focused only on my work.
In the breaks in between my surgeries, my mind flooded with the way she looked standing in the alleyway, her eyes wide and innocent and oh-so-ready to shudder as orgasms coursed through her. When I stood close to her, it took every shred of effort I possessed not to lunge at her, wrap my arms around her hips and pull her right up against me.
I was savage with my desire, a beast slamming against my chest, roaring at me to break free and claim her right that second.
Holding myself back was the hardest thing I’d ever done. But I had to.
What would she think if I just lunged at her – a complete stranger, a man she undoubtedly thought was angry with her?
She would probably have turned and run, shock in her eyes.
And yet…
Am I really going to pretend I didn’t notice the way her eyes skirted over me, the same way mine moved over her? Am I really going to act like I didn’t feel her needy body calling out for me, the same way mine roared out for hers?
I need to grab those curvy hips and drive myself deep, deeper, until I’m buried to the hilt and her young fertile body has no choice but to get pregnant.
I laugh again, grimmer this time.
Maybe Dad’s going to get his wish after all. I’ve had one conversation with my Callie and already I’m thinking about kids.
Reminding myself I’m supposed to be here to deal with the payment for the car’s damages, I climb from the BMW and head toward her apartment building.
Hers is number twenty-four, but all the numbers on the keypad are faded. I begin counting them and then glance at the door.
Of course, it’s broken, the lock jammed into the unlocked position, resting against the frame. I pull it open and stalk through the lobby. It reeks of piss and there’s graffiti on the walls.
My woman should not be living here.
The elevator’s busted – of course – so I take the stairs two at a time, a strange feeling leaping up inside of me. It’s like the predator in me is howling, telling me to get up there before something bad happens to her.
But what?
I don’t know.
All I can say for sure is Callie shouldn’t be here, in a place like this. She deserves so much more. She deserves the world. I knew that the second I laid eyes on her.
Finally, I get to her floor.
Music pumps from one of the apartments, the door propped open, loud and obnoxious laughter reaching me. As I get closer, I see it’s the apartment directly next to Callie’s.
It’s goddamn midnight, and these assholes are acting like they’re at a rave.
I stalk over to her apartment door and slam my fist against it. I don’t mean to knock like I’m trying to break it down, but there’s so much tension inside me, a whole torrent of it.
It’s like a volcano has busted open inside of me, spewing lava and heat.
I remind myself again that I’m supposed to be here to discuss the car. As far as my woman knows—No, not my woman.
As far as Callie knows I’m here to collect payment for the crash, to get her insurance details, not to slide my hands down her curvy body and squeeze onto her hips, not to pull us together so she can feel my manhood pushing against her, burning with the need to put a baby inside of her…
My thoughts trail off when she pulls the door open, standing there in a baggy black T-shirt and shorts. The T-shirt falls all the way down to the bottom of the shorts, making it seem almost like she’s wearing nothing underneath.
The beast inside of me howls as I fight the urge to snap my gaze to her legs, to drink in the thick beauty of them. They were made for grabbing, for squeezing, for possessing. They were made for sinking my fingers into as I whisper filthy words in her ear, telling her she’s going to be mine.
