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“Don’t worry.” Her head continues to shake frantically as I give her a small smile. “I won’t get myself killed.”
“No. You can’t. You can’t go there!”
“I’ll be fine,” I say, cradling her cheeks in my hands. “I promise.” She nods when I release her face. “When’s Brady get home?”
Her expression brightens as a smile forms on her lips. “The tour ends in Dallas Friday. He’ll be home Saturday morning.”
“I bet your dad will be happy to have your mom back,” I say, ensuring our conversation steers far from my future plans.
Mrs. Preston moved in with Tori after her breakdown. Having her mom around made it possible for Brady, and Second Chances to honor their commitment with their record label and complete the national tour.
“He’s ecstatic, but Mom’s a bit glum about being so far from Little A.”
“I bet. Hey listen, I gotta go, but I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
“Yeah, okay.” She stretches to her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Please, promise you won’t do anything to provoke Mr. Torrente or Eduardo.”
Without making a promise I’ll never keep, I frown and leave my brother’s house as my mind plans out a trip to Monterrey.
I’m on a call for work when the doorbell rings. I’ve been expecting someone named Peyton from the interior design agency and he’s twenty minutes late. If I didn’t need Javier’s room stripped of toys and trains so I can pretend I was never a father, I’d fire the slacker.
To my surprise, I open the door greeted by long legs wrapped in a tight blue skirt. They belong to a gorgeous blonde and my dick takes abrupt notice.
“Hello,” I greet the woman as I end the call I was on without a good-bye. “How can I help you?”
Her eyebrows crease as though I should be expecting her. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was murder.”
My eyes focus on the front of the portfolio she holds to her chest. Homestead Designs. The gay male I’d been expecting is a hot chick I’d like to bend over my couch immediately, but she’s still intolerably late.
“I don’t want to hear excuses, Mrs. . . .”
“Ms.,” she corrects, unintentionally answering my intentional question of her marital status. “Ms. Miles.”
“Ms. Miles, late is late. Don’t let it happen again.”
“No, of course not.”
Her delicate perfume tickles my senses as she brushes past me into my loft without invitation. My eyes zone in on her ass as she struts to the couch with sexy conviction and bends over to set her portfolio and purse down. My gaze lowers to black five-inch heels and rises to perfectly defined calves. This woman needs to be fucked and I hope she performs with the same abundance of self-confidence she currently exudes.
She spins, glancing around the loft. “So, which room are we starting in?”
“This one.”
“And what would you like me to do in here?”
“Get down on your knees and suck my dick.” I lift one side of my lips, grinning, and wait for her response.
She blinks several times. Her expression gives away nothing as she stares at me. Since my face hasn’t been slapped, I know there’s a part of her feeling flattered. I don’t actually expect her to grant my request. My asking was a way to remove the sexual tension by making my intentions clear. Her intensely blue eyes move to my lips before our gazes meet again.
“I’ve heard stories about you, Mr. Hunter, but let’s get one thing straight. I’m here to work and I have no interests in anything other than a professional relationship. Termination works both ways, so unless you want me to fire you, I suggest keeping your lewd and offensive comments to yourself.” Her eyebrows rise. “Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” I smirk, silently vowing to get her naked by this evening.
“Good. Now . . . I’ll ask you again. What room are we starting in?”
I gesture down the hallway. “Last room on the right.”
“Please, after you,” she offers with a sly grin.
