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“Her name is Aliana Rubens—” If he said anything after, it doesn’t matter. Not when said beauty stands from her chair and raises both hands, shaking her hips to the Latin beat playing in the background. Moreover, everything in my world stops. Nothing moves but her. Nothing exists but her gyrating form with arms up high, fingering her soft, long waves before dipping low.
Then back up again.
And I enjoy it, eyes traversing her short stature while taking in the flair of her hips in a pair of distressed jeans that seem to have been tailored for each sinuous curve. They sit low. Almost dangerously so, and I take account of every face in the background glancing her way. Some women, some men, and it doesn’t matter if it’s out of lust or envy; my hand itches to put a bullet between each pair of eyes.
Is this what jealousy feels like? Not that it makes much sense.
I don’t know her. I’m a danger to her.
The sound of wood splintering registers a second later. I feel a few pieces of the now broken door trim embedded into my skin and then the few drops of blood that follow, and yet, I’m struck by her.
Watching her dance is foreplay.
Decadent. Sinful.
Another harsh jerk of my cock, and I feel the beads of pre-come at the tip roll down my engorged head. It’s been a while for me since I’ve wanted a woman, and this one has my attention with a ferocity I’ve never experienced before. Never like this.
Another drop rolls down my length and it feels like a caress, like the tip of a soft tongue laving my heated flesh, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep in the hiss fighting to slip through. Not that my cousin is paying attention to me—his eyes are on the woman he’s claimed as his.
“Sit.” His voice catches me off guard a minute later, a bottle of whiskey now on the table with two tumblers sitting atop his desk. When he got them, I have no idea, nor do I give a bloody fuck. I take the offered seat and drink, pouring him one as well before refocusing on the screen. Both women are standing and shimmying, laughing over God knows what, while my mind runs through different scenarios.
Because I will meet her.
Tomorrow. A few days from now.
She doesn’t know I’m watching, but I’m taking in every sensual inch while placing a target on her head.
We have a meeting with Malcolm soon. I could...Aliana Rubens?
“Rubens?”
“Yeah.” Casper nods, scratching his jaw covered with two days’ worth of stubble. “Oldest out of three and the only girl.”
“Who is she related to? The name is familiar.”
“Why?”
My eyes snap to his, and my glare only makes the arse smirk. “That doesn’t concern you, mate. Don’t cross that line.”
“Oi. Just giving you the same shit you give me.”
“And yet you tell me to piss off just the same.” Bringing the glass to my lips, I knock back its contents and pour another three fingers’ worth. “Am I lying?”
“Negative.”
“Then answer my questions. Who is she related to? Who’s watching them?”
He clicks something on his mobile and the screen freezes, both girls’ glasses mid-clink. Eyes on mine, Casper levels me with a serious look, and I meet his stare. We know each other, and the only time I back off is on business matters, but only if I agree. If he’s wrong, he’s wrong, and I don’t hold back.
“She’s not an easy lay.”
“Answer me.”
“Governor Rubens.”
“Huh.” I don’t say anything more. That piece of shit isn’t what he tells the American public, and I find it amusing. Always have. He’s dirtier than some of the men he swears to prosecute and fails to each term. “Aren’t we a few weeks from election season in the States?”
“They might be.”
