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But Bella would never bow down, not even in play. This is no invitation. It’s punishment.
And while my sins might come in many different forms in her mind, in my mind, it’s pushing her away, instead of fucking her.
Chapter Eight
Bella
I can feel Tyler’s eyes on me and if that wasn’t enough to undo me, the impact of his touch—that small touch on my elbow—lingers, and in places he didn’t touch. Or lick. I just cannot believe he said what he said or how affected by his words and the man, in general, I truly am, at least in a public place. My breasts are heavy, my nipples tight. My thighs are slick.
I’ve known this man for years.
How did we get here now?
But somehow, I continue to work the room, interacting with clients until it’s reasonable for me to claim a breather. I step outside, onto a quiet portion of the outdoor area framing the lounge area. My hands catch the edge of the wall and I draw in a breath, the cool air offering sweet relief to my warm skin. Seconds tick by and the burn in my belly begins to ease, allowing my mind the opportunity to hunt for reason in feelings.
When I was sixteen, my father’s star status as a NASCAR driver was ever so present in my life and so was the social side of that scene. At that time, I knew all about boys, boys, and more boys, and yes, men. There was a man, a driver on my father’s team, who made my stomach flutter and my knees weak. That same driver is now a competitor with his own car, who has hit on me too many times to count and he’s gotten nowhere. Because he only wants me to hurt my father.
In other words, I’ve known a few bastards.
Maybe Tyler is one of them, maybe he is not.
I didn’t know the driver—David is his name—was a bastard when I was being attacked by butterflies. And in the yearsI’ve worked with Tyler, I’ve been a mix of what I might call butterflies and bees. I’ve never known a man that I can alternatively hate and lust for, until this one. And he’s my boss. He was right to send me away that night at his apartment. And I’m better off hating him.
“Bella.”
The male voice that greets me does not belong to Tyler, and I hate the disappointment this realization creates in me. I should be pleased. Distance between me and Tyler is not only appropriate, it’s safe. I rotate to greet Josh Henry, the business manager for a rather large country singer, who is not only writing a book, he’s entering Hollywood with my help. Since I’ve managed most of my brother’s Hollywood endeavors, I’ve somehow become the company Hollywood “it” girl where agenting comes into play.
“I didn’t know you were here,” I greet him, my way of letting him know I haven’t intentionally avoided him, even if at times that would be my preference. Josh is a handsome man who personifies tall, dark, and good-looking. The kind of man who wears a suit like the cover of GQ magazine, but still not as well as Tyler. Josh is a woman magnet—a fact he embraces a bit too well.He takes liberties he believes this earns him. In other words, he can get as handsy as he does cocky.
“Is Malcolm here?” I ask of his client, hoping for the buffer between Josh and me Malcolm always proves himself.
“It’s his mother’s sixtieth birthday this weekend. He took her to Paris.”
“That’s amazing of him,” I say, and even now, as a grown adult, there are times when I hear something like this, and I feel a twist in my heart at the loss of my own mother despite that being a lifetime ago. Since I was a kid, actually. “He’s a good guy in a swarm of bad ones,” I add, reminded of the whole “am I bad?” exchange with Tyler.
Josh steps to the railing beside me and I rotate to face him again. He’s close, too close to be professional, but the barriers of decorum are rarely barriers to him at all. “You look beautiful tonight, Bella,” he says, his voice warm when it should not be.
I laugh off the compliment. “Thank you, but you say that every time you see me.”
“And you say that every time you see me. Take the compliment, Bella. It’s deserved.”
“So is Malcolm's success. How are you feeling about Tyler taking over Hawk Legal?”
“Sympathetic to the mess he has to clean up, but if you’re asking if I’m concerned about his ability to manage it, no. Jack was never the person anyone believed was running the show, no matter how much he wanted us to believe otherwise.”
“So you came to show Tyler support,” I assume.
His eyes light with mischief. “And you. We’ve got big things ahead this year. Why don’t we go to have a drink and celebrate?”
And here we go, I think. “I thought that’s what we were doing here tonight?”
“Alone,” he says, and then his hand is on my waist, his head dipping low, near my face. “You have no idea the fantasies I have about my hands on your body.”
I reach for his solidly placed hand and try to push it away. “This is not okay, Josh. Please remove your hand.”
“You heard the lady. Remove your hand or I will.”
I gasp and look up to find Tyler standing beside us, tightly controlled but obvious anger burning in the stare he’s focused on Josh.
