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Nomatterhowmany contracts I glare at or how many whiskeys I sink, I can’t get rid of the rock-hard erection straining against my slacks. Can’t get rid of her.
I didn’t think she’d call my bluff, not when it required stripping for me.
And now she’s everywhere, yet, nowhere at all. The shape of her body burned into the backs of my eyelids; the wet heat of her pussy branded on my thigh. Don’t even get me started on that mischievous glint in her eye—it’s got my dick in a choke hold.
Her scent, smile, sass. They swirl like an incoming storm, and the door of my office can’t shelter me from it. It’s pathetic, but I’m relieved she’s not on shift tonight.
Kind of.
I let out a bitter laugh and lean back against my chair. I’d find humor in the ridiculousness of it all, except there’s nothing funny about it. Every time Penelope has dug under my skin, it’s been my own fault. I pushed open the locker room door for the second time, despite learning the first time that what lay in wait for me was something I couldn’t handle. I’d pushed back the driver’s seat knowing if I found out what shade of pink her nipples were, there was no going back.
Now I’m paying the price for my impulsiveness: having to take all my meetings for the day over the phone because my body reacts like a twelve-year-old-boy seeing tits on T.V. every time I think of her.
I should…dealwith it. Hate-fuck my fist in the ensuite behind me. But then, whether she knew it or not, Penelope would win again, and, despite my odd obsession with her, I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a rusty penknife than let her win.
Despite it being ten a.m., I pour another whiskey. Rattle my dice in the crook of my palm. My office is cold and silent, save for the thrum of the motors and the hum of a vacuum cleaner underneath my wingtips.
I could always just fuck her, but I know there’s a major issue with that. By my own rule, if I wanted to use Penelope’s thick thighs as earmuffs, I’d have to take her on a date.
Never going to happen. I couldn’t muster up enough charm in the world to convince her to go for dinner with me, and besides, what would we talk about? She’s feral, for Christ’s sake. I’ve seen the way she eats, and no doubt I’ll leave the restaurant a Rolex and two cars lighter. I’ve already paid for the most expensive lap dance of my fucking life.
I huff a sardonic laugh into my whiskey, before slamming it back and flicking the glass across my desk.
The only plus is that she believes love is a trap. I wouldn’t have to worry about her hoping it’d go farther than one sordid night.
No. If I was to fuck Penelope, it’d have to be without all the airs and graces. I’ve never treated a woman like that, but then again, I’ve never threatened to clump one around the head with a hammer, either. She seems to have a habit of reaching through my charm offense and bringing out the darkness in me.
Suddenly, the door to my office flys open with such force, I can only assume somebody’s kicked it in. My hand goes to the Glock next to my MacBook, but as I glance up, I drop it back on the desk with a sigh.
Well, that’s one way to short-circuit a boner.
Gabe. He darkens the doorway like a sleep demon. Behind him, a pair of suit-clad legs lie on the floor at an awkward angle.
“Your men couldn’t protect a password,” he grunts.
I mutter something dark under my breath, but I have to admit, he’s got a point. Twenty-three ex-special-ops guardians and none of them could stop one man getting to me. Sure, that man is Gabriel Visconti and I don’t think a ten-foot-thick wall of iron would have stopped him getting through that door, but still.
He strolls in. Sneers at the photo frames on my shelf of me cutting red ribbons and holding oversized checks, and snatches up the whiskey bottle.
“Want a protein shake with that?”
“Already had three today.” He fists a tumbler and narrows his gaze on me. “Where were you last night? You’re usually belle of the ball.”
Answering emails on my cell to the sound of Penelope snoring.
I feign boredom. “I see you idiots all the time now. Besides, Benny only has so many fingers, and I’m growing tired of watching you break them.”
“I wish I could say the same for my wife.” I look over Gabe’s shoulder to Angelo in the hall. With a mild look of disgust, he steps over the legs of my fallen man and kicks the door shut with his heel. “Gabe has turned her into a sadist.”
“That girl has always been a sadist,” Gabe says, gulping back his drink.
Angelo glares at him, and I wipe away my smirk with the back of my hand. “To what do I owe the pleasure, brothers?”
Angelo hitches up his slacks and sinks into the armchair opposite. His gaze comes to mine, sparking with annoyance. “You forgot we had a meeting today.”
And so I did. I suppose I was too distracted by the memory of Penelope sinking her teeth into my bicep as she came against my leg.
Shit.I’ve been so focused on everything Penelope that I’m embarrassed to admit the war with the Cove clan has barely crossed my mind. If I’m honest, I forgot Dante existed for a minute. The last I heard, Angelo and Cas arranged a meeting with Dante in Hollow a few days after the explosion. He’d rocked up to Cas’s house with a ring of security and sat at the end of the dining table as meek as a bird. A real, hot-blooded don would have owned up to the attack, but not Dante.
