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“Take your hand. Slide it down your belly.” Smooth, pale, flat. “Now go lower…”
Grazing her narrow hips and then that thatch of golden curls.
“Now touch yourself.” Bloody hell, I can see it. Her fingers parting the thatch of hair before drifting lower. The tease… she’d drag a finger over herself, just once to prove she could. The second would be an accident. And the third… “You remember what it felt like. Me inside you. You were so fucking tight.”
I have to brace one hand against the wall. I hear a faint sound come from the other end. She hasn’t hung up yet.
“Slide a finger inside if you need a reminder—”
She gasps—I know she’s obeyed, too damn stubborn to back down.
“You’re wet already,” I tell her, my throat going even drier. “You’re already aching, and I’ve barely touched you.I’mthe one touching you—”
Fuck,that softer, breathier sound. It’s a moan. My hand leaves the wall. Heads to my slacks…
“I’m the one touching you,” I grate into her ear. An image of her in those lacy knickers from the unreleased collection flashes through my brain, and I can’t ignore the possessive impulse that rises within me. Should Riley dare to exploit even a pixel of those photos, I’ll kill him. Every one is mine. She is mine. “Me,” I breathe out, “Harder. Faster. The way you like… noneedit. But it’s not enough, is it, Evelyn? I need to add another finger—”
The second needy moan sets my blood on fire. “It’s still not enough. Even when I drag my thumb against your clit—” another throaty groan, louder this time. Undeniable. “It’s not enough. Not hard enough. Thick enough. Deep enough. You need… me. Say it.”
She doesn’t. But I swear I hear the mattress creak with the shifting weight of her body—her head thrashing, toes curling, fingers fighting for the right amount of leverage.
“Admit it. You need me.” My fingers land on the fastenings of the slacks. I get the clasp undone and tug at the zipper. “Tell me where you are.”
I hear her breathing raggedly. In and out. I’m sure she’ll hang up without an answer. “I… I’m at—”
“Mr. Bellamy?”
I hear the door open, followed by the delicate sound of Ann’s footsteps, trailed by a heavier, slower set. “Your next meeting is here.”
Shit. I fasten my trousers one-handed. Evelyn’s still in my ear, the words slurred, barely intelligible. “I’m at four… six… street—” I hang up the phone and shove the damned thing into my pocket.
Adrian Riley stands in the doorway to my office when Ann retreats to her desk. The bastard’s smiling. “I hope I didn’t interrupt something important. It appears you might have been—” He cuts his gaze down to the front of my trousers, despite the barrier between us. “Preoccupied.”
The git.
“You have some damn nerve coming here.” I ignore his outstretched hand and turn to my desk. My fingers curl, my teeth gritted, every nerve on fire. Evelyn should be my sole concern, not him. It’s only as I brace my hands against the desk’s surface that I realize I didn’t hear the whole address she’d started to moan. Bloody hell. Four. Six. Street. I’ll have James drive around the entire damn city to find her if I have to.
But first things first.
“I should beat your face in,” I bite out before glancing up to find Riley standing in the center of the room, wearing that bloody amused expression. “I’ll have you know that your little game didn’t work, foiled out of the gate. By the way, I suggest you destroy any trace of those photos your accomplice squirreled away. Otherwise, I’ll bury you in enough litigation to leave your children’s children in bankruptcy.”
His smile only widens. “I take it you changed your mind about the merger?” he questions, cocking his head slightly. Did my reveal surprise him? Good.
Anger washes through me as my fingers clench. God, I want to punch the bastard. So damn much. But if Evelyn were here, I know exactly what she’d bloody say—Don’t give him the satisfaction. Use your brain, Mr. Bellamy.
“I’ve changed my mind about hearing yourplansfor the merger,” I clarify. When I sit behind my desk, he follows suit, claiming one of the chairs in front of it. We’re on an even playing field for all intents and purposes, but I get that bloody suspicious itch crawling up the back of my neck. Like the bastard knows something I don’t.Four. Six. Street.At least none of those words have anything in common with the address of his club.
Riley reaches for his briefcase and flicks the clasps to open it. “Even though you’ve had achangeof heart, you may find these worth a look,” he says, sliding a stack of documents onto my desk.
At first glance, they seem to be brochures sporting the club paraphernalia—an embossed logo, R.R.
“We could announce it at the next annual meeting,” he says, while I flip open the topmost booklet and scan the details printed on the first few pages. They’re blueprints, transfixed over the existing building in London, expanding the layout. “The general terms we can decide now. More… pertinent details, such as leadership, can be decided later.”
I glance up to find the bastard still smirking, but there’s a colder look in his eye that I don’t like. “Is that typical of your mergers?” It damn sure wasn’t for any corporate merger I had overseen. When one business swallowed the other, one associate always took the lion’s share.
“To be fair, Bellamy, this isn’t the typical situation.”
Fair enough. I flip through the brochure again, familiarizing myself with every nuanced term and phrase, searching for a trap lurking within the polished presentation. “In name only?” I repeat, when I come up surprisingly blank.
