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“Look at me,” Kyle demands, tilting my chin up so I can’t hide my face from him. “Show me the faces you make when you come,” he growls.
“Paul, we’ll be late if you look for anything else in that closet.”
I’m half out of my mind and want to scream at the woman in the bedroom to shut up. At the same time, I’m too enraptured by Kyle’s fiery gaze on mine. His entire being is demanding that I come.
And I do.
Right when I’m about to let out the scream that I know will get us exposed, Kyle slams his mouth over mine. I roll my hips into his hand, seeking every bit of pleasure. Not until my release ends does he break the kiss.
There’s a door slam, and as I come to, I realize the couple must’ve exited the suite.
Kyle never takes his eyes off me when he lifts his finger to his mouth and licks it clean. A muffled whimper escapes my mouth.
His eyes burn into mine, and the large bulge in his pants tells how badly he wants me.
But he takes a step back.
“I won’t fuck you in a closet. Not for our first time.”
It sounds like a threat and a warning. My nipples ache.
“I have to get back to the office.” He starts for the closet door but stops. “I’ll be out of town for a few days for business. But there’s a meeting next Friday afternoon. Between Waterson’s execs and Townsend’s. You should be there.”
Standing straight, I try to get myself together. This is the first time he’s invited me to sit in on any meeting of his.
Guilt swirls in my belly. “I-I’ll be there.”
He doesn’t say anything else as he slips out of the door.
CHAPTER13
Riley
Days after that hotel incident with Kyle, I stand at the end of the hallway on the fifteenth floor of Townsend Industries. This is the accounting department. All of Townsend Industries’ books are kept on this floor.
Heaviness weighs down my stomach, making it challenging to make my next move. Dean Walsh called me a couple of days ago and all but demanded I find out about some abandoned houses that Townsend Industries supposedly owns. It’s in those abandoned homes where family members conduct illegal business.
If they own the buildings, as Dean said, there’s a chance they can be traced through the numbers on accounting. Or the real estate department.
“Riley, right?”
I turn to find a tall woman with a smile on her face.
“Rachel?”
She nods. “Yes, I’ve been expecting you.” She waves a hand for me to follow her. “Tom had me put together a few files for you.” Rachel turns to me. “You needed the numbers for Townsend’s past few quarters, right?”
“Yes,” I lie. I already received those numbers a week ago.
Rachel enters her office. She pauses with a hand on her hip. “Tell me, you’re a social engineering consultant?”
I nod and glance around. “Yes, something like that. I do a bit of everything.”
“Then you mostly work with people. What do you need accounting numbers for?” Her smile is pleasant enough, and I understand she’s asking out of genuine curiosity.
I give her my usual spiel about numbers being a reflection of what’s happening on the human level. She accepts that answer and gives me the files.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
