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“Absolutely not.” Hendrick folds his arms. “Not on your life.”
MG stares and rolls her eyes, but I’m close enough that I can feel her almost purr from the tension in the room, the sparks that fly from this strange little fucking gathering. “Please don’t tell me the big bad Hendrick Agnossio’s scared of interaction with a woman.”
She’s miscalculated. Me? I’d be all bring it the fuck on. With Hendrick, who’s such a dick, he wants to make the moves, dictate more, and those words of hers are guaranteed to make him dig his heels in and shut it down.
Which is going to rob me of seeing the necklace, of getting it.
“No deal.” Hendrick looks at his watch. “I need—”
“You know what?” I look at them both. “Fuck you.”
I turn and stalk out. My limo is downstairs because I wanted to arrive in style. I get out of the elevator and walk across the foyer. Who knows what the fuck they’re doing up there now. She’s probably sucking his dick or getting it up the ass from him.
MG just robbed me. Like she’d snatched that fucking necklace and taken off.
I know that fuck—he’ll have the Heart of Dark Desires so locked down now that even if I spent three times as much as the damn thing’s worth to just get a peek, I’ll never see it.
And I might hate MG for that.
I grip the pink notebook tight, storm up to the limo, and hand it to Carlos, who’s standing outside. “Don’t read this.”
“Trouble followed you out,” he says, nodding past me.
“Jac…”
I close my eyes a second. Magdalena. Her voice is smoke and sex and something that already haunts my dreams.
I open them and turn, and she’s there in black, blonde hair gleaming in the sun, lips red. I’ve never seen anything so frustrating, so beautiful before in my life.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
“I don’t know, can we?”
She looks at the limo, then at me. “Now?”
“Carlos, take the front seat, tell the driver to take the long fucking route.”
I don’t say where. It’s more a drive around until I tell you to stop order. Opening the door, I gesture to her. “Get in if you want to talk.”
* * *
The silence is stretched so tight you could bounce a ball on it. And we’ve been driving for about five minutes.
For someone who wanted to talk, she sucks at it. There are a lot of things I could say, whip at the anger that bubbles beneath my surface, but I don’t.
Finally, she sighs. “I’m still not sure if I like you.”
“At this stage,” I say, “I know I don’t like you.”
The tension starts to beat, and she makes a sound, almost a moan, before she crosses those long legs, pressing her thighs together.
I know.
I’m looking.
And damn if she doesn’t wiggle her hips like she’s trying to get some action for her cunt.
“Got an itch that Hendrick can’t scratch?” I ask in a low voice. “One you need some real filth to satisfy?”
