AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Ow,” she yelped, hopping on one foot to see what sharp object she’d stepped on.
Looking down, she found a piece of broken plastic. She plucked it out and saw another on the floor. And another. And then a piece of metal attached to a shattered but intact rectangle of glass.
It was a phone, shattered to bits.
That’s fitting, she thought, crouching down to pick up the pieces. Monty was a jagged presence in her life—sharp, disruptive, and slowly picking apart the fabric of her sanity, piece by piece.
She examined the handful of pieces, then saw a white mark on one of the desk’s cabriole legs, a gouge marring the beautiful antique furniture. Again, a great metaphor for the wounds he’d scraped into her, including this latest meeting with Eli behind her back.
The elevator whirred, and after several seconds, the door slid open. Monty’s presence filled the attic like a poisonous gas.
“How dare you invade my personal space?” she demanded, rolling to her feet, still clenching the plastic pieces. As if they were a link to bitter memories, she hurled them at him, smiling when he held up an arm to defend himself.
“Sheiße,” he muttered. “Let’s talk about how a corpse invaded your personal space.”
“I mean you, in this place. The attic.Mybedroom,” she spat.
“When you didn’t reply to my texts—”
“You decided to stalk me like a lovesick teenager?” she demanded.
He stiffened, his expression turning cold. “Don’t flatter yourself. There’s no love in the sickness of whatever it is I feel for you.” He moved toward her.
She backed away until the antique desk stopped her. When he paused just inches away, her lungs squeezed shut and refused to let her inhale. It was self-preservation, since his cologne always knew how to worm in and pick her locks.
“What, at a loss for words?” he asked, his voice deceptively quiet. “Not even a few hateful ones?”
Jesus Christ, he knew how to punch her buttons.
“No loss. I just have more important things to do at the moment,” she said, giving him a hearty shove before she breathed in. “Like kicking you off my property, you arrogant asshole.” She smirked at him, then gasped when he grabbed her wrists.
“Why are you such a bitch?” he asked, though his tone suggested he didn’t really mind.
“You must bring it out in me,” she sneered and gasped again when he hauled her against his body. A hard body in an expensive suit, emanating that sexy, spicy-as-shit cologne he always wore.
“You don’t want to know what you bring out in me.” His teeth glinted as he spoke the last words. As if he wanted to bite her.
And fuck if she didn’t want him to.
He always had her on a knife’s edge between rage and lust. She equally wanted him to leave and push her onto the desk and rip her panties off.
“Enlighten me,” she invited, watching his pupils dilate at the demand. She pushed herself against him, her stocking feet stepping onto his polished shoes.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, pushing her against the desk.
“Pushing you to do something you hate.” She twisted her hands to loosen his hold on her wrists. “Me.”
His hands shifted, but only to wrench her wrists behind her, crossing them just above her ass and easily clenching them in one palm.
“What makes you think I hate fucking you?” He flicked the button of her blazer open and slid his hand up to squeeze her breast roughly.
“Who said anything about fucking?” she asked, debating whether she should try to twist away. She didn’t like how much she was enjoying his hands on her body. “I just made you lose control. I win.”
“This isn’t about winning,” he said as he bent to nip her neck. “Our fucking has never been about that.”
God, his words sent an arrow of longing from her neck, where his breath played over her skin, to the toes that curled on top of his shoes. She lifted a leg, gliding her foot up his calf and letting the movement raise her skirt. She ground into him, the action pushing her skirt up even higher.
“Mmm…” he groaned, the hand on her breast slipping down to hoist her skirt over her hip. “Du bist mein kleines hure, nicht ware?”
