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But his face was what grabbed one’s attention first. Symmetrical, and flawlessly proportioned, not even his cold expression cut from stone could mar it. The second look showed the type of body women groaned over, and the third revealed intellect in every move he made, as though everyone else was a chess piece, and he was musing over how to play each one of us.
“Why am I not handcuffed?” I asked, watching two officers escort a shackled prisoner out the front doors. He tapped a finger on the counter in a rhythm of three—tap, tap, tap—and side-eyed me, his stare filling with a trace of dry amusement. “Did you want to be?” His words were laced with deep insinuation and intimacy, and I suddenly knew two things: He was an asshole, and he had handcuffed a woman in bed.
I glanced at my ring mechanically, and, for some silly reason, felt miffed that he held no concern his prisoner wasn’t restrained. I could totally be a threat to him and the public.
I crushed the wrapper in my hand and moved to drop it in his cup holder. The gaze he shot me was deadly. Looked like it was the latter. I dropped the wrapper in the recesses of my purse.
Yes, Sir. :)
His gaze narrowed in distaste as it fell to the pen I’d bitten between my teeth. It took only a second to connect the dots. Germs, most likely.
frrrrrrrrrrr.
Taking a step to leave, I realized how parched his stare had made me. I stepped backward, grabbed the glass from his hand, and downed the contents. I choked. Vodka.
He took his glass back. He would always turn it to drink from a different spot other than where my lips had touched, but tonight, he drank straight from where my pink lipstick left a mark. It sent a strange rush of heat to my stomach.
I wanted to put a chink in that ice he wore like armor. Stepping closer, I ran a finger across his jawline, my voice soft. “You have such a handsome face. Does it get you everything you want?” “Almost.” There was something so significant about that single word it put a hitch in my breath. I let my finger fall from his face with a light scrape of my stiletto-shaped nail. “One look from you, and women swoon at your feet.” He was growing annoyed with me. “Yet here you stand.” I laughed lightly. “I have no interest in men, even ones as handsome as you.” “Because you’re married?”
“You don’t kiss on the mouth.” “True.” “Why not?” “It’s messy and unnecessary.”
“You don’t seem to have the same opinion regarding . . . other parts of a woman’s anatomy.” I laughed. I wouldn’t have a problem with any part of a certain woman’s anatomy. Truthfully, I’d let her spit in my goddamn mouth. “So, if you’re willing to . . .” “Eat pussy?”
Awwwwwwe
“We’re at the end of our meeting, but I have one more question. What is your earliest memory of the number three?” Knock, knock, knock. The knocking reverberated in my mind, three heavy thumps I’d still have been able to hear even if I placed my hands over my ears. “They always knocked three times,” I said. “Who?” “The men who made me.”
My breath slowed, and so did my movements. I held his gaze as he stood next to Nico at the bar. Allister responded to something Ace had said but kept his eyes on me. The roll of my hips, the glide of my hands in my hair—they moved to a different rhythm than the beat. Slower. Sexier. Like a caress of silk sheets against naked skin. Holding his stare, I lip-synced a line of the song. The words poured from my red-painted mouth, sensual exhales between parted lips. His eyes darkened.
His shoulders blocked out the light. His presence, heavy and palpable, skimmed down my spine. “You started this game,” he said, with the rough sound of anger. “Finish it.”
Plainly, and as bland as stale bread, I said, “The way I feel about you, well, it’s put me in a small spot.” “Tight spot,” he corrected softly.
“Where is my present?” I asked, padding toward him on bare feet. “What? The room next door overflowing with presents isn’t enough for you?” “Aw, does that make you mad? That I have friends, and you don’t?” “You need confirmation that everyone adores you, don’t you?” “Yes,” I said, straight-faced. “So where is my present?” I
“I want a secret,” I said, adding, “One of yours, of course.” “And what am I supposed to get out of this?” “The satisfaction of making me happy.” I flashed him a sweet smile. His gaze dropped to my lips. He looked away, but before he did, I saw a flash of something unmistakably sinful. My heartbeat tripped up on itself.
choked on my fury. “I hate you.” “I think about you.” Those four rough words filled the air between us, settling to the floor with a stillness that rocked me to my core. My blood cooled as silence came out to touch me with cold fingers.
“You want to know why I don’t touch you?” I shook my head. “Because if I did, I wouldn’t stop. Not until I’d snuffed out that pretty fire in your eyes.” His gaze flashed. “Don’t shut yourself in a room with me again, Gianna.” He left, but his warning stayed behind.
Sydney got her wish. She didn’t have to live without him. On my twenty-third birthday, I became a widow of one.
“Regardless of what you might believe, Gianna, I’m a grown man. Dress appropriately in front of me next time.”
Lovely. I’d let the disgustingly handsome fed ruin an entire eye color for me.
The intensity in his eyes was like staring directly into the sun, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I dropped my gaze to his tie. It was perfect, like always, and while I would usually adjust it anyway, I didn’t reach for it now. His presence radiated tension, and it sent a nervous tremor through me. “You don’t know a single thing about him, Gianna.” “You don’t need to know anything about someone to sleep with them.” I
His palm slid from the wall, and his voice was calm and final. “You’re not going home with him.”
“I’ll leave with him if I want,” I finally managed. “Try it.” “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” “I just did.” This was exactly why I hated this game. A small noise of frustration escaped me, and I ducked underneath his arm and headed toward the ladies’ room. “You heard me, Gianna.” I’d heard him, all right. Didn’t mean I’d listen.
He was touching her. Why wouldn’t he? She was classy, composed, everything I was not. He wouldn’t touch me, not if he were hanging off a cliff and I was the only one who could pull him up.
his eyes drifted to Charming, a lazy flicker passing through the blue before disappearing into vicious depths. Heartless. The look was full of the promise of retaliation.
My gaze caught on someone walking down the hall through the crack of the door. Black suit. Broad shoulders. Straight lines. My heart cooled before icing over. His gaze was lowered as his hands twisted a silencer onto the barrel of a gun. My throat tightened, and panic bit at my veins. He looked up. His eyes were cold enough to give me frostbite. “No,” I breathed. But it was too late. He pushed the door open, and his lazy, heartless gaze found Charming. A muffled pop hit my ears. Blood splattered across the counter and cupboards. White powder dusted into the air as Charming hit the floor,
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I couldn’t help but think this was a man all other men aspired to be. He was the perfect prototype, and everyone else had just gotten the small details wrong.
Anger heated my cheeks, and I tried to fight him off, to twist out of his hold, but, calmly, he held my wrists in a vise grip against my chest and I couldn’t escape. The struggle was fruitless, and eventually I went still, my heavy breaths filling the room. And because I could do nothing else, I growled, “I hate you.”
His gaze met mine. Blue. Cool silk sheets beneath a darkening sky. Although, there was something else. A flicker of something bright and full of life. Like the reflection in a neurotic person’s eyes. It was madness. It was obsession.
His heart, it was beating so hard. And it wasn’t from exertion. I wasn’t fighting him. I didn’t know what this was, but I didn’t have a single thought in me to analyze it. I’d never felt more alive.
I stepped on each of his shoes and then rose to my tiptoes. With a shot of vodka on my tongue, my lips hovered close to his. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to bite and lick. My breasts brushed his chest and heat shot straight to my core. When his lips parted, I let the liquor trickle from my mouth to his. Pure lust erupted inside me so violently I grew dizzy. I ran my hands up his abs, curled my fingers into his chest, as if I could claw my way through his shirt. He was so hard and warm, and smelled so good I could get lost in him.
Staring at a piece of glass that was so close to my feet it reflected my sparkly nail polish, the broken tumbler took on another meaning. It was me, after this man was done with me. The panic attack he’d witnessed two years ago was suddenly loud between us. And, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last he’d ever see.
“I know you probably already feel awful about it, but you missed my birthday this year.” “Awful,” he agreed, his voice dry. “See, I knew it. But that’s okay, because you can make it up to me now.” “Ah.” A small smile pulled on a corner of his lips. “You want your present.”
“I’m not one of your admirers. I’m not going to hold my dick and pine over you, just waiting for the day you might choose me. If I fuck you, Gianna, nobody else ever will.”
My stomach dropped, and I almost choked on my next breath. “If you don’t get your ass out of my apartment while you still can”—his voice drifted to a dark rasp—“there’s no going back from this.”
“Put me down, Allister. I don’t sleep with feds.” “If I decided I wanted you, sleep is not the word I would use.”
“You never answered my question, Officer.” Do you kiss? The silent words floated in the air between us. He stepped between my legs, and his eyes on my breasts were so hot it sent a flush up my neck. He circled a thumb over the button of my shorts, and my nipples tightened. “Who am I kissing?” My heart was racing so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. He popped the button through the hole. “One of your women,” I breathed.
My blood was on fire. He’d never looked at me this way, with such a soft, consuming desire in his eyes, like he’d never seen a woman before. Like I was everything.
stilled in anticipation when he lifted his head because I thought he was going to kiss me, but he only pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’ll let you know when I start taking orders from little Italian girls.”
But then he dropped to his haunches in front of me, ran a hand across my cheek, and kissed me. Shock and warmth erupted in my chest. I moaned, wrapped my arms around his shoulders, and climbed onto him until I sat on his thighs. He tasted so good, so addictive. And I savored every lick and dip, every press of our lips. He kissed me without any reservation, like he had a right to, like I was his.
“Allister,” I begged. “I just had my tongue inside you,” he said, annoyed. “You can start calling me by my first name.” I opened my mouth. Closed it. His eyes darkened as he took in my expression. “You forgot my name.”
“What’s your name?” I asked. “Do your goddamn homework before getting in someone’s bed, Gianna.” I narrowed my eyes. “You know the name of every woman you sleep with?” “Yes.”
He ran a thumb across my cheek. “You won’t forget me.” It was an order, but a tiny amount of vulnerability showed through. It warmed my chest. My hair was a mess, the hair tie slipping halfway down my ponytail. He pulled it from the messy locks and then put it in his pocket.
It would be three more years before I’d ever see him again.
“They have a word for what you’ve described, Christian.” I paused, my hand on the doorknob. “Obsession.” A corner of my lips lifted as I stepped out of the room and shut the door behind me.
“You are so right. A lot of men struggle with impotence. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” I patted his chest and began to walk toward his car while ignoring the burning sensation in my hand. “Still thinking about why I didn’t fuck you, huh?”
“You changed your hair,” he said softly. I absently touched the dark locks that were my natural color. He always noticed when I did something with my hair. I hated that it made me feel special. “Yes. I tried to get over you with a makeover. Three years is just too long to wait for a phone call.” “Ah, I wondered how you were faring.”
“A man of few answers,” I murmured. “Few words,” he corrected.
i love when he correct her!!!!! <3
“You know me so well, Officer. We should play The Newlywed Game.” I began to apply some lip gloss just because I needed to do something with my hands. “You’d think they’d have a requirement for contestants to at least know each other’s names,” he said dryly. “You always were a stickler for the rules, weren’t you, Christian?”
omgggg. my heartttt
