“It wasn’t his fault.”
“I said I’d protect you—”
“It’s not your fault either. You’ve done nothing but help me. My father on the other hand…” She scowled. “I’m so mad at him right now.”
Easton was just fucking glad she was safe.
“He gambled and lost more money.” She threw her arm out, her cheeks flushed. “Then he stole. What was he thinking?”
“He’s not. He’s afraid, desperate, and fucking up.”
She deflated. “What am I going to do?”
“Your father needs to find a solution. Return Pierce’s property, and then broker a deal to pay back his debts.”
Harlow rubbed her forehead, then looked at him, her gaze running down his arms and lingering on his ink.
“What are you doing with me Easton?” She shook her head. “You should run. Save yourself from this mess. You’re lucky that Antoine and Rhoda are wary of the Norcross name, or they’d be looking at you for my dad’s debts.”
“I’d pay.”
She gasped. “No. No way! I’m not taking a cent of your money. God.”
Desire ignited in his gut. It’d been a slow simmer for weeks, but now it was a five-alarm blaze.
His need for her was a constant gnaw.
“I don’t want to talk about money, or debts, or my dad tonight,” she declared.
“You finished?”
She nodded. “My brain just needs to shut down.”
“Would you like another drink?”
She obviously detected something in his voice. Her gaze flicked to his face, then dropped to his lips. “No.”
Easton turned toward her on the couch, resting his hands on her bare knees.
Her breath hitched.
He slid his hands up to the hem of her dress.
“What would you like to do, Ms. Carlson?”
Her lips parted. “What did you have in mind, Mr. Norcross?”
Fuck. When she called him that, his cock pulsed, hard. He tugged her closer and pulled her onto his lap.
Then he pressed a kiss to the side of her neck and she tilted her head, a faint moan escaping her.
“Why don’t I show you?” he murmured.
“Yes, Mr. Norcross,” she breathed.
Easton’s pulse picked up the pace, his heart thumping. He pulled her face to his and took her mouth.
Her hands drove into his hair. The kiss wasn’t gentle, but it turned rougher, close to brutal.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her lips.
Heat rolled through him, need a vicious fist in his gut.
“Easton.” She shifted against him, her round ass rubbing over his rock-hard cock. “Touch me.”
Chapter Eleven
Harlow didn’t want to think or question, she just wanted to feel.
And Easton made her feel so much.
And want more. So much more.
His mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting deep. The kiss was hot and fierce, and ignited fire in her veins.
She moaned and squirmed on his lap. One of his hands slid under the skirt of her dress, skimming up her inner thigh.
“This is probably a mistake,” she panted, then bit his bottom lip. “A sexy, breathtaking mistake.”
His fingers teased the edge of her panties.
“Yes. I want your hands on me. Touch me, Easton.”
“I am,” he growled.
“Harder,” she begged.
He made a hungry, masculine sound, then his fingers shoved her panties aside, and he found her clit.
Harlow wrenched her mouth free and gasped. He rubbed her clit, and then forcibly pulled her mouth back to his. As he stroked her, she felt her temperature rising. Then she was going up in flames. She circled her hips, moving against his oh-so-clever fingers.
“You’re soaked.” His finger played with her, before sinking deep.
She opened her eyes, rocking on his hand. “Easton.”
She stared blindly at the night sky and wondered if anyone could see them out on the terrace. Probably not, but the thought gave her a little thrill.
He pushed two fingers inside her, stretching her. She cried out, pressing her forehead against his. She held him tight, needing the anchor to keep from flying apart.
“I can feel your sweet pussy clenching on my fingers, Harlow.”
His sexy words and deep voice made her belly contract.
“So tight and wet. You’ll feel so good when I finally slide my aching cock inside you.”
“Easton… Oh, God.” She was so close.
He reached behind her and lowered the zipper on her dress. He shoved one shoulder off.
She shivered. The night air was cold, but it was what he was doing to her that earned the reaction.
She was wild for him.
He stroked her nipple through her lace bra. Her nipples were hard little nubs, and she ground down on his hand, just pure sensation now.
“That’s it, beautiful.” He pulled her up, his mouth closing on one lace-covered breast.
Oh, God. “Yes.”
His thumb stroked her clit, his hot mouth sucked on her nipple. If anyone could see them, they’d see her in her boss’ lap, totally undone as he drove her closer to a massive orgasm.
His fingers kept pumping inside her.
“Easton.”
“Come for me, Harlow.”
She trembled, her hands digging into his shoulders, she was riding a thin edge.
He yanked her closer, his mouth taking hers—a hard, punishing claim.
Harlow’s orgasm hit her like a deluge. Her hips moved wildly, and his mouth captured her cries.
She slumped against him, small tremors running through her.
“Fuck, you are so goddamn beautiful, Harlow.” He tugged her hair hard and his gaze ran over her face, then he kissed her. It was slower, more deliberate, and left her heart racing.
Then he rose, lifting her like she weighed nothing. She clamped her legs around his lean waist.
His mouth was back on hers. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. It was filled with desperate hunger.
He strode inside.
Harlow kissed him back, wild for him. Eager to feel those strong hands on her again, to hear his masculine groans, and feel the heavy weight of him on her.
She wanted to be possessed by Easton Norcross.
She shimmied against the hard bulge in his trousers. He cursed and dropped her on the bed.
He was silhouetted by the golden glow from the terrace. He didn’t look like the handsome civilized businessman now. No, he looked ruthless. A pirate about to claim his spoils.
He leaned over her and gripped her dress. He pulled it off her with quick, impatient yanks.
There was hunger in his gaze as it roamed over her. She lay there in only her black lace bra and panties.
He straightened and unbuttoned his shirt. Harlow’s belly contracted. He pulled the fabric off.
Oh, hell. He was perfection. Hard, defined muscles covered in bronze skin. Intricate tattoos crossed his chest, and she was sure each image told a story. Fascinating tribal-like tattoos wound around his arms.
Then his hands were on her. He reached under her and her bra was gone.
“Fuck, you have gorgeous breasts.” He cupped one and she arched into him. Each stroke on her skin was an assault on her senses.
Then he gripped her panties. He shocked the hell out of her by ripping them off her.