Liar.
The idea of Adam losing his job because of me makes my stomach clench violently. Someone else will have to report him. I don’t want that guilt on my hands.
Zane grabs the arms of my chair and turns it so I’m facing him. With him in my space and so close, I can’t form words or think or breathe for that matter. All I can do is stare up at his perfect, handsome face and inhale his masculine, soapy scent.
“It can be our secret,” he rumbles, green eyes boring into me. “Say okay, Miss B.”
I open my mouth as if to argue, but no words come out.
“How about I tell you what I really want out of life?” He squats down in front of me. “Do we have a deal?”
When I nod, trading my silence for his words, I realize I’ve just made a deal with the devil.
His evil grin confirms he knows this too.
Chapter Two
Zane
Fucking finally.
I’ve hit on this woman every day for months and she won’t open up. Sure, she’s cracked a little here and there, letting me see past her stiff, prissy exterior but always closes back up before I have a chance to slip inside to see the real her. The vulnerable woman who aches to be loved and adored.
I want to be the man who gets in.
Not just in the physical sense.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t dream of stripping her bare and pinning her beneath my hard body, fucking her like a madman. But it’s more than that with Kerry Bowden. Everything about her is so soft and refined and fucking perfect. It calls to the dark, baser parts of me that want to ruffle those parts of her. She’s someone trapped in this veneer package. Someone broken and sad. Someone like me. I just need to save her from herself.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, a blond tendril falling from her tight bun. “Please.”
Always so sweet and well-mannered.
“Take your hair down.” I rise to my feet. “And join me on the sofa.”
Her blue eyes narrow as she studies me with suspicion. “Why?”
“Because I need you to relax.” I hold my hand out to her. “When you relax, I relax. How are we to become friends, Miss B, if you don’t let me inside you?”
She gasps, her plump pink lips parting. “Mr. Mullins!”
“Relax,” I say again, winking at her. “Come on.”
To my surprise, she takes my hand. It’s so small and soft. I’m not eager to let it go, so I don’t.
“Shoes,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.
She rolls her eyes, taking years off her age, and she kicks out of her heels. I like how just like that she becomes a short, tiny thing.
Mine.
She’s my short, tiny thing.
“Now the hair.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to comply.
Averting her gaze, she reaches up to tug at the hair tie. Golden waves tumble out over her shoulder and she gives her head a shake. Her floral scent becomes stronger with her hair now down. I crave to take a handful of it in my fist and bury my nose in it.
“That feels so much better,” she says, a smile teasing her sexy lips.
I’m unable to tear my gaze from her pretty features. With her hair down, she seems younger. After stalking her lame-ass social media accounts, I learned she’ll be thirty in November. I’ve never dated a woman twelve years my senior, but I’d make an exception for her, because something tells me dating her would be better than any shallow relationship I’ve ever been in.
“You can let go of my hand now.” Her voice quivers and based on the way she peers shyly at me from beneath her lashes, I’d say she doesn’t actually want me to. She’s just saying what she thinks is the right thing. That daddy of hers has tried his damnedest to turn her into a compliant, rule following robot. Since my dad is no different, I understand this probably better than anyone ever could. It also makes me want to drag her out from under his influence, because unlike me, she’s still trapped.
I don’t release her hand, and instead tug at it for her to follow me over to the sofa in her office. Once we sit, our thighs touching, I drag her hand into my lap. I expect her to try and pull free, but she doesn’t. Her blue eyes probe me in an expectant sort of way, as though she wants me to lead the way for us.
Don’t worry, Miss B, I’ll take care of you.
“Dad doesn’t care what I do so long as I don’t interfere with his campaign,” I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue. “I don’t want to go to college.”
“But—”
I cut her off with a frown. “I thought you were going to listen.”
She purses her lips together and nods.
“I like math,” I tell her even though she already knows. “Coach Long likes to bust my balls in the classroom too, not just on the track, but unlike on the track, I can answer every damn one of his questions.”
“There are lots of careers that involve math,” she blurts out and then her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry. I’m trying.”
I flash her a wide grin. “I forgive you, beautiful.”
This time, her lips curl up into a shy smile that makes my dick twitch in my jeans.
“When I was ten, my dad and I built a treehouse in our backyard,” I explain, my voice dropping to a husky drawl as I remember the past. “It was one of the last times we did something together. Back when he liked me.”
“Your dad likes you,” she exclaims in vehemence. “Tell me you know that.”
“I’m not a liar. He doesn’t. Not anymore.” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “Anyway, so this treehouse was awesome. Dad let me design it. It had real windows and cabinets and tile floors. I spent more time sleeping in my treehouse than in my real house.”
Her blue eyes are wide as she intently listens to my story. I take a moment to study her pretty face up close. Cute little nose. Long, dark mascara-painted lashes. Pouty mouth. So fucking beautiful.
“For four years, I loved that thing. But, as Dad got more and more bogged down with work, he came out to see it less and less.” I grimace as I think about how many nights I spent yearning for my dad to care about me more than his job. “It wasn’t until I broke my leg freshman year that I too stopped going to the treehouse.”
Because I couldn’t climb.
By the time I could again, I was too angry at the world. The last thing I gave a shit about was a stupid treehouse I built with my dad.
“The thing I missed about it wasn’t so much the space but the love and hard work that went into it. We built it. From nothing.” I lean into her, unable to blatantly inhale her delicious scent. “That, too, seemed like a pipe dream after my injury, but I don’t know, after the past few months working with Coach Long and working past the pain in my leg, I think maybe it’s possible. That maybe I could do something with my hands. Design, build, create. The idea of making something from nothing excites me.”
The idea of having my own business and not having to answer to anyone is enticing. Some people aren’t made to work for the man. I think I’m one of those people.
A smile graces her lips. “I can see your passion.”
“Can you?” My voice is a guttural growl as I reach up with my free hand to toy with a strand of her hair. “See my passion, that is?”