“Yes, sir,” the guard answers, and the dial tone follows. It takes them four minutes to reach this floor and another three to remove the semi-conscious man, now with a bag covering his head. They take a private elevator, the one used only by those who work security or the Ashers themselves, and disappear as if they’ve never been here.
Behind me, in the room, I can hear mutterings and a few hissed whispers, but I pay the two cousins no mind and move toward my own office beside Malcolm’s. It’s a decent-sized room, the view behind my chair fantastic, but it feels complete a few minutes later when an angry Mariah storms into the room.
Her chest rises and falls fast. Her lips are thinned and the looks she’s giving me are cold.
“How can I help you, Ms. Asher? Is there something you need?”
“You could’ve been shot,” she spits out, hands clenching at her sides.
“Why do you care?” I challenge, standing to match her heated stare and lean over with two hands atop my desk. Not one to back down, Mariah does the same and puts her face a few inches from mine, nostrils flaring and always challenging.
“It was reckless of you to knock him down like that, forcing his arm toward your body, while the gun was in his hand.” Each word is coated with venom and is gritted out through clenched teeth. Her anger is palpable, but clearer to see is that she cares about my safety. “We don’t need that kind of shitstorm. If word gets out about what happened here…”
“I know how to do my job.”
“You’re an egotistical idiot.”
“Why do you care if I get shot?”
“I-I don’t.”
“Liar.”
“Fuck—” she doesn’t get to finish her insult as I grab the back of her neck and quickly press my lips to hers. She’s poison and fire, and I want nothing more than to be consumed by her. The kiss is fast and heated—decadent in a sweetness uniquely hers, but I don’t let her melt into me after a moan slips from her mouth to mine.
Instead, I pull back and watch her even though every cell of my DNA demands I retake those swollen lips and devour. Instead, I breathe in her intoxicating scent and lick my lips, savoring the last hint of her taste while Mariah flushes and her red lips part.
There’s shock in her eyes. There’s a hunger that matches mine, too.
Mariah knows I want her. Just like I know she wants me.
But more than that, there has to be a level of respect—trust—for this to work. I’m not a punching bag, and she isn’t a toy. In our world, stupid reactions can be costly.
So I stand upright and level her with a blank expression. “Next time, please knock.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No. I’m not.” Walking around my desk, I stride to the door and pause just within the threshold. “I don’t take kindly to being questioned on both my common sense and professionalism. Don’t make that mistake again.”
Mariah saunters over, hand on her hip and face close to mine. Her heels giving her the height needed to reach my chin. “Or what?”
Always challenging. Always pushing.
Leaning down enough that my lips graze her ear, I exhale roughly. She shivers, and I bite back a smile. “Or I’ll put you over my knee and give you the spanking you need. I’m going to enjoy reddening those sweet cheeks, Muñeca.”
8
I WANT TO kill him.
I want another kiss and the feelings his lips on mine evoke.
I want what I shouldn’t—the path I refuse to travel—and walk out without another word. Without another glance in his direction, no matter how much my body craves it. Craves him.
It’s late enough in the morning that I stride to my desk and grab my purse, heading for the elevator without letting Malcolm know that I’m stepping out. Screw it. I’ll deal with every missed call later, and push the down button, opening the doors. I’m thankful no one is inside and without being stopped, I make it out of the building within minutes, walking down the sidewalk and merging with the passing crowd.
I have no destination in mind, but the further I walk from the Asher building, the more my mind wanders down dangerous roads brought to the forefront by Javier’s actions.
What if he got shot? What if I lost him?
Those thoughts have been plaguing me since the scuffle and for some reason, it throws me head first into my past. Down a rabbit hole that leads to a memory I’ve fought hard to bury even though the two men couldn’t be further apart.
One is successful, determined, and proud.
The other was spoiled, unworthy, and unfit to run the family business.
It’s late when I make it home, much later than I expected I’d be when I left this morning. With Thiago Rivera arrested and the scandal over confirmed family ties to both the mob and cocaine traffickers, we’ve been moving information and money all day.
Moving to offshore accounts. Clearing all bank records. Wiping every server with information that can be traced back to them and Asher Holdings.
We made sure that anything unclean is no longer accessible, and not even the best hacker in the FBI can find a speck of dirt on our client.
And while I’m tired and hungry, I gladly do my part as a shareholder and family member.
Slipping my heels off, I relish the feel of the cool hardwood flooring beneath my feet before tossing my keys in a bowl atop an entry table. My purse sits beside it.
“Guess he went out,” I mutter under my breath, undoing the top few buttons of my blouse while making my way to the kitchen. Food would be amazing, but a glass of wine will hit the spot, along with a bath.
However, the second I grab a glass and a bottle of Malbec from the wine cooler, the lights flicker on. “What the hell!” I scream, whirling around with a hand on my chest. I’m gasping, narrowing my eyes at Lane. “You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Where were you?” His tone is eerily calm, his body language tense.
Nothing new in that department as of late. He’s changed in the last few months—demanding and possessive, but not in a way most women find sexy. This isn’t an I love you and want to keep you by my side while cherishing you sort of way.
No. Not one bit.
After giving him my virginity, it’s been a never-ending battle of wills, and I’m growing tired.
Fighting isn’t a turn-on. Explaining my every move isn’t foreplay.
“Hey, babe.” I leave the unopened bottle and walk to him, winding my arms around his neck to placate him. It fails. My touch doesn’t calm him and the feel of him gives me no comfort in return. Maybe I should break it off already. Why am I even trying? “You didn’t need to wait up for me. Did you get my text earlier?”
His hands snake around me, one hand on my hip while the other grips my hair. He’s smiling, eyes soft, and I think for a flash that he’ll make this bad feeling go away when a sharp hiss escapes me. With my hair wound tight around his fist, he yanks my head back so hard that tears gather, and fear settles over my limbs.
Lane has never hurt me, but I’m not feeling safe anymore. I don’t trust him, and that dangerous edge he’s been teetering on between obsession and unhealthy sends chills down my spine.
One day he’s sweet. The next, he treats me as though I’m an enemy.