CHAPTER SEVEN
PARKER
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O ne minute I’m wondering how far the passenger seat of my Maserati slides back so I can lick Aurora's pussy, then I’m reaching across the vehicle to comfort her.
She is my enemy.
Plus, I don’t comfort people.
Travis is a hugger. Even Maddox does occasionally. Zayne is a definite no-go zone on the cuddle monitor.
Me? Yeah, no. I’m not nurturing in any way. Even bro hugs are not my thing.
Jesus Christ, what do I care if she’s nervous?
I just want her DNA and access to Mary-Anne’s property so I can get more leads, then break the little green-eyed princess into little pieces.
Aurora is inside my web now.
I don’t care about her emotions.
I’ll need to be much more careful. Keeping my lust contained is hard enough.
“Hope you like Japanese,” I say, pressing on the gas to get around a yellow cab. Then I whip around the corner toward Columbus Circle.
“Yes. I love it.” Aurora shifts in the seat and tightens her fingers around her purse.
She really is nervous.
“So, no concussion?” I pull up outside the famous Asian restaurant and nod to the valet.
I glance at my stunning date before climbing out, waiting for her answer as I reach for her.
“No.” She smiles as she takes my hand. Her cheeks turn rosy and, damn it, her glossy lips are extremely fucking kissable.
I gaze at them, then slowly slide my gaze north. Those fucking green eyes. I’ve thought about them for so many years. I want to strangle her. I want to demand that she tell me why she was protected when I wasn’t.
I want to slam my cock inside her as I do all of that, watching her struggle to breathe while I take all the pleasure I know she’s capable of providing.
I’ll make peace with the devil afterward.
“Or maybe I am concussed and deciding to go out with you was a terrible idea.” Aurora shrugs.
My mouth twitches and, fuck it , I give her my thousand-watt smile. “Guess we’ll find out, sweetheart.”
She gasps as I toss my keys to the valet.
It was a terrible idea.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
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“H OW DID YOU get a table here in one day?” Aurora plays with her napkin after the server leaves us.
“Connections.”
Killian has a chain of Michelin Star restaurants—he’s a famous chef—so he knows the owner. I had him send a message after Maya orgasmed for a third time last night. When I woke up this morning, the booking was confirmed.
It’s interesting that she picked up on that.
I know Aurora is a native New Yorker, yet she seems to be such a dichotomy. Her mother has— had —money and yet Aurora lives in one of the cheaper areas in the city. On the other hand, she knows how impressive it is to get a table at Kai.
It is.
It’s booked three months in advance.
Color me intrigued.
Which is a nuisance. Aurora might be beautiful, but I’m usually immune to that. After all, New York is full of gorgeous women. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck them all.
I probably do.
Yet, I won’t fuck her.
Probably.
What I hadn’t planned on was the little redhead being so witty and interesting. This would all be much easier if she was as boring as paint drying, like I predicted she’d be.
After all, she’s done nothing with her life. An art degree from Columbia University is great, but she’s done nothing with it. Unless you consider working as a merchandiser in a big brand fashion retail nailing it.
I don’t.
No wonder she’s living in Hell’s Kitchen.
At a guess, fucking up little children’s lives pays well, but not enough to share with her daughter. Or maybe she had a shred of conscience and didn’t want to taint her daughter.
Or Aurora could be taking over the business and not drawing attention to herself.
Stranger things take place in this fucked-up world.
“Very fancy.” She gazes around the award-winning restaurant and picks up the menu.
She thinks I did it to impress her.
Did I?
I didn’t. I like the food plus it’s all part of the web I’m weaving to trap her so I can get what I need.
Women like wealthy and successful men. I read once it’s less about being a gold digger and more an unconscious and biological attraction. They want a healthy man with strong sperm who can provide for them and their resulting offspring.
Survival at its core.
Makes sense.
Unfortunately for the women in America, I have no intention of getting anyone pregnant and continuing our demented bloodline. My own desires, while mostly programmed from being groomed, are fucked up enough without throwing in my father’s genes.
The world does not need any more little Stone’s running around this planet.
I’m planning to have the nip and tuck downstairs to make sure it doesn’t accidentally happen. I would’ve done it sooner if it wasn’t for the nightmares I have about someone with a knife near my cock.
Ugh. Jesus.
I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Aurora asks, her gaze shooting up.
Right to the core of my soul, sweetheart.
“Hungry,” I reply and lift the corner of my own menu. “I’m having the Wagyu Beef Tataki. You?”
It’s a three-figure dish, so she blinks and glances back at the menu.
“I’ll have the cod.”
Predictable. If there had been a chicken salad, I bet she would’ve ordered that. Maybe she is boring after all. I hope so. I can push past a hot set of tits, but an intelligent woman who is quick and can banter as good as the guys? Well, that could be a problem.
I’m here to break her, and I might feel bad if I like her.
I snort.
I won’t.
Not with what I lived through while she was upstairs playing with her fucking Barbie dolls or whatever. But I’m proud of myself for considering that I could be for a second.
Hey, maybe the therapy did help after all.
I order for us, along with a bottle of wine, and settle back in the chair, studying the annoyingly pretty redhead. Then something occurs to me.
“Did you get your hair from your mother?” I sip the glass of water in front of me.
Aurora’s cheeks heat.
Her skin is cream, void of the usual freckles common with redheads, but she does seem to blush a lot. I like that I have that effect on her. My eyes drift over her flushed decolletage, remembering my fantasy about tit fucking her and my cock thickens.
Stop it, goddamn it.
“No. Maybe. She had blonde hair and mine was lighter as a young child.”
I know.
“So maybe there are red genes in her family.” Aurora shrugs, looking uncomfortable with the simple question.
“You never asked?” My brows lower.
She swallows and picks up her water, taking a drink.
“You?”
“What?”
“Where did you get your hair?”
What?
“My standard boring black hair?”
“Well”—she points at my head with her glass—“it’s nice and curly.”
Aurora is either hiding something, which I can’t fathom what, or she’s used up all her charm already. The rest of the night looks to be awkward and boring. I should be thrilled.
At least she has hot tits.
“Wavy at best. Where are these meals?” I glance around despite only just ordering. When my eyes land back on her, she’s fumbling with a fork.
“This was a mistake,” she says, still staring at her cutlery.
Shit. I need her to stay.
I need her to trust me.
“Surely I’m not that bad of a date.” I tilt my head, giving her an amused smile to lighten the mood.
“It’s not you, it’s—”
“Me? Ouch.” I clasp my chest dramatically. “Every man’s nightmare words.”
Aurora giggles. Then it abruptly disappears and she lets out a sigh, leaning forward as if she’s about to whisper some state secret.
What is going on here?
Does she have multiple personalities? Who would know? She’s Mary-Anne’s daughter after all.
“Parker, why am I here? I know I’m not your type. Hell, my dress is from a Macy’s sale and I think these heels were from Nordstrom Rack. The last discount clearance.”
I don’t know what that means.
But the insecurity lining her face bothers me. It shouldn’t, and yet I find myself wanting to reassure her that I don’t care about her fucking shoes. I will buy her fifty pairs of shoes if she will smile like she did a moment ago.
She’s way too beautiful to think she isn’t my type. Who the fuck told her that?
Right now, I need her to relax, so we can get through dinner and I can take her utensils for DNA testing.
I reach and tuck a lock of hair over her ear.
“Well, if we’re being honest, I’m less interested in your dress than I am in what’s underneath it, Aurora Whitlock.”
Her cheeks flame once more.
“I’m a sexual man. You’re a very sexy woman. Is there anything wrong with that?” I rasp, all humor gone, as I gaze deeply into her emerald eyes.
A bolt of electricity shoots between us, almost forcing me back into my seat.
The hell is that?
When she licks her lips, unconsciously, and her eyes dilate richly, I don’t know whether to run or shove the table aside and carry her out caveman style.
Fortunately, she beats me to it and asks, “So is this a one-night stand?”
No. I’m not fucking you.
“This is dinner.”
Her blush deepens, showing her embarrassment.
“See, I’m not cut out for this. Most women would play along, go home with you, and then overthink it with her girlfriends.”
I almost laugh.
She’s not wrong, but once again, I find myself amused and intrigued by this unusual creature. Her lack of confidence is almost sexy, but it also annoys me somewhat.
Not that it matters. This is not a proper date.
She covers her insecurity with directness, likely a survival technique she’s adopted along the way.
I wonder why.
Then tell myself, I don’t need to.
All I need is access to her mother’s house.
“You aren’t most women, clearly,” I reply as our meals arrive. “Eat. Drink. Relax. Then I’ll drive you home like a gentleman. I simply wanted to get to know you.”
Aurora studies my face as if I’m going to break out in laughter and tell her I’m joking. After a long moment, she nods and picks up her fork. “Okay.”
I let out a silent sigh of relief.
Tomorrow, I’ll send off the utensil for testing and will be one step closer to having one question crossed off my list.
Are we related? Who was the little green-eyed girl watching me in my personal hell, then whisked away to her happy childhood?
Familiar hate sizzles underneath my skin as I lift my wine and watch her eat.
Hopefully, I won’t have to endure too many dates with this woman. Then she can pay for the sins of her mother.