Chapter 7
As Anastasia storms past me,I follow her lead. The way her heels clank against the old, creaky stairs makes her frustration all the more amusing. Writhing in agony? Clearly, this girl knows nothing of actual physical pain. That, or she’s just an expert at being dramatic. I can’t help but laugh as I replay her fiery outburst. It didn’t take much to get under her skin. Though, I’ve got to admit, I like how she let me have it rather than stewing in hurt feelings. The way her cheeks turn red when she’s angry. The way her brows furrow. The way she stands on her tiptoes and pokes her chest out as if to make herself seem bigger and scarier. I don’t even know if she realizes she does it. I look forward to more of her little outbursts right up until the moment she packs her bags and boards her private jet to somewhere other than here.
As my laughter ceases and I lift my head from its view of my feet, I collide with a blur of white, and no, I don’t mean Brinkley.
“Ah!” Anastasia screams, nearly falling as my face connects with the space between her thighs.
“Oh, shit!” I grip on to her to steady her, my hands sliding underneath the thin fabric of her skirt, making their way up her slender thighs all the way to her hips. Mmm, her skin is so soft. Is that caramel I smell? She leans forward then, resting her hand on my shoulder to regain her balance. The quick movement leaves her breasts hanging just above my lips. I’m so distracted, I barely notice Brinkley’s paw crashing into my neck. Instinctively, I run my tongue over my lips, as if preparing to devour her. Our eyes meet—one, two. Fresh saliva coats the inside of my mouth. Her lips part. Though perhaps more in shock than anything else.
As Brinkley fills my ear with a low growl, the trance of her piercing eyes is broken, and I find I still have my hands up her skirt.
“What the Hell is wrong with you?” she yells, pushing away from me with the same hand she just used to balance herself against me. As she does, Brinkley breaks into a symphony of high-pitched yaps. He does his best to compete with the muffled tunes of the music downstairs. I lower my hands to my sides in response. As I do, I realize how tightly I gripped her. I hope I didn’t leave any bruises.
“With me? You’re the one who stopped without a word. Trust me, if I could’ve avoided face-planting your vulva upon meeting you, I would’ve.”
“Vulva? Is your research of the female body that extensive that you feel the need to annoyingly identify the individual parts?” Her cheeks blush an even deeper shade of red as the words spew from her. This time I find it spreading down her neck and chest. Even her hands, which she waves dramatically as she speaks, are tinged pink. I like seeing her flustered, and as her protector, I like that she can’t hide her emotions from me. Her body gives her away too easily.
“Kind of,” I admit, shrugging my shoulders. At that, Anastasia appears to fight back a slew of insults as she presses her lips tightly together. She drops her free hand to her side, and lifts her eyes to the ceiling above us. As she does, Brinkley finishes up his verbal assault and finally shuts up. Though his beady little glare still remains relentlessly pointed at me. Trust me, the feeling is mutual.
I look between Brinkley and Anastasia as she calms herself down. I can sense her overwhelm, and even though that is precisely my goal here, that doesn’t extend to making her feel uncomfortable in a sexual sense. If she is a virgin, like her brother believes her to be, then she’s not used to having a man’s face anywhere near that part of her body or a man’s hands on her bare thighs. Maybe it’s too much for her.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say. “What just happened was a complete accident, and despite me not being thrilled about this arrangement, I’d never intentionally do anything to make you feel physically uncomfortable.” Okay, that’s a lie. “Well, at least, in the sexual sense. I’m an asshole but I’m not a predator.” Also a lie, but not in this context.
Anastasia looks at me then. Some of the redness in her complexion dissipates. “You were laughing at me. Though, suddenly, that seems less important.”
“I was laughing,” I admit. She nods, accepting my admission with no comment on how the unexpected encounter made her feel. How did it make me feel? I shake my head. It doesn’t matter.
Anastasia turns, once more continuing her trek up the stairs. Although, it’s only a moment before she suddenly stops again. “And what do you mean you’re not thrilled about this arrangement?” she asks, spinning toward me.
“Whoa, looking for a round two? You’ve got to give me some sort of warning when you’re going to pump the brakes.”
“Answer the question. This is your building. You can lease it to whomever you want. Why me, if you’re going to be such a prick about it?” At that, Anastasia cocks her hip, placing her hand on it. She’s a defiant little thing, isn’t she?
I lift my hand to the back of my neck, massaging away some of the tension there as I think of the best way to say this. I can’t mention Aidan or she’ll grow suspicious. Men as powerful as him rarely take meetings with low-level individuals like I’m supposed to be. They have people who do it for them.
“Your representative,” I say. “He was very insistent and persuasive that you have this unit. Offered me double the monthly fee just to make sure it went to you. You aren’t aware of the terms?” I ask, knowing damn well she’s not. One, because I gather Aidan didn’t consult her in the making of her arrangements and two, because I just made those terms up.
“Of course I am,” she says. As she lies, she loses her confident pose and moves her hand from her hip to Brinkley. Aha, another tell. “I just figured your attitude would be a little more pleasant given how much money I’m paying you. And, if double a month isn’t enough for a little decency, then I don’t understand why you’d accept.”
“Well, you’re not paying me for my pleasant demeanor, Anastasia. You’re paying me for the room upstairs. Now, are you ready to see it?”
As my words hit her, she purses her lips, but offers me nothing but a nod. Hmm, I bet she’s not used to being spoken to or treated this way. I’m sure men crumble at her feet, either because they’re being paid to or out of sheer admiration for her beauty. But I can’t be so easily enticed or bought like other men, no matter how good she looks walking away from me.
Anastasia turns then and stomps up the remaining few steps to her shop. I give her a large lead so as to avoid another encounter like the one before. Though all it accomplishes is giving me a perfect view of her as she storms away. The tiny muscles in her toned legs contract with each step she takes while the thin fabric of her skirt lifts and falls, creating movement around her ass that is all too mesmerizing. Yeah, Anastasia in a skirt is going to be a problem—for the men who work here, their clients. Hell, maybe even for me.
As Anastasia hooks a right, entering through the doorless entry to her unit, I take a deep breath and refocus on everything about her that is annoying, entitled, and pretentious. Not her soft skin. Not her sweet scent. Not her gorgeous hair, siren-like eyes, or plush lips just begging to be kissed. Not the way she speaks her mind, takes no bullshit, and is clearly unaware of how easy it would be for me to break her. And certainly not the way she looks in that skirt. Yeah, no, I’m not focused on that at all.
“Are you coming?” she says, reappearing at the top of the stairs, wearing a look of frustration I expect to see a lot.
“Yep, mm-hmm,” I say, jogging up the rest of the steps, meeting her in a matter of seconds.