Chapter 21 #2
“I know you said you had dinner plans, but can I tempt you to change them and go for a drink with me instead?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Tomorrow, then?” I stare at him, waiting for him to stop dancing around this so I can shut it down completely. “I’m in the city for a few days and won’t be back until the gala. I was thinking—”
“What?”
“Come on, Shannen, you know I’m interested in getting to know you better.”
“I’m sorry, James, but I don’t mix business with pleasure, ever. Even if I did, I have a boyfriend, so if there’s any intention on your part beyond this redesign, it’s best you know right now that I’m not available.”
“How serious is it?”
The fucking audacity.
“Very.”
“Okay, I understand. And whoever he is, I hope he knows he’s a lucky man.”
“Thank you, but I do need to wrap this up.”
“Got it. Message received.”
Except it doesn’t feel received. It feels like my words just bounced off his thick skull and landed in selective-hearing dickhead ears that only process what they want to hear.
“I’ll get going. I’ve taken up most of your day.” He reaches for his jacket and slides his arms into it. “I’ll see you at the gala in a couple of weeks, still?”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it…”
“Shannen.” He turns to face me fully. “There will be so many people there who’d like to meet the woman behind the biggest change our hotels have seen since they were first built.”
“I’m not interested in getting credit in that way. I’m happy just doing the work.”
“Please… It’ll mean a lot to my family, and I’m sure they’ll have questions about it that I’d never be able to answer.”
I sigh, knowing I’m about to regret this. “Okay, sure. Can I bring someone?”
“Of course.” With one last nod, he moves toward the door, and as he passes me, he places his hand on my shoulder.
My entire body goes rigid.
God, I hope Phoenix didn’t see that.
My shoulder belongs to Phoenix.
It’s his favorite place to kiss and mark and bury his face when he’s inside me.
“Have a good evening, Shannen.”
“You too, James.”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I just wait for him to leave.
Finally, he walks out, and I hear his footsteps fade down the hallway.
I wait a few more minutes, making absolutely sure he’s gone, before stepping out of my office to talk to Betty.
Everyone else has already left for the day, and she’s just packing up her things when the elevator dings and my tall tattooed nightmare stalks toward us.
Betty’s face lights up, and I get it. She hasn’t seen me with anyone in years, and I know she’s happy that I’m happy.
“Hello again.”
“It’s nice to see you, Betty.”
He won’t look at me.
He’s pissed.
Betty claps her hands once, already backing away from us. “Okay, I guess I’m gonna head out. I’ll leave you two to finish up.” That curl of her lip tells me she’s enjoying this far too much. “I’ll see you in the morning, Shannen.”
“Thank you, Betty,” I answer, watching her step into the elevator.
I turn to face Phoenix, and he’s finally looking at me.
I know he’s felt out of control today. Watching me through a screen while another man invades my space is something Phoenix can no longer tolerate, and honestly, he shouldn’t have to now. But I feel his need to be close to me because no matter how angry he is, he’s still mine, and I’m still his.
“Ready to go?” I ask because the silence is getting way too loud.
“No.”
“No?” I echo.
“Get in your office. I wanna check something.”
“Check what?”
“Shannen… Turn your ass around, get back in your office, and sit in your fucking chair.”
He’s beyond asking at this point—his patience has fucked right off, along with his manners.
I take a deep breath and walk back to my desk, dropping into my chair. He closes my door behind us, then slowly walks toward me without saying a single word.
Phoenix grips the back of my chair and shoves it forward, the wheels protesting as I’m forced closer to the desk.
Before I can ask what the hell he’s doing, he crouches behind me, crowding my space, slapping his palm flat against the screen, his face right beside mine.
He turns his nose toward me and inhales deeply, like he’s trying to drag every last part of me into his lungs.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “That’s what I thought.”
“What?”
“The scent of your hair, your skin… you. Fuck, it’s enough to make a man lose his mind, and you know what?”
“What?”
“I had to watch that motherfucker smell you like that.”
“He didn’t—”
“Wrong, baby. I saw him, clear as fucking day.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know.” He inhales me again, rougher this time, his face pressing hard into my hair as one large tattooed hand leaves the screen and wraps around my throat. “Doesn’t make it easier. Doesn’t stop the thoughts.”
His grip around my throat tightens, the pressure just enough to make me lightheaded, while cold fingers slide inside my shirt and close around my nipple. I arch into his touch, every thought stripped down to nothing but this need for him to keep his hands on me.
“I wanted to smash his face into this desk and watch him try to scream through a mouthful of broken teeth.”
“Baby… he’s not worth it,” I manage, even as his thumb circles my nipple, rubbing back and forth.
“No, he’s not. But you are, and he’s getting bolder in how he moves around you.”
“I shut him down tonight… when he asked—”
“What did he ask?”
“Drinks.”
“He’s trying to take you, and I won’t let him.” He bites down on my ear, and his whole hand possessively grips my breast. “You’re mine. Not his. Never his.”
“Phoenix—”
“Let’s go.”
The whiplash is fucking brutal.
He steps back abruptly, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. I understand he’s spiraling right now, and I know this isn’t about me. It’s about whatever darkness is working its way through him.
Phoenix holds onto me almost too tight as we make our way to his bike, but when we get there, he won’t meet my eyes. He just thrusts the helmet toward me, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, like I’m not even here, before sliding on his own and swinging his leg over the bike.
I climb on behind him, settle in, and wrap my arms around his waist. But I don’t press in as close as I usually do.
I don’t curl around him the way I want to because this version of him puts me on edge.
It’s not fear, just confusion mixed with a tiny bit of arousal and a strong urge to slap some sense into him.
I don’t know what’s happening in his head right now. I just know James got too close, stepped into space that wasn’t his to take, and Phoenix felt every moment of it.
I want to fix it.
Fix him.
No.
Phoenix isn’t broken.
He doesn’t need fixing.
He’s exactly what he was built to be—fire, obsession, and the most beautiful chaos—and I’d never change a single piece of him. But what I do want is to make sure he knows he’s never alone in it.
Phoenix starts the engine, and the bike lurches forward before I can brace myself. I slam into his back, and he immediately grabs my arms, wrapping them around his body like he’s daring me to keep my distance again.
He takes off, and I’m clinging on tight, feeling his body through his hoodie.
My hands start to drift, slow at first, then lower, my fingers grazing the tops of his thighs.
I feel him tense beneath my touch, and that’s all it takes for my mind to flip from zero to full-blown whore in under four seconds, because now all I want is for him to get us home so he can take every bit of that pent-up anger and unleash it on my body.
The vibrations aren’t helping, or maybe they are. Either way, they’re not doing a damn thing to calm the heat simmering low in my stomach.
I palm him over his sweats, and he’s rock fucking hard.
That’s mine.
He’s mine.
I don’t care if I’m distracting him.
I don’t care if it’s reckless.
I want him.
I want him to want me the way I’m burning for him right now.
He doesn’t speak. He just floors it, like getting us home faster is the only thing stopping him from pulling over to fuck me right here on his bike, with traffic still flying by.
By the time we make it back, I’m wrecked, starving for him in a way that feels like it might actually kill me if I don’t get my hands on him soon.
The elevator doors close, and the space between us is suffocating.
He backs against the wall immediately, one hand gripping the metal rail so hard his knuckles turn bone-white, the other hanging at his side in a fist. His jaw is clenched, that muscle ticking again, and his chest rises and falls too fast.
I stay on the opposite side, leaving what feels like miles between us, even though it’s only a few feet.
I watch him.
He watches me, his eyes so dark they’re almost black.
There are no words, just eye contact and rage and lust, all twisted together into this fucked-up need neither of us knows what to do with.
I take slow, cautious steps forward until I’m in front of him. Phoenix’s chin tips down, his eyes hooded, but he’s watching me closely.
“What can I do?” The words barely leave my lips before I’m kissing up his neck, my mouth brushing just beneath his jaw. My hands slip under his T-shirt, dragging upward, fingertips skating across the ridges of his stomach and every hard line of muscle in his chest, as the elevator hums around us.
I push his shirt higher, lifting it inch by inch, letting my lips trace his warm skin and my tongue drag across his ink.
His head falls back, hitting the wall with a dull thud, his breathing turning ragged with every press of my mouth.
When I glance up, I see his eyes roll back before closing, as if he’s holding on by a thread that’s about to snap.
Then he loses it. His hands fist my hair, red strands weaving through his fingers, pulling my head back just enough to crash his mouth to mine.
He devours me, consumes every part of me he can reach, and takes and takes like it’s the only way he knows how to breathe. Whatever he’s battling in his head, he needs to feel his way back to himself through the way he touches me.
The elevator stops, and the doors open. We stumble out, kissing all the way down the hallway, his hands everywhere—my waist, my hips, tangling in my hair again.
I’m walking backward, pulling him with me, barely managing the keys and locks, and my fingers shake as metal scrapes against metal.
The door finally gives, and when I push him back against it, the slam echoes through the apartment.
“Tell me what you need.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
His eyes drift upward, storm-dark and glassy as the silence stretches between us.
“Control,” he finally whispers, vulnerable as hell. “Take it.”
I slide my hands up to his face, forcing him to look at me. “I’ve got you.”
I shimmy out of my skirt while he tears my shirt over my head, leaving me in nothing but red lingerie. I take a step back, holding his gaze before turning and walking down the hall to my bedroom, dropping pieces of lace along the way like breadcrumbs, knowing he’s following.