CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
The KORT members with access use it judiciously. They don’t sell the service. It’s only utilized to remedy something directly interfering with KORT business or the safety of the members.
So, Lev Popov using it to sabotage restaurants of a nemesis means he bought that service from the asshole hunting for my sister and her family.
My security and I breeze through the passageways, until I make my way to a hidden entrance near the front desk. I take another turn, searching for Bernard. He generally expects me after my arbitration meetings, and his office is back here, not that he spends much time in it.
He rounds the corner, coffee in hand as he steps past me into his office. “Long day?”
“Is it written all over my face?” I chuckle, rubbing my forehead. “The last two pissed me off.”
“That should have been expected,” he drawls, setting his coffee on his desk and sauntering back toward me in the doorway. He arches a salt-and-pepper brow, heavy on the salt. “Did both parties survive meeting number four?”
“For now. They’re desperate enough to cease fire, and I’ll compose a plan this evening, so I suppose we’ll see.” I reach into my pocket and pass over the cigar. “Snatched you an extra.”
“Ahh. Gurkha Black Dragon.” He grins, gliding it beneath his nose. “I do love when he visits.”
“I know. And while you’re smoking that, I need you to dig into something for me. He’s using Makarov’s contact for the media conglomerate. He’s getting me the name.”
“Send it when you have it.” He wanders back to his desk, firing up his computer. “I’ll see what I can find.”
“Family dinner is in a half hour. Coming?” I ask.
He joins us for special occasions, but when I first started raising my siblings, he felt it was important that they viewed me as the guardian, not him.
He was a wise old soul even then, and he didn’t want to diminish my authority.
All these years later, he still struggles to see he’s as much a part of us as anyone.
“Not tonight.” His brown eyes rise to mine. “Enjoy yourself. You earned it.”
“Don’t work too late,” I call out as I leave, rushing back toward my office.
When I realize I only have about twenty minutes until my phone will be blowing up with texts for being late, I switch directions and double back to take a shortcut to the penthouse elevator through the lobby.
As I turn the corner past Bernard’s office, an airy gasp hits my ears, and I nearly crash into the most breathtaking sight.
“Hey,” Zara puffs out.
She’s dressed differently than she does for work—black leather pants, strappy heels, and a long-sleeved heather-gray cashmere shirt that dips to showcase the most provocative hint of cleavage.
Her hair is down in soft curls, framing her gorgeous face—sparkling emeralds, high pink cheekbones, plump, glossy lips.
Jesus.
Instinctively, I slide my hand over her back to steady her. I’m so enthralled by her beauty that it takes me at least fifteen seconds to question why she’d be over this way and how long she has been. We’re within earshot of Bernard’s office.
I drag her closer to me, inhaling her vanilla-and-cherry fragrance while I move my lips against her ear. “I keep finding you in compromising places, my deceitful little Thorn. First my office. Now here.”
Her chest heaves against me, her sweet breath cascading over my neck. “I told you I was in your office for my cherries.”
“And what brought you here?”
Her fingers crawl up my chest, clutching my lapels, like she wants to keep me close as she whispers her response. “Your voice.”
I scoop her up and carry her fifteen feet to be sure we stay hidden from Bernard and the front-desk staff, tucking us into an alcove behind a grand marble column. “My voice?”
She licks her lips and nods, her hooded gaze capering all over my face. “Yeah. I heard you, and I …”
She doesn’t finish, and it fucks with my head. She heard me, and what? Wanted to see me or was hoping to spy?
Every encounter with her makes things fuzzier. It’s imperative that I remain collected. That’s nearly impossible with her hands clamped on my suit and her curves pressed against me, especially after I heard her sultry moans and felt her grind into me the other day.
Unable to resist, I sweep my hand down her back, and she shivers. That simple tremble nearly unravels me.
Moving my mouth back to her ear, I permit myself one inhale of her sugary poison. “For your sake, I’m going to pretend you weren’t snooping or eavesdropping, but the next time I find you somewhere you shouldn’t be, I won’t be lenient.”
“I would hope not.” Her voice is a wisp of lust that shackles me to her, and her heart drums against my chest, hammering to the beat of my own.
She would hope not?
My brain shouts, Abort, but my body and mouth refuse. “Why is that?”
“If you thought there was a lesson I needed to learn, Mr. Noire, I’d want to learn it.” Her lips curl into a coy grin. “I admire your commitment to providing apt consequences and solutions.”
Adorable, but definitely fucking with me.
Using every morsel of self-control I possess, I release her with my command. “Go.”
She swallows, some sort of conflict shading her eyes before she steps around me. “Just remember, it was your idea for me to go.”
The manner in which she delivers that slices me open, and a thousand thoughts coast through my mind as she sashays toward the lobby.
My strides are long enough that it only takes three to catch up to her when I decide I have to vocalize at least one of my questions. “What are you doing tonight?”
She halts her jaunt, pivoting to study me. “Dinner.” Her eyes drag over my chest and waist and back to my face before she tacks on, “Do you have plans?”
If she was listening, she’d know I do, but her face gives nothing away.
“Yes.”
“Have a good night then.” She smiles and resumes her trek.
Jealousy consumes me until I’m nearly blind, my vision cloudy. Who is she having dinner with when she’s dressed so sexy?
I keep pace with her since the elevator is in this direction. “Is this the date you mentioned?”
A breathy laugh floats from those luscious lips. She says nothing until she passes the penthouse elevator, aware that I have no reason to follow beyond it. Then she spins and walks backward. “Well, I don’t think marriage will be suggested tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Still bitter about that, I see.
She turns back around, and as if she wants to fucking taunt me with both her delicious ass in those leather pants and her duplicitous reasons for being here, she sings, “Enjoy your family dinner, Papa Axe.”