Chapter Six
Elliot
“ O h, hell no.”
I glare at my phone. At the pictures on it that come with the stupid alert.
Double hell and double no and everything else.
Of course, the very hot, the very sexy, the very beautiful man whore that is Ryder Sinclair would revisit the scene of the crime. I’d just stupidly hoped he’d take longer than a handful of hours after I’d left him.
I’d given him the instructions on how to dress. I’d told him not to get into trouble, especially after the article over the woman claiming to be his secret lover, and now this?
Here I am, working late into the hours of the morning, putting too much time and effort into his contract, knowing one month isn’t that long, and he does this.
I close my eyes as something hot and white and shameful streaks through me.
Yeah, I’ve also been sitting here, thinking about that sensuous mouth of his, those lips on me, those hands, his tongue on my skin.
Thinking might be too formal a word.
I’m an idiot.
That bullshit aside, the asshole’s actively sabotaging this.
Fury, dark and sharp edged sweeps through me and I shove my notes into my bag, feet into the lime green running shoes I wear whenever I attempt such a thing, but usually just to jog down to the corner store in the middle of the night when I realize I need food, grab my coat, and head out the door.
I’m about to be that gorgeous, sexy, man whore’s reckoning.
It takes him a while to answer his door.
For a long moment, he stares at me and I stare back, unable to breathe.
I’m pretty sure we’re staring at each other for entirely different reasons.
He’s staring at me out of surprise and sleep and probably a nugget of guilt if he’s capable of such things.
And me?
Lust. Pure lust.
He’s clad only in a pair of boxer shorts in black and he looks better than I could have imagined. Better than I thought.
Those long, lean muscular legs, narrow hips—I’m not even going to let myself focus on the substantial bulge of his junk, because hey, maybe he’s a shower not a grower, but I doubt it—the washboard abs and broad chest. And on his arm is the tattoo that winds, a vine with thorns and intricate skeletons and flowers up his flesh from above the wrist to where it seems to disappear over his shoulder.
That’s all I see, because he pulls on a sweater that’s in his other hand and crosses his arms over his chest as the sleep disappears and annoyed curiosity remains.
“What are you doing here, and how did you find me?” he asks.
“I was here this morning, idiot,” I say, not bothering to hide the bite in my voice as I look about the vast foyer that I can see beyond him. “Where is she?”
“Who?”
I narrow my eyes and hit him with my stare. “I don’t have time for games, Ryder.”
“I don’t have time for banshees turning up at ungodly hours like some forgotten wife.”
“Where is she? The photos are everywhere.”
He doesn’t look surprised. Why would he? He was there.
Ryder sighs. “I’m alone.”
“That was fast.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “I’ll ignore the insult, Elliot. On account of the hour at hand. And no one other than you has been here, okay?”
“I’m meant to believe that?”
Ryder grabs my arm, and even through the coat I’m wearing, I can feel the heat of him, the bite of his touch, an awareness as he drags me in and kicks the heavy metal door shut. He lets me go and locks it. “No need to entertain half of New York.”
“Any more than you already have.”
He just looks at me and turns, striding off down the open space of the foyer before turning right into what must be his living room. I follow.
The old industrial space is open with cleverly placed half walls and glass to section it while keeping the openness. The metal and exposed beams are a nod to its previous life, but everything in here is beautifully thought out and placed.
He has the money for the best decorators around.
There’s a wide, winding staircase leading up to the next level, but he ignores that and gestures to a mid-Century sofa in red.
“I didn’t do anything, okay?”
“Photographic evidence seems to prove otherwise.” I hold up my phone. “As I said, the photos are everywhere. And Red Light? Really? It’s a high-end meat market in the aptly named district.”
“It’s also a bar where people go for drinks.”
“Celebrities, the rich.” I glare and he glares back. “The kind of rich you’re trying to pretend not to be.”
“I went out for a fucking drink with a friend.”
“Who’s married.”
“I’m not sure that’s the real situation with Lacey and whatever his name is, but that’s not my problem.” He stops, marches over to a wet bar, pours a drink, looks at it, and then at me. “Okay, it’s my problem, but I didn’t do anything.”
“And yet you chose there for a meet up.”
“Not,” he says, stalking back to the middle of the room, leaving the drink behind, “with her. A friend. Male. College friend who wanted to meet up, talk about a deal I’m not interested in. Not after I heard it.”
“Offices. Daylight. Lunch. You know, the things I set out for you.”
“I’m not your performing monkey.”
“You hired me so I could make you into what you’re not.” I look at the photo on my phone of the passionate make out. His hands are on her face and it says they’re about to get down and dirty right there. “I ask again, what’s this?”
He jabs a finger at my phone. “That is me trying to get her off me. She stuck her tongue in my mouth, not the other way around.”
“You—”
“And if you look, I’m stopping it. I’m pushing her away, not pulling her into me. I didn’t enjoy it. I didn’t ask for it. I stopped it. Immediately. Jesus.” He gives me a disgusted look. “I don’t like being mauled against my will.”
“No one does.”
Ryder nods. “That was her, not me. and she bought the fucking cameras. I’m innocent here.”
And weirdly, I believe him. He looks so pissed off and out of sorts that I believe him. I’m most definitely a fool. Because only a fool would do that. By his own admission, he’s a fuck up in this department. He hired me, not the other way around and here I am, trying not to ogle all that glorious man flesh that’s suddenly very personal and keep an even and objective head about me.
Just because he’s charming and has a smile that does things to a female, or eyes that can make a polar ice cap melt, doesn’t mean he’s innocent. At all.
And it makes everything way more difficult.
I breathe out, trying to find room to think.
“You just made my job harder,” I say.
“How?”
“By being…you. This is totally you, not caring about anyone else, by just wanting to have a good time. For enjoying it.”
“So I make your job harder for liking to have a good time—which I wasn’t by the way—and enjoying women, which is something I’ll always enjoy, Elliot.”
“No,” I answer, clear and concise, “because you flagrantly went and flouted my rules and guidelines. You deliberately went to a place where the paps love to go. Where celebs love to go. You went there because you knew it would cause a stir.”
“Bullshit.” He shoves his too-long, softly curling, sleep tousled hair back. “Why would I go and sabotage something I actively want?”
“You just told me how much you enjoy women.”
“I do. But I didn’t plan that.”
“Maybe,” I say, “You did.”
“And why would I do that?” His voice has turned dark and low and deadly, and it’s as electrifying as it is thrilling.
“I don’t know. Maybe this is how you get your rocks off.”
“I’m telling you, I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t ask her there. And I didn’t plan anything.”
“And?”
“ And ? Do you believe me?
“Not on your life, fuck boy.”
His eyes narrow, then glitter with intent, like a hunter who’s just spotted his prey. I swallow and back away.
He follows. “Damned either way with you, is that it?”
I’m playing with fire. I know that, and I can’t stop. “You were born damned. Give me one reason why I should believe you.”
“Because, Elliot, I don’t operate that way.”
“What way?”
“The forceful way. The whatever way you think I do. Like luring a woman I’m keeping away from to meet me and attacking her in public. In front of the cameras. If I wanted her, she’d be here and you wouldn’t know it. If I wanted a woman, I don’t need to go that route.”
“Oh, you have super powers, is that it?”
“No. I’m just very good at seduction.” Suddenly he smiles and the charm is focused in on me.
Right now, I’m looking like a…what did he say? A banshee. I’m in lime green running shoes, Godzilla pajama pants and an oversize pastel pink Sparkle Warrior Princess T-shirt, courtesy of my niece. In short, I look a fright, and he’s looking at me like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen and I don’t care it’s a game, I don’t care about anything but that look and the man who owns it.
I’m in his sights, and he comes toward me, slow and deliberate. The air crackles. He’s so close, so close I can see the shots of copper striations in his melting chocolate eyes. Flame is there, too, as he caresses me with his gaze and it licks inside me, slow and sensuous.
Ryder slides that gaze slowly over my face to linger on my mouth. My breath is uneven, and every slam of my heart is pure and unadulterated need for him.
He leans in, fingers touching me, setting me alight. It’s not high combustion. This is more insidious, this setting alight. It’s soft and warm and a different kind of flame.
I’m singing where he draws a path, and that gorgeous mouth comes in close, like he wants to kiss me.
“Elliot…”
The soft sound of my name does indecent things to me. And the longing and promises there make my sex throb.
My eyes flutter shut and his breath heats along my skin to my ear. “You think I need to get all forceful in public? And do you think, if I was messing with someone else, I’d hit on you like this? Or do you think I need to lie?”
I snap out of it at his word. I glare at him. “You’d never hit on me.”
“Then,” he says, keeping that same soft and seductive tone, “what was that?”
“You teaching me a lesson.”
I suck in air and twist away, digging in my bag for my notebook and pen. I almost forgot it was there, on my shoulder.
“Why do you think I wouldn’t hit on you?”
“Have you seen me?”
“I’m pretty fucking sure I’m looking at you right now.”
I perch on the red sofa. “Let’s say I believe you—”
“No. Why do you think I wouldn’t? I like women.”
“You like certain women.”
He smiles but there’s a curiosity in his gaze and that heat and smoke and fire is shut away. “I’m equal opportunity when it comes to females.”
I don’t know what that means and so I just repeat, “You were teaching me a lesson. Consider it made. Now, can we do some triage here? I’d like to get to sleep.”
“Yeah, okay.” But I get the feeling he doesn’t want to let go of the conversation, and he’s not going to forget it. Does the man need to conquer every woman? Damn him.
Ryder takes the seat opposite. It’s a black matching chair to the sofa and I smooth the notebook open and don’t look at him. It seems safe that way.
I start making notes as I talk. “One of the things I need you to be aware of is body language, word choices, tone—”
“That’s more than one.”
“You need to do this when you think no one is looking, because someone always is. And alone with someone you don’t know well means no witnesses.”
I’m going to have a full day tomorrow handling the fall out and twisting it to what we need. But two things so close together can work in my favor. No one’s accusing him of anything untoward, it’s more coattail riding, and I can deal with that.
“Yeah, tell me something new.”
“I’m telling you because I have to keep drumming it in, Ryder. You need to play nice, and you also need not to play with anyone of the female persuasion.”
“I’m not.”
A part of me wants to mention yours truly, but I stop myself. I need to get out of here, and I have an idea forming. I stand. “Okay. I’m going to make some calls first thing, and you are going to go about your day in your boring suit. You have an event tomorrow, right?”
He stands, too. “Yes.”
“Good.” I pack everything up. “You owe me more money.”
“You’re already getting a small fortune.” He doesn’t seem particularly bothered.
“Now it’s going to be a bigger one.” I nod at him. “The event?”
“What about it?”
“Send me all the relevant details.” I smile. “Be prepared.”
“Why does that sound ominous?”
“It isn’t,” I say. “You’ll be meeting your new life partner for the next four weeks.”