Chapter 4
Connor Pen
The tease pretends not to know me even as she steals glances at me. Exasperation and exhilaration pulse in my balls at the challenge in her eyes.
I spoke the truth whether she agrees or not. Hilary Winthrop is mine. She has been for a long, long time, since even before our regrettable one-night stand, and she will continue to be mine and mine alone forever.
As she calls Penelope Miles, a short, skittish woman with dozens of piercings, to join her, I watch in growing envy. Her heartfelt hug, easy smile, and genuine concern belong to me. She’s mine. I don’t share.
With promises of retribution shining in my glare, I lift my glass of water to my lips and smirk when she steals a glance and accidentally meets my eyes over the rim.
She masks her reaction well, but I’ve spent my entire life studying her, so she can’t hide the slight tensing of her shoulders and the fluttering of her pulse in her jugular.
She wants me. I’ll have her as soon as she quits being stubborn. Although her stubbornness is one of the things I adore about her, I will have her in my arms and by my side for eternity.
I didn’t become successful overnight; I did so by working hard and being patient. Hilary deserves no less.
Brennan Diamond, the groom for today’s wedding rehearsal, strides down the hall with his fiancée cradled to his chest. My senses sharpen, but when Brook Simons—no, Brook Ricco now that she married Matteo Ricco—pops her head in and announces a reschedule for tomorrow, I force myself to downshift into my normal vigilance.
It may not be public knowledge—in fact, only those directly involved are aware—but Brook’s father, the previous mayor of New York City, fell from grace because of the information and proof I provided of his illegal dealings.
Well, not me directly, although as founder and CEO of the most trusted private-sector intelligence company in the United States, I played a major role behind the scenes.
I attended Matteo and Brook’s wedding not long ago. The tabloids called it the most lavish wedding of the decade.
Mine and Hilary’s will be bigger, better, and much more expensive.
Hilary stalks across the room. Her long legs mesmerize me. I long to feel her thighs squeezing my head as I feast on her pussy.
The aggression in her countenance shoves my lust onto the back burner. She stops in front of Sebastian Sterling—the founder of America’s top sports equipment company—and scolds him.
My hackles rise as he towers over her. He may be the largest man in the room, but he isn’t the deadliest.
I rise. His gaze flicks to mine at the movement. After rumbling a few words to Hilary, he tucks tail and runs.
Disappointment spears through me even as I step close enough to enjoy Hilary’s raspberry and vanilla perfume.
She turns and meets my stare with such precision, she gives away her awareness of me. With her lips curved in a polite smile and go fuck yourself shining from her eyes, she’s a splendid mix of feminine grace and cutthroat spitfire.
With her friends surrounding us, I resign myself to a mere verbal match instead of pulling her to me for a thorough and punishing kiss.
“Mr. Pen,” she says.
Her cool tone dares me to break the rules of propriety.
“Ms. Winthrop,” I return.
“It’s nice to see you here,” she lies.
I smirk. She swallows.
“And it’s always a pleasure to see you,” I admit.
Her lashes widen almost imperceptibly, and her breath gives the slightest hitch. She grits her teeth and quirks her lips in a saccharine smile before she speaks.
“I’d ask if there was anything I can help you with but—”
“There is. Let me drive you home.”
Her pupils shrink in indignation at my interruption.
“No, but thank you.”
I slip my hands into my trouser pockets and shift to a less threatening stance.
“I get that you two know each other,” the woman near Hilary’s right elbow, Karey Justice, interjects, “but we could cut this tension with a knife. If Hilary says no, she means no. Leave her alone.”
I force myself to spare Hilary’s friend a glance. As the most sought after professional matchmaker and dating coach in New York City, she’s the last one I expected to interfere, but I take comfort in knowing my woman has trustworthy people around her.
She’ll need as much protection as possible to survive the trials ahead.
“Then I’ll see you at tomorrow’s rehearsal, Ms. Winthrop. Excuse me, ladies,” I say.
I pull my hands out of my pockets and offer a slight bow as I back out of the circle they formed around me.
Despite their uneasy glancing at my backside, I stride to the group of groomsmen and exchange polite greetings even though I know each of their names and occupations already. I never attend an event without my due research, but this small group is easy to identify.
Brennan Diamond, the groom, selected everyone here.
His judge of character is usually spot on, so I don’t understand why he included me, except that I fit the basic criteria: successful self-made man with a future of continued growth.
He can’t know my true intentions, so I blend in as best I can and wait until a few minutes after Hilary leaves to follow her.
She owns every sidewalk her long legs eat up. I grit my teeth and ghost from shadow to shadow as every swinging dick cranes their neck as she passes. She truly is a goddess among mortals.
I yearn to worship her. She’s mine.
Only mine.
When she sneaks a glance over her shoulder, I curse my overeager cock and sidestep into the nearest alley. In my draw to be near her, I almost gave myself away.
She crosses the street and quickens her pace.
A drunkard stumbles down the front steps of a townhouse and knocks into her. With only the slightest break in her stride, she shoves him away and continues onward, using his own momentum to send him spinning and falling headfirst into the side of the car parallel parked on the curb.
Visceral delight sweeps through me.
With a strong build and curves to die for, Hilary Winthrop is a gladiator goddess. I’ll make her my queen.
My warrior queen.
She turns the corner without a backward glance.
I wait a few more seconds to ensure she is gone before emerging from the darkness and stalking after her.
The drunkard dares crawling back onto the sidewalk, so I kick his arms out from under him as I pass.
He faceplants onto the concrete with a satisfying smack. I continue after my gladiator goddess.
She pauses at the end of her block and studies both sides of the road before reaching into her purse and heading toward the front entrance of her building. Her high heels barely make a sound against the concrete as her deliciously long legs erase the distance.
Approval sweeps through me at her caution. Even though she now lives in a relatively safe neighborhood, I will not tolerate her putting herself in danger needlessly. She’s too important.
I need her.
Once she safely closes the door behind her, I lean against the side of the brick building across from hers, hiding under the darkened awning, and watch her check her mail before stepping onto the elevator.
A millisecond before the doors close, her gaze lands on me. I stiffen as her attention sharpens. An electric current zaps through me from the connection, and adrenaline floods my veins.
I stand as still as a statue, half expecting her to stomp off the elevator, cross the street, and slap me for being a creep, but when she doesn’t emerge after a few seconds, I relax. Warped disappointment infects my veins.
She couldn’t have recognized me through the glass and shadows, but I stay lounged against the wall for several minutes in case she stops to check from another window.
When enough time passes, I stand, fix my cufflinks, and stick to the dark patches of sidewalk while walking as though I belong to alleviate suspicion.
I hail a cab a few blocks away and have the driver drop me off at the bus stop nearest my townhouse. It may be the most unassuming home on the street, but that’s by design. I don’t need flash and pomp in my daily life; I need confidentiality and security—which only a private residence can offer.
I type in the gate code, ignore the short vibration of my phone as it notifies me of the intrusion, then ensure it closes behind me before walking past the path to the basement entrance and taking the steps to the front door.
After pressing my thumb to the pad and turning the handle, I step into the foyer and stand in the silence.
Only one other person has access to this space, but she schedules her visits around my absences and only for work-related issues.
I will have Hilary under my roof and in my bed soon. Anticipation jangles along my nerves, but I pour my attention on my surroundings. I may have installed a custom security system, but nothing is deadlier than letting down your guard or being unaware.
After a normal night of hell on earth, I shower, dress in all-black business casual, and change my jewelry to gunmetal grey pieces before swinging my duffel onto my shoulder and pocketing my keys.
I check my security notifications and spend a few moments studying my vehicle and the surrounding area before exiting the house and sliding into the driver’s seat.
The trip to the mountains takes less than two hours, but between the curvy roads, lush green vegetation, and quiet ambiance, it may as well be a different planet.
I stop at a tiny mom-and-pop convenience store, buy a pack of gum and two containers of beef jerky, use the small copper key I carry on my key ring to retrieve the one envelope in the mail slot at the tiny post office box at the front corner, shove everything into my duffel on the passenger seat, and turn onto a shoulderless two-lane drive a few minutes later.
The further away from society I drive, the taller the trees grow, until maple, birch, and oak dominate the sky, but the road remains clear and smooth despite the encroaching forest.