Chapter 6
Connor Pen
Frustration taints my every move. Every thought unlucky enough to cross my mind endures a thorough heaping of cynicism. I regret letting my warrior queen set the pace.
An entire work week of pure professionalism—without a single moment of stolen intimacy between us—has my teeth on edge.
If I were a lesser man, I’d give in to fidgeting, but after years of training with my uncles, I refuse to allow my body to give away such a massive tell.
Even in the company I built from scratch, I’m not safe.
Anyone except for Hilary could be a potential spy, whether a regular business rival or the targets of my revenge.
I can’t let down my guard no matter how thick my impatience.
Which makes my prolonged studying of Hilary through the security feed on my computer screen throughout the week abhorrent slips of judgment.
I shouldn’t have taken so long to notice her moments of stillness as her zoning out in worry.
When I finally realized the depths of her troubles couldn’t all stem from me, I contacted the only professional I trust to dig into her daily life.
With my uncles as retired as they’ll ever be, I won’t deny using their skills and associates to get where I am today.
The meticulously secretive and highly sought after personal investigator I called served alongside my uncles, although he seems closer to my age than theirs, so I’m not sure how their time overlapped, but he’s never failed me before.
He came through again. I’ll use the information he provided to my advantage.
Hilary’s heart matches her body: big and much too generous once she lets you in.
Of the four pitiable kids she vowed to always protect in her youth, one disappeared, two live with her now, and the other receives topnotch care in one of New York City’s best live-in care facilities.
She calls them her siblings, but despite my digging, I can’t find a blood relation between any of them, which means her charity comes purely from her big, beautiful, fierce heart.
It would be an asset if it wasn’t such an obvious target.
As of now, the girl in the hospital needs a rather large lump sum for experimental medicines.
If I must blackmail my warrior goddess to have her take her rightful place by my side, then I will. I’ll do anything to have her. She’s mine.
Once she’s firmly in my grasp and warming my sheets, I’ll make sure no one else can use her weaknesses against her.
She’s mine to exploit. Only mine.
Her worry for her so-called sister may distract her in quiet moments, but she performed perfectly this week. All throughout the long work days, during grueling negotiations, and even after hours, she maintained a calm, capable air about her.
She also kept my office door open every time she entered. We spent every meal this week—sans breakfasts—with clients, board members, or investors. Late nights were never just the two of us.
She single-handedly ensured I never had a chance to touch her. Not even the brushing of hands as she passed me paperwork or coffee.
Whoever taught my gladiator goddess to protect herself so well should be shot.
I’ll gladly take a bullet to have her in my arms. She’s pure perfection.
I swallow my hunger and lean back in my chair as she strides into my office. Despite the setting sun outside my floor-to-ceiling windows, she looks as fresh and composed as she did when she arrived before the sun rose.
She’s taunting me in ways I never thought possible.
I prop my elbows on my armrests and steeple my fingers in front of me.
With my coat on the back of my chair, my tie hanging on the coat rack, my sleeves rolled, and the first few buttons of my shirt undone, the movement bares my forearms and highlights my exposed throat.
Interest glints in her eyes when she glances down at me, but she hides it behind a cool facade as she moves to the front of my desk and slips a few black folders under the stack in the corner.
“Those can wait until Monday. I made the changes you requested for next week’s schedule, confirmed the new appointments, and made sure everything is in order for Monday,” she says.
I weave my fingers together and enjoy her struggle. She gives in to temptation and glances down at my body. I long to fulfill the yearning in her gaze but refuse to go back on my word.
We will take this at her pace. If that means making her think my pace is hers through underhanded means, then so be it. I will not use physical force against her.
We’ve both seen enough of that in our lives.
“When was the last time you checked your personal email?” I ask.
She blinks and lifts her eyes to mine. My cock throbs as I study the blush darkening her complexion.
“A little over two hours ago,” she responds.
“And you’re busy tomorrow and Sunday?” I string her along, boxing her in to further my plan.
“I am, yes.”
“Good, then you’ll come with me this evening,” I declare.
“Mr. Pen, I—”
“Check your email,” I interrupt.
She grits her teeth and pulls her phone out of her inner breast pocket. My mouth waters at the glimpse of her cleavage. I dream of slipping my hands under her loose blouse, unsnapping the front closure of her bra, and devouring her breasts through the silky fabric of her bra.
I might disgrace myself hearing her throaty moans, but it would be worth it to pleasure her again.
She shifts her attention to her phone, and after swiping the screen a few times—no doubt deleting unimportant emails—she lifts it closer to her face and narrows her focus as she reads the message sent by Brennan Diamond’s wedding coordinator.
The email contains, in bold, a notification saying the bridesmaid dresses and groomsmen suits are ready for the first fitting before listing the finalized reception and after-party dress code, which are ridiculously specific.
I already took notes on how to make my wedding with Hilary more lavish through these small decisions.
Despite her stoic expression, the faint changes in her eyes relay her emotions. Betrayal by a friend, no matter how unintended or minuscule it may be, is still a betrayal.
I elect to keep my hands to myself until we’re someplace out of the office and alone.
“To clarify,” she begins before looking up and pinning me with fierce brown orbs, “by ‘coming with you tonight,’ you mean a visit to the bridal shop, correct? Nothing else?”
I unlink my fingers and unroll my sleeves as I speak.
“What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t also feed my employee after monopolizing so much of her time?” I say with mock self-reproach.
“No. No dinner,” she demands.
I give her a pointed look before leaning forward and taking my suit coat from the back of my chair.
“Then would you prefer to go as friends?”
She chokes trying to cover her scoff-laugh.
“No, sir. Absolutely not,” she says after regaining her composure.
I rise and shrug into my coat.
“Then let your boss treat you to dinner,” I say.
“If you insist, Mr. Pen,” she fake capitulates.
Fucking hell, my impertinent goddess is overdue for a good dicking down. Her sass levels have reached the stratosphere.
I remain on my best behavior all through dinner. We eat in tense silence. Every time she opens her mouth to take a bite, my cock jerks in delight. When she swallows, my fingers itch to wrap around her throat. Her lips closing around her fork clamps a vice around my balls.
With sexual frustration at an all time high, I don’t dare follow her when she excuses herself to the powder room.
I text the boutique while she’s gone and ensure only one changing room—with appropriate dividers so she can’t deny me—is prepared for the two of us. The arrangement isn’t much different from previous joint visits to high-end clothing stores for galas and such.
When Hilary returns, she roams skeptical eyes over me. I hide my smirk behind my drink as I read equal portions of disappointment and relief in her gaze.
Part of her expected me to corner her in the bathroom or hall, and now that I didn’t, she isn’t sure how to react.
After paying the bill and ushering her into my car, I pull away from the valet station and weave through the traffic in silence. Hilary keeps her attention out the passenger window. I allow her the moment of relative peace, but my senses sharpen as we near the boutique.
She stiffens when the attendant leads us both to the same room but does not balk after taking in the partitions. I thank the woman, close the door behind her, and turn toward Hilary.
She eyes the door, confirms it is not locked, then drops her purse on the coffee table before gliding across the room. She snatches her bridesmaid dress off the wall hook as she passes the small stage and mirror set up before disappearing behind the partition near the rack of dresses.
My cock throbs and tests the seam of my trousers, but I stride behind my partition and strip. Painfully aware of her every move, I struggle with fitting my hard shaft into the new pants as she removes her clothes.
The groomsman suit fits me well, as expected by the tailor they custom ordered from, but I stalk to the stage and study myself in the three-sixty mirror.
Hilary emerges from behind her partition. Lust roars through me. The strapless gown hugs her curves and creates a perfect hourglass figure while pushing her breasts up and flooding my mouth with saliva at her delectable cleavage.
I step off the stage and offer her my hand. She gives me a wary once-over before accepting.
I page the attendant. She bustles in and gushes over our outfits until the tailor’s aid arrives.
When he openly flirts with me and gets a little handsy while checking my fit, Hilary saunters over to the rack of dresses and knocks the most expensive one onto the floor. His and the attendant’s gasps ring throughout the entire boutique.