Chapter 6 #2
My warrior queen apologizes and simpers but captures the aid’s eyes and gives the accessory shelves a pointed look when she thinks no one is watching. He fixes himself and stops with the extra touching as he finishes checking my fit.
I stand watch as he focuses on Hilary. He may prefer men, but the rumor mill—and my research—claim he also enjoys being a third wheel. He’s taken more than one couple in his spare time before. There’s nothing wrong with that, except for the fact Hilary is mine and I’m hers. I will not share.
Ever.
He thanks us for our time and scampers away as fast as possible. The attendant asks if we need anything, but I usher Hilary out and shut the door behind us before she can speak.
My gladiator goddess retreats behind the partition before I turn around. I twist the lock just slow enough to avoid a sound then grab a potential suit for the reception and head to my corner to strip.
Hilary’s low curse lifts my lips into a wicked curse.
She can’t unzip her dress by herself, not with the pins catching on the zipper halfway down.
After pulling the suit pants up my legs and the undershirt over my head, I step out from behind my partition without tucking in or zipping up.
Hilary bumps the wall with her elbow and hisses in pain. I step around her partition and slip my hands onto her shoulders. She freezes like prey caught in a trap.
I guide her arms to her sides before working the zipper down to the small of her back. Unable to resist, I brush my knuckles against her smooth flesh. Goosebumps rise on her arms.
She shifts her weight, but I growl.
“Be still. I’m not done yet.”
She vibrates in fury. I slip my hand inside her dress and hold the fabric together as I lower the zipper the last few inches. The warmth of her skin sinks into my hand, and I can’t resist.
I hook my finger over the zipper—holding her in place and teasing the waistband of her panties—and flatten my palm against her spine. My long digits cover most of her exposed back. I trace her ribs around her side and forget how to breathe as I caress the outer swell of her breast.
She stomps on my toes. With both of us barefoot, pain blasts through my toes and up my shin.
I curse but steal a kiss to her nape before retreating.
“If you leave before choosing your reception and after-party dresses, I won’t pay for them,” I challenge as I return to my corner.
Her silence pulses with anger. I revel in her attention, no matter how negative it may be, as I finish donning the suit.
When I step out into the main room, Hilary spares me a withering glare before turning her attention back to the shoe display. I wait until she makes her selection then scoop her off her feet and sit her on the couch.
She swats my arms away, but I lift her ankle and slip her foot into the glittery high heel before she can run away. I repeat the process with her other ankle and swallow my disappointment when she hops off the couch and puts several strides between us.
I rise and cross my arms over my chest.
With her purse on the coffee table behind me and the door locked, she won’t escape before I catch her.
Although the cat-and-mouse game would fulfill a sick and twisted animalistic side of me, I crave a deeper relationship with her. I quirk a brow and lean toward her. Despite the distance between us, she leans back.
“Dinner is over. It’s the weekend, Hilary. We’re no longer employer and employee,” I say.
“Mr. Pen, we will only ever be boss and personal assistant. Nothing else,” she quips.
Her spin in the sexy heels is impressive, but I reach out, grab her nape, and twirl her against me. She gasps and presses her fists against my sides.
“Say my name,” I demand.
“No.” She shoves. I growl and tighten my arms around her.
“My name, Hilary.”
“Let go of me,” she demands.
“Not until I get what I want,” I snarl.
She fights. I hold her right where I want her. Her tight, feminine body wriggling against mine thrusts me into the heights of pleasure. I bite my release back by sheer force of will. She grunts in frustration.
“What’re you doing? This is—”
“Nothing compared to what I want to do to you,” I groan. “Keep testing my restraint and you’ll end up bent over that couch or pressed up against that mirror or—”
“Stop, Connor. Now,” she shudders.
Despite the tension in her body, her breathy voice gives away her arousal. I drop my forehead to hers and breathe in her delicious raspberry and vanilla scent. The addition of her warm, feminine honey scrambles my brain and loosens my tongue.
“Do you believe in love at first sight?”
I can’t help the cynicism in my tone despite the seriousness in my soul.
She scoffs.
I dig my fingertips into her nape and lean down to skim my nose along her jawline. Her breasts shift against me as her breath stutters.
“I knew from the first moment I laid eyes on you that we were meant to be together. You captivated me in a way no one else has ever dared. I swore I’d make you mine,” I murmur.
She stiffens and pushes against my sides.
“You ruined that chance when you—”
“I have you in my arms right now, Hilary.” I tighten my grip, enforcing my control, and brush my lips over the shell of her ear. “I don’t need a chance. You’re already mine.”
Fury vibrates through her from her head to her toes.
“Excuse me? I’m not a possession to own.”
“You’re right, you’re not a thing. You’re a gladiator goddess.
” I nip her earlobe. “A warrior queen.” I nibble down the side of her throat.
“My warrior queen.” I mock bite the sensitive juncture of her shoulder and neck where her pulse pounds.
“Be mine. All mine. Only mine,” I growl against her collarbone.
Her nipples draw points on my chest. I tilt my hips and shudder at the feel of her belly against my hard cock.
“Let me take care of you. I can solve all your problems,” I coax with a flick of my tongue up the front of her throat.
“My problems?” she breathes.
“You need money, right? I—”
Agony races up my leg before white-hot pain blasts across my cheek. I stand with my arms empty and my head whipped to the side as I work through my shock.
My gladiator goddess kicked me in the shin and slapped me across the face. Hard. From the height of pleasure to the low of shame, I silently curse my lack of finesse as my words echo in my ears.
I fucked up. I insulted her. Terribly.
I don’t know how I’m going to fix this, but I will. Somehow.
Hilary Winthrop is every bit the warrior queen I need to survive the trials ahead.