Chapter 4
Matteo Ricco
Amusement and lust throb through me as Brook darts into the bathroom.
With the feel of her long legs wrapped around my hips and her soft ass wriggling in my lap as she nibbled on my throat and ran her hands through my hair still fresh in my mind, I fight against the urge to follow her into the bathroom and demand she finish what she started, but her erratic behavior, slurred words, and vomiting make me think there was more to last night than alcohol.
The thought of her falling prey to another man when she was so vulnerable and desperate fills me with roaring fury.
No woman, not even conniving little liars like her, deserves to have their right to choose stripped from them.
I grab my phone off the charging station built into the coffee table and send a text to my personal assistant, Liam Brunswick.
He replies instantly despite the odd hour.
I slip my phone into my back pocket, trusting him to let me know once he’s retrieved the security footage from the restaurant and pause when the sound of rushing water sneaks out from under the bathroom door.
My body’s instant reaction shames me as I picture her naked in the shower, but after experiencing the little flirt’s hands and mouth all over my face, throat, and shoulders, I forgive my cock’s incessant throbbing. I ignore my disappointment as I realize I hear the sink and not the shower.
The black rectangle sitting on the white sheets catches my attention. I smirk in satisfaction and stride to the bed.
Brook Prescott has no idea what she just got herself into. She thought using her daddy’s money to disappear after graduation would save her from my retribution, but the little rabbit hopped right into my trap.
I tap the folder against my palm a few times as I anticipate her reaction to being my lackey. I can’t wait to see her expression when I order her to fetch my coffee, retrieve my dry cleaning, and complete the menial tasks usually reserved for interns.
Delight fizzles through me as I imagine her inept anger as she serves me.
The pride in her voice when she declared she was a lawyer was too easy a target to ignore when I drafted the vagueness of her job description.
All the money her parents spent on her fancy law degree will be wasted.
I’ll enjoy wielding every loophole to my advantage.
My mirth dissipates when I open the folder. Her signature lies stark on the page.
Brook Simons.
She has a different last name.
A block of ice settles in my stomach. I snarl and stalk across the room to her purse. If she’s married, she wasn’t wearing a ring—I’d know since she had her hands all over me—but cheaters rarely do when they go out to break their promises.
With barely leashed fury, I break the cheap fastener of her purse, grab her wallet, and dump the rest of the contents onto the floor, but only a set of keys clinks onto the marble.
After searching for hidden pockets and finding none, I tuck her purse against my side with my elbow and open her wallet.
Her driver’s license reads Brook Simons. She’s an organ donor. The address is in a decent apartment building. Beyond her weight, height, and hair color, the plastic rectangle offers me no insights.
I systematically empty each compartment of her wallet before snatching her keys off the floor and flipping through them.
No ring. No pictures. No answers.
I’m not a Prescott. I’m a lawyer.
Was that her veiled way of telling everyone she’s married? If she’s unavailable, why wasn’t that the first thing she said when she woke up? Why hasn’t she mentioned having a husband?
My heart pounds as I recall how her sharp little teeth pinched the sensitive skin of my jugular. Blinding-white rage steals my vision as I imagine her treating another man the same way.
I both envy and hate whichever unsuspecting socialite she dug her claws into.
I shove everything into her purse, chuck it onto the entrance table, and spin back toward the bed only to halt in my tracks as another possibility hits me.
What if she targeted me to use my money and power to get out of an unhappy relationship? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman set her sights on me to improve her social status.
Unwilling to continue spiraling with no answers, I call Liam and order a thorough background check on her.
I’ll know everything there is to know about Brook Simons, and what I can’t learn from research, I’ll pry from her myself. Her secrets won’t remain hidden for long.
The water turns off.
I end the call with Liam and prepare for another battle with my sharp-tongued little rabbit. With a smirk, I lean against the wall, blocking her from a hasty retreat out the front door, and cross my arms over my chest as she emerges from the bathroom.
She pauses in the doorway and scans the room before ignoring me as she glides around the foot of the bed. With her expression guarded, she takes her phone from the bedside table and checks that the lock screen is in place before looking around again.
She won’t find her shawl mixed in the sheets since it hangs in the closet beside my suit coat, but I keep my mouth shut and enjoy her lithe movements and pert breasts as she rifles through the bedding.
I pinch the underside of my arm, hoping the pain will prevent a full hard-on, but my nerve endings leap in remembrance of her teeth, so I drop my arms and cross the hall to the front closet.
Her sharp inhale as I pull her shawl off the hanger fills me with mirth.
I hold it out to her hooked on my fingertip.
She grits her teeth and stomps across the room toward me. Delight and hunger ripple through me as each step shifts her curves within her tight dress.
I move my arm away half a second before her hand closes around the garment. She huffs and drops her fist to her side. Her glare arrows straight to my balls.
“See you tomorrow morning at eight for your first day of work,” I say.
“But tomorrow is Sunday,” she says through gritted teeth.
“And?” I quip.
Her pupils shrink. Fury stiffens her shoulders.
Excitement ripples down my spine as I anticipate her outrage, but she shocks me with her composed response.
“Eight o’clock on a Sunday morning isn’t ideal, and neither is the lack of notice, but as stated in our contract, since I have no legitimate reason to decline, I’ll be there. I have several addenda I would like to negotiate before the end of my first full workday, so please ensure that’s possible.”
She pins me in place with her no-nonsense stare. I can’t speak.
Fucking hell, she’s goddamn gorgeous.
I drop her shawl onto her purse behind me before unrolling my shirt sleeves.
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” I state as though to a child. “The offices, including the HR department, will be closed.” I pull my suit coat off the hanger and shrug into it before adjusting the lapels. “Negotiations will wait until Monday,” I declare as I take my cufflinks out of my breast pocket.
Her fists tighten at her sides. When I give them a pointed glance and lift a brow as I slip my cufflinks into place, she clasps her wrist in front of her.
My mouth waters as the movement squishes her breasts together, deepening her cleavage and pillowing the mounds against her arms.
She crosses her arms over her chest. If eyes could kill, I’d be dead from her glare.
I tug my tie off the hanger and slip it around my nape.
“Although our contract states you’re my direct boss, I am still legally employed by your company. I will not report to your personal residence,” she snaps.
My hackles rise. No one has dared raise their voice to me since high school. I drop my arms and stalk toward her. She stiffens in alarm and shuffles backward. The wall stops her retreat.
“Is the little rabbit afraid she’ll give in to temptation and hop into my lap again?” I brace my palm beside her head and lean into her space. “Maybe I’m in danger right now, since we’re alone,” I murmur.
Her breath hitches and a blush rises from her chest to her face, but other than a flash of yearning in her eyes, she shows no signs of aggravation. The bland expression on her face taunts me.
“Have you ever seen a rabbit fight back?” she asks.
I peel my gaze from her lips and make a noncommittal sound in the back of my throat as I drown in her chocolatey orbs.
“They kick,” she says.
“Oh?” I answer, not really hearing her through the pounding in my hard cock.
She rolls her eyes. I lift my hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she moves before I reach her.
I blink at the empty space for a moment, unsettled by how quickly she ducked under my arm and spun out of reach, but I shove my surprise aside, push off the wall, and slip my hands into my pockets to hide my erection and prevent myself from reaching for her again.
“Which professional location should I report to at eight o’clock tomorrow morning?” Brook asks as she lifts her shawl and purse from the table.
I retrieve a business card from my coat pocket and extend it to her between my pointer and middle finger.
“Text your name to this number and my personal assistant will send you the address.”
She eyes me warily. I grit my teeth and silently count to five before I respond.
“I own more than one office building in New York City. We’ll meet at the smaller workspace near my apartment.”
When she still doesn’t take the card, I sigh and slip it into her disorganized purse.
“Don’t worry, little rabbit.” I squat and reach around her to place her sandals in front of her. “We won’t be alone, so you won’t need to use these soft little feet on me,” I promise.
She curls her bare toes against the floor but stands her ground as I look up her body to meet her eyes.
“An audience didn’t stop me from ‘hopping’” —yes, the impertinent little bitch forms air quotes with her fingers— “into your lap. What makes you think I need privacy to use violence?”
“I’ll always welcome your sharp little teeth in my flesh, so don’t hold back on my account,” I quip.
She studies my expression, inhales, and tilts her lips in the most saccharine smile I’ve ever seen.
“I apologize, Mr. Ricco, but go to hell.”
A laugh escapes my chest without warning.
I reach for her ankle, but she steps back, swats my arm aside, grabs her sandals, and opens the front door before I react.
With slow, measured intent, I rise and fix my suit before pinning her in place with the stare I’ve used to break countless business negotiators.
“It’ll be my pleasure, Ms. Simons,” I vow.
Her eyes widen before she hardens her features. I should have said Mrs. but couldn’t bring myself to address her as though she’s already married. She doesn’t correct me, but her unyielding expression as she steps into the hall could hide anything.
She steps out into the hall with her sandals in one hand and the door handle in the other.
“Tomorrow, then,” she says.
She heads down the hall. The door swings shut and the latch clicks. I stand in silence as I replay and dissect our conversation.
Frustration jangles along my nerves. She answered precisely zero of my questions. If anything, she added dozens more unanswerable inquiries.
I should’ve called her a minx instead of a rabbit.
My heart and soul immediately reject the idea. She’s not openly coy and flirtatious like a minx. Little rabbit fits her better.
When the air conditioning circulates to a higher setting, the subtle change enough to disrupt my thoughts, I sigh and button my shirt before tying my tie and sending a quick text. I step into the hall without a backward glance and take the elevator to the main floor.
My driver opens my car door as I cross the lobby. I thank him and slip into the backseat. He shuts the door.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, intending to take a quick nap on the drive home, but thoughts of Brook Prescott—no, Brook Simons—plague my mind. My balls ache and cock throbs. I grit my teeth in frustration.
My body hasn’t been so unruly since I was a young teenager.
By the time the driver pulls into the parking garage, my jaw hurts from clenching my teeth. I thank the driver before taking my private elevator to the penthouse.
After walking through the door, I pause in the entryway. Silence greets me as usual, but I study the space with fresh eyes.
The modern furnishings and efficient layout fit my busy lifestyle—hell, I spend more time at the office than here—but after having a squirmy little rabbit in my lap for most of the night, the space feels cold and unwelcoming.
I’ll have Brook Simons gasping on my couch, bent over my kitchen counter, and soaking my sheets soon.
Fire burns me from the inside out. I stalk to the master, strip, and step into the glass shower. As the water stings my flesh, I brace my palm on the cold marble wall and stroke my hard cock.
Despite thoughts of Brook driving me to new heights, I hold off my release and turn to lean my back against the icy wall. My thighs bunch and molten lava bubbles in my balls as I twist my wrist at the end of each stroke.
I skim my hand up my chest and brush my fingertips over the marks she left on my throat.
Pleasure rips through me. I come in long, breathtaking spurts.
As I watch my spunk circle the drain, my thoughts clear and wicked delight tugs at my lips.
It doesn’t matter what her motives are for getting involved with me. I’ll string Brook along until she’s desperate and begging me to fulfill her every fantasy, and after I thoroughly slake my lust and rid myself of this ridiculous obsession, I’ll kick her to the curb without a backward glance.
I’ll have my revenge. She’ll regret betraying me.
Brook Simons is mine to destroy.
Only mine.