Chapter 25 #2
I snap my eyes shut as the woman’s wide eyes drift back to my prone figure curled into his chest, but she must have indicated the way, as we’re moving again after a beat.
I don’t look up until I feel a jostle and cool air on my skin.
We’re out of the house now, walking swiftly over a patio that leads to steps.
He descends them quickly, not even remotely strained for breath after carrying me for so long.
The Town Car is waiting in what looks like a loading bay and he slides us both in at the same time, Zeke keeping me firmly in his arms even after the door snicks shut.
“I can sit on my own,” I protest, trying to move.
“Stay,” he orders, tightening his grip so I’m pinned to his lap.
I roll my eyes but smile, resting my cheek on the bare skin of his chest. “Yes, master,” I tease.
He grunts, shifting me slightly so that he can pull out his phone again, flicking through his contacts and holding it to his ear.
“I need you to locate a server from tonight’s party, middle aged, female, blonde hair.
Pay her whatever she wants to sign an NDA and make sure it’s done tonight,” he snaps, hanging up the phone before whoever is on the receiving end can reply.
I trail my hand down to his chest, tracing a small circle over the hollow where his collar bones meet.
I feel his muscles uncoil slightly as the car starts to move, and smile.
“Are you okay?” he asks, using one hand to gently sweep my hair over my shoulder so he can see my face.
“Hmm?” I murmur, leaning my head against his shoulder and letting out a low breath. Honestly? I could fall asleep right now I feel so sated.
A low chuckle vibrates through his chest beneath my ear. “If I’d have known that was all it took to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago.”
“Rude.” I slap his chest lightly, but I’m smiling.
He laughs and lets out a deep breath. “I owe you an apology.” My brows pinch together, and I lift my fuzzy, sex-drugged head to look at him.
He slides his gaze to mine, chocolate irises warm and satisfied.
“We didn’t use protection. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
I’m sorry.” He grimaces, tracing the back of his knuckles down my cheek.
“Oh.” It hadn’t even clicked, and I take a second to chastise myself mentally. Not hot girl behavior. Although, there is definitely something to be said about having no barrier between us. “Erm, I’m on the pill and I’ve been tested.”
To say I’ve been tested is an understatement.
After walking in on my ex with a high-class hooker, I sent off about five home testing kits, convinced the slimy fucker must have given me something.
Suddenly I’m reminded that Zeke has a reputation for being a womanizer and I sit up a little straighter.
“Okay, good. Me too, although I’ve never had sex without a condom, so that’s more of a precaution.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair and tipping his head back against the headrest.
“Really?” I’m unable to keep the surprise out of my voice and he lets out a low chuckle.
“Yes, really. I’m not as much of an irresponsible man slut as you think I am, Chloe.” Sparkling eyes dip back down to meet mine.
“Wait, hang on.” I hold my hand up, my features crumpling into confusion. “You have a son. Do I need to explain how basic biology works?”
The laugh he lets out this time is a little cold, sending a thrill of electricity through my bones. His eyes dull slightly, some of the lights winking out. “Yes, funny that, isn’t it? I can’t prove it, but I think she needled the condoms.”
“That’s…a little insane.” And that’s saying something, coming from me.
He snorts, rolling one shoulder up dismissively. “It’s hard to be too mad at it when it gave me the best thing in my life.”
And just like that I’m back to being a big gooey puddle for this man.
“He’s a great kid,” I admit, and I mean it.
I’ve always liked kids, sure. But I’ve never had one in my life I cared for.
An unpleasant sensation tugs at my heart when I realize I’m going to miss the little fucker when this whole thing is over.
“Yeah,” he agrees with the biggest, brightest grin I’ve ever seen from him. My heart does a little flop in my chest, and call me fucked up, but I’m suddenly ultra-aware that I’ve got no panties on and all it would take for him to reach me is one little twist of his arm.
“You really need to watch the dad-core act around me, it does strange things to my lady parts.” I frown, shifting in his lap.
“Oh yeah?” He quirks one dark brow, his gaze falling to the front of his suit jacket that’s slipped open a few inches. “Maybe Chase was right, and you do have daddy issues, after all.”
I scoff, batting away his hand that’s trying to tug the lapels wider apart, even though I really want him to continue.
He laughs, leaning his head down to capture my lips in a sweet kiss that makes my toes curl.
It would be so easy to get swept up in this.
In him. And the thought just makes me even more sure that this should stay a one-night deal.
When he has outmaneuvered his father and secured ownership of Guerra Industries, we both walk away from this as nothing more than employer and employee.
“Do you want kids someday?” he asks as he pulls back, his eyes glinting inquisitively in the dim light.
“A whole football team of ‘em.” I grin, laughing at the horrified look on his face.
“Jesus, now there is a terrifying thought. God help whoever you marry if your daughters inherit your attitude.” His tone is light, but a strange tension permeates the air between us suddenly. The muscle in his stubbled jaw ticks once, then twice.
“You mean my sparkling sense of humor,” I correct, trying to lighten the unanticipated mood.
The car slows and we pull into the underground parking of his building, the sharp lighting spilling in and illuminating his striking features.
The half shadow throws his scar into vivid relief, his hair mussed and tousled from my fingers—the kind of beauty that hurts.
“No, I definitely mean your attitude.” The car pulls to a halt, and he flicks the car door open with one hand before lifting me out.
“Hello, I have legs,” I mumble as he kicks the door shut and begins to stride toward the elevator. I’m fixed with a withering glare as we step in.
When we reach the penthouse, I expect him to take me up the stairs to bed, but instead he carries me to the kitchen and places me on top of the island counter.
He ditches the remains of his shirt moments before strong fingers snake beneath the fabric of the jacket I’ve got wrapped around me, sending electricity dancing across my skin as he pushes it off my bare shoulders.
The hushed flutter of it falling to the counter masks the breath that has lodged in my throat.
Placing one broad palm on either side of my hips, he leans over me, his dark eyes skating down my nakedness.
“No clothes until morning,” he growls, lifting one hand to snap open the back of my bra.
“Yes sir,” I breathe, allowing that to slide off too, and leaning back on my palms so that my nipples peak toward his face.
I’ve never been ashamed of my body, but even if I was, the fire smoldering in his eyes would wipe any shyness away in an instant.
My gaze tumbles to the front of his pants, which are stretched tight by his erection.
“You didn’t eat tonight,” he says simply as he straightens and twists to pull open the enormous stainless steel refrigerator doors and begins pulling out ingredients.
The divots on his back flex with the movement, which has my mouth watering in a way that has nothing to do with food.
Cheese, butter, and onions hit the counter.
“I had some fantastic vol-au-vents,” I counter, hoping he’ll agree to skip dinner and go straight for dessert.
“I gathered by the all the sex noises you made while you were eating them,” he throws over his shoulder as he pulls a frying pan out of a deep drawer.
“Would you rather I chewed on dry salad like the rest of your dates?” I snark, feeling a little flicker of jealousy.
“I don’t date. But if I did, a prerequisite for the women would be that they eat real food, actually.” He slices off a knob of butter into the pan and begins finely slicing an onion.
“You’ve never been on a date before? Even as a teenager?” I’m suddenly struck by the realization that I can’t picture this man as anything but what he is now. It’s strange to think that he was once a kid, or maybe a little awkward as a teenager.
“No, it never interested me.” The smell and sound of onions sizzling in butter makes my stomach growl. A handful of chopped herbs hit the pan, too.
A man who can cook is…wow. Bonus points.
But also annoying, because I’ve yet to figure out something this man can’t do, except hold down a traditional relationship perhaps.
But even then, I’m sure if he set his mind to it…
images whizz through my mind of a domestic life with Zeke.
Cooking in the kitchen, lazy Sundays spent wrapped around each other in bed, trips to the park with Diego, a big white wedding with friends and family.
The fat two-carat canary diamond on my ring finger suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and I shake off the train of thought.
“Ever been tested for autism?” I snipe, crossing my legs.
He laughs and shakes his head as he spoons caramelized onions out of the pan and onto the bread and Swiss cheese he’s assembled on the counter.
Flipping them together into what I’m sure is going to be a stellar grilled cheese, he turns the heat down and plunks them both back into the pan.
Turning to face me, I see his face split into a devilish smirk.