Chapter Twenty-One
Magnus
“ Z oey, I didn’t hear the bell.”
“I asked a question.”
Her big eyes are filled with something like betrayal and it hurts. Of course, I’m a bastard, a careless, stupid one who just figured I’d hear the bell and be able to put this stuff away.
I have options, and about half a second to decide my course of action. I’m going with something that slides close to the truth and is as far from it as it can be. “Looking at the books.”
“I can see that, Magnus.” Her voice is closed and tight and I want to smooth that way, but I just put the bills down and fold my hands on top of everything.
She’s in bad shape. It could be worse. But it could all be a hell of a lot better. There are about twenty ways right off the top of my head I can think of now that will get her place from her and into my hands.
None of them are good. Most of them will hurt her beyond what I want.
Funny. If I’d been asked that and seen all this before I’d walked into her store pretending to look for a job, I’d have done one of them without even a second thought.
I’m going to stick to the plan I have, though. It’s better for her.
She’ll still be hurt, but she won’t be destroyed.
“I asked a question.”
I sigh. “I don’t really have an excuse. Except I wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you. Fair’s fair. You offered to help me and…”
Shaking my head, I push my hand through my hair and slowly stand.
“I know what you’re thinking,” I say, keeping my voice low. “That I looked to see if you really could help me.”
“I’m not a fan of you looking, but if you want my help, I’m—”
“Not taking your help, Zoey.” It’s a simple thing, the con. All you have to do is make them think it’s their idea. But I’m not doing that here. The con I have going has to do with dear old gran, yes, but not this right here and now. She’ll give me everything. I’ll have this place and then I’ll make sure Zoey has all the money she needs. Maybe, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll buy her a nice place to set up, well, shop.
But first I need to get out of this predicament, and I need to shore up all the other things to do with her building. I need to make sure Lichtenfeld’s out of the picture on all the avenues surrounding my project.
“I just worry about you, and I wanted to make sure you can get through.”
“Don’t.”
I move past her and cross the floor to the door and turn the lock and flip the sign. No one’s coming in here to buy a last-minute book in the rain. And if they are, they can go fuck themselves. I need to talk with her, to convince her I’m the good guy I’m not.
“While you were gone, someone from Sinclair came by.”
“One of the goons?”
I nod, knowing Georgio would hate being called that. Again. For a tough guy, he sure gets hurt by the things sweet Zoey says about him.
Feeling like the goon himself, I pull the crumpled envelope from my back pocket. It’s not much, but I happen to know what’s there will rock her world in the wrong way. Veiled threats, pressure, the kind of thing that comes with the territory of getting what you want.
“Here. I didn’t open it, but I did speak to the guy.” And then I say, “From what he said, they can’t do much more than try and make you miserable. Legally.”
Her shoulders sag as she takes the envelope and squeezes it tight. “They’re good at the misery type.”
“You could just sell, hold out, make some decent cash.”
Zoey’s shoulders stop sagging and snap to attention as her violet-blue eyes flash with fire. “Not on your life. That’s giving in. I don’t do that.”
“I know. Which is why I went through the books. I’m sorry.”
“That’s…” She turns and sets the letter down on the counter, then faces me again and her soft, compact curves and pretty face call to me, do things to me, reach down inside and I want to touch her. So I do. I cross to her and take her in my arms. “That’s okay.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
And I kiss her because her mouth is a beacon and it calls to me. She tastes like rain and sweet spice that belongs to her alone and I wonder if a man can ever get sick of a taste like that? Of the heat and wetness of her mouth that just makes me want to ravish her, here and now and who the fuck cares who can see?
But I lift my head. “Should I go?”
“Probably. It’s the sensible option.” Zoey slides her hands slowly up my chest, making my muscles heat where she touches. She rises up on her toes to kiss me again. “But this seems a little nicer.”
“The better option?”
She links her fingers at the back of my neck and tugs me a little closer. I slide my hands down her waist to her ass and pull her in against my growing erection. “A delicious one.”
We head upstairs, her hand in mine. I’m thinking she’s going to change her mind, or need a moment. I’m thinking this is the worst idea and the best. Worst because I can get lost in her. Best because it brings us closer together for my plans.
And then she turns when we hit the little hall and she pushes me into the wall, her mouth seeking mine.
I take hers in a deep, hungry kiss and walk her backwards, sliding the zip down her back, pushing the dress and bra from her, freeing her breasts so I can touch them, let them slide against me, and then I unhook her bra, and let it fall along with the dress, tugging that over her hips so I can take her panties with it. And then she’s soft and naked in my arms and we’re at her bedroom door.
It doesn’t take long until we’re both naked and breathing hard on the bed. My mouth is all over her. I can’t get enough, and she’s the same with me. We’re burning up, the need eats at me and I don’t get it. I don’t know why she affects me so much. She’s sweet and open and made of a titanium down deep, but it’s heated, there’s no ice about her. There’s no agenda with Zoey.
Sliding my fingers down her body, I push into her and she cries out, biting down on my shoulder and I pump into her, spreading her thighs for me. “You’re so wet, Zoey.”
“And you’re so hard.” She wraps her hand around my cock and squeezes, making me groan in the back of my throat.
“Seems like this is a perfect fit.” I pull her hand from me, and tease her clit before sliding out of her pussy.
I look down at her, and deliberately suck her juices from my fingers, and she bites her lip. The sight of her, the taste sweet and salty on my tongue is so fucking erotic I could come right here and now.
Instead, I push into her, and take her, pounding into her tight depths like I can’t get enough and she eats me up with those big eyes.
Something comes over me, a quiet, ragged fury that’s at myself, and the way she looks at me, like I’m the center of this all, so full of fucking trust, I pull out of her. With my hand on her hips, I kneel, moving her, flipping her so her perfect ass is facing me, and I slide my fingers down over her slit, opening her and then I fist my cock, and pump it, and aim. And I slam down home.
“Oh, God. That’s so deep. So good.” Zoey groans, her hands fisting the covers.
I hold her hip in one hand, and coil her hair in the other, and I fuck her. Hard. Like a madman, and it’s insane. Incredible. Hot. She pushes back to meet me, taking me so far into her I don’t ever want to emerge.
The weird anger morphs into lacerated need and I pound, sweat dripping, and I pull her head up, and then come over her to bite her shoulder and my balls ache and my body is filling with a pleasure and need for release that borders on pain and her cunt tightens around my shaft, and then she starts to shake. She’s coming, I can feel her clamping down on me.
She’s crying and moaning and saying things that aren’t words and as she screams, her body contracts so hard, over and over on my cock that I explode into her. I’m flying and yelling out because what’s inside me, this intense white pleasure is too much to contain.
When I’m done, when she’s done, I pull out and collapse on the bed, taking Zoey in my arms and holding her, kissing her, stroking my fingers against her skin like she’s the most precious thing in the world.
And I wonder…what the fuck have I become?
I’ve turned into some kind of weakling when I wasn’t looking.
That’s the only explanation I’ve got for having more sex with Zoey, cooking dinner with her. Having more sex.
I sneak out at almost four am, and heading to the apartment I set up for Magnus Simpson.
Laying on the bed in the place, I watch shadows chase each other on the ceiling, but I know sleep isn’t going to come along anytime soon, so I pull out my phone and get to work. I answer all the damn texts from my brothers, along with work ones. And I send out instructions for the day to various people for my next phase in my charity and foundation work to show I have heart.
But what I can’t do is get rid of the feeling that’s building inside me.
It’s insidious and uncomfortable and makes things a little darker, like I can harbor real guilt. I don’t. I won’t. This is all business, and if Zoey is in the way, well, she’s going to come out better than she is now.
Whether she likes it or not.
She’s rock bottom and she knows it. Oh, she owns the place and she keeps her head above water, so on paper she’s in a better position than most. But I can make one or two moves and that head above water thing is going to be a lot more difficult.
If.
The urge is strong and I’m not proud of it, because the urge feels a lot like running away, which is something I don’t do.
My plan is best, and I’m going to move things along. All of them.
With that in my head, I close my eyes and let myself drift.
“Boss?”
I pour my third cup of coffee that morning. It’s seven a.m and I’ve had maybe two hours sleep, and Georgio’s voice isn’t my favorite thing to hear with that little sleep and this early.
“No.”
He sighs. “You pay me for my opinion.”
“I pay you to obey.”
“And for my opinion.” He sounds a little wounded. “And I think this means it’s prime moving time.”
I take a sip of the coffee. “It’ll save us a few hundred thousand. We stick to the plan. Just deal with the riff raff hanging about. Properly.”
Lichtenfeld will give up with the right pressure, so I’m not worried on that front. What does disturb me, is the, er, illegal information on Zoey’s bank account Georgio handed me.
For some reason, it’s more depleted than it should be. And she’s paid up everything on the place. Ahead of time.
That wasn’t in her books yesterday. Still, maybe that’s why she took off yesterday, to stay on top of things to stop me trying something underhanded with the bank.
“Just do that, and I’ll let you know when we need the next move.”
And I disconnect the call, grab my fall coat and head out into the world.
At the store things are fine. And Zoey heads upstairs around mid-morning for something or other.
We haven’t mentioned the night before, but it’s there, burning between us, making the air taut, alive, thrumming with awareness. But that can stay on the back burner. I prefer it there. I want to have sex with Zoey. I have a horrible feeling I’m going to have to have sex with her for a long time, so while I sort that shit out, I’m more than happy to not mention what happened.
Just like I’m actually happy she’s upstairs, out of temptation’s way.
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter.
I’m about to get a coffee when Zoey suddenly screams.