“I’ll make it,” he says determinedly. “I’m so fucking hot for you.”
I pull in a breath, instantly responding to his desire. He’s not done, “Just so you know, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll feel it for days.”
My body clenches in arousal. “You have a hotel to open.” I tease, breathless, “and homeless people to raise money for. Are you sure you should be thinking about sex at a time like this?”
“Can you blame me?” He laughs. “I have a hard-on just from the knowledge that you’re here, and it’s not going anywhere until you take me inside your hot, delicious pussy.”
A small moan escapes my lips. I love it when he talks like that, about the things he plans to do to me. “You’re making me so hot.”
“Stay that way. I’ll be with you as soon as I can manage it.”
When our conversation is over. I go to the main bedroom in the suite. My things have been unpacked in the walk-in closet, beside Landon’s clothes. In the bathroom, his brands of toiletries are placed alongside mine. I freshen up, loving the feeling that our lives are intersected, that we’re a real couple.
Back in the living room, I switch on the TV and flip through the channels. I doze off while listening to the local news, then wake up when I hear Landon’s voice.
I see his face on the TV. He’s answering a question, his self-assurance and confidence, coupled with his fierce masculine beauty, hypnotic to watch.
Most of the questions are expected. How does it feel to add a new hotel to your brand? etc. etc.? Landon replies them, inserting a joke here and there, deftly putting everyone at ease.
“How are you dealing with the rumors about your unlawful acquisition of property?”
The question is followed by silence, I see Landon pause, his eyes measuring the reporter who asked, an older woman, nondescript in a brown suit.
He smiles easily before he starts to reply. The smile assures me, and I suspect most of the people in the room with him that he has nothing to worry about, and neither do they. “I should clarify that the rumors are not about the unlawful acquisition of property. They are merely speculation, driven by gossip, about the reasons why people feel confident enough to entrust their properties to the Swanson Court brand. If you take a look at the Gold Dust today Miss…
“Hader.”
“Miss Hader.” he pauses, “compared to the Gold Dust of say, two years ago, the reason should be obvious.”
More questions follow after that. I remember the article I read, what had it talked about? Use of coercion. Landon told me about having difficulty in purchasing a property in Europe. He’d spent an afternoon convincing the seller, who’d suddenly changed her mind about selling to him. Why? Could it have been the rumors? Who would hate him enough to spread such stories?
My mind goes to Evans Sinclair. His board had made him sell his hotel to Landon, and apparently he thought that was a good reason to hate him. Could he be the one feeding the rumors?
My eyes go back to Landon on the screen, watching his calm demeanor. How far would he go if he really wanted something? Far enough to stretch the boundaries of the law? Did ‘convincing’ mean the same thing to him as it did to other people? Would he put them in a position where they couldn’t, or didn’t want to say no like he had done with me?
I shake my head. Landon isn’t a bully. He was the kind of man who identified opportunities and followed them. He showed people the advantages of working with him, rather than bend them forcefully to his will.
At that moment, he walks into the suite. It’s strange, seeing him on TV and in the room at the same time. He’s looking at something on his phone, a frown on his face. He looks up at me, an indecipherable expression on his face.
“Hey.” I smile at him.
He shoves the phone into his pocket and looks at the TV screen. “I hate press conferences,” he says, shaking his head.
“You handled that one well enough.”
“I had to.”
“I read about the rumors,” I tell him, ashamed now that I had forgotten, and instead chose to concentrate on the picture of him with Ava. “Is it a problem?”
“Not really.” He shrugs. “I know who’s behind them, and he’s bound by contract not to slander me directly. So he’s planting the gossip with the help of his social circle. They have gotten out of hand, but they only damage public perception. The banks and investors don’t care. Most business people would rather cut off their ears than stop doing business with me.”
His confidence reassures me. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on one of the chairs. Then, instead of joining me on the couch, he goes over to the glass walls, loosening his tie as he walks. He looks out at the spectacular view, which stretches from the balcony outside, to the bay and the horizon beyond. It’s majestic, but nowhere near as perfect as him.
I get up to join him, drawn to him as if by a magnet. He turns to me, his hand rising to linger on my check.
“Are you worried?” I ask.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Have you had anything to eat?”