No, that can’t be right. I’m just seeing things. My paranoia is winning, and I shake my head, but I can’t stop glancing back at his hip, as if I can see through the material of his clothes. He catches me watching and quirks a brow. I snap my eyes away and spring into action, “right this way.”
The shorter of the two older men eyes me slowly, following my body. I shove away the cringe. Too many men have gawked at me over the years working here, and I’ve had to learn to deal with it.
They follow me down the hall to the meeting room I had set up for them and show them inside, “Mr Franco will be–”
“Clayton, Derek,” Tobias’ voice overpowers mine, “How was the trip?”
The shorter man answers, “Long.” His accent is American, southern by the sounds of it. Neither of the other two say anything as Tobias ushers them into the room but the young one glances back over his shoulder, cocks a brow and smirks right before the door closes.
I hurry back to my desk, my stomach churning. It wasn’t a gun. It couldn’t be.
In my hurry into the office and the preparation for the meeting, I hadn’t noticed the presence of IT engineers scattered around the office. Their machines beep as they move through the space, checking walls and floors though for what, I had no idea.
I ignore them all.
“Get a grip, Eleanor,” I mumble, turning my laptop on and loading up my emails. As the loading circle swirls around and around on the screen, my mind drifts back to last night, at Kingston moving over me, sweat glistening on his skin, tattoos rippling. I hear his low growl in my ear, scream for me, shatter for me.
Desire, hot and heavy has me clamping my thighs together.
I am not okay.
Not okay!