9
“The girl at that the bar, Lana Craig, who is the man with her?” Marcus snarled into the phone.
“Carl Reed. Is there a problem?” Donna Marie replied with a cautious tone.
This was the second call he had made to her this evening. Normally, he let her run the show, without any interference, but tonight he had a reason to check up on the members, or to be precise, a certain female who was stuck in his thoughts like a revolving door.
His fingers curled tightly around the receiver. Lana came here to fuck a stranger. She paid good money for the pleasure and the idea of her actually doing it, drove him insane.
“Just keeping an eye on the girl. I don’t want any more scenes like earlier. I hope you smoothed things over with Bingham?” he quizzed.
“Of course. I fixed him up with another new recruit. A lady closer to his age.” She half laughed. “He’ll be more than happy now. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Marcus didn’t give a fuck about Benny Bingham.
Not when the oh-so-sexy woman from his office was about to hook up with an asshole—in his hotel. He slammed the phone down. “Where the fuck did she go?”
Donovan flicked through every camera angle until he finally spotted Lana exiting the washrooms. She strutted across the floor with that sinful ass of hers swaying and golden locks bouncing with each step.
Her hair was laced with a delicate fragrance and had felt so good weaved around his fingers earlier. Donna Marie handed her a key card and pointed to the lobby.
A sudden thrill jumped in his veins. He liked watching her, without her permission, for all the right reasons, of course.
The elevator doors closed, blocking her from sight. Donovan quickly switched to the next camera which gave them a bird’s-eye view of the square space.
They watched as Lana tapped the key card to grant access to the top floor. When the elevator drifted to a halt and the doors pinged open, she lingered momentarily. Her hesitancy told him she was scared and tipsy.
Maybe it was the long slow walk to the penthouse or the fact her stiletto heels wobbled with each short step.
“Donovan, deactivate that card immediately.” Marcus slammed the desk with an impatient growl.
His adrenaline spiked when Lana readied herself to swipe the black plastic card and unlock the penthouse door. He knew she had drunk too much.
When he took her glossy lips before, they were laced with strawberries and citrusy alcohol. The flavours mixed together in a mind-blowing combination that was equal parts familiar and divine.
She tasted even better than he anticipated, and those lips were still haunting his thoughts.
Now she would be incapable of fending off the crazed ideas of a pervert in a hotel room. That was his rationale for blocking her access to the suite. It was all to do with alcohol.
Nothing else. Except the crazed need to protect a woman who he didn’t even know.
Donovan’s eyebrows lifted. “Sir?”
Marcus flung open the door. “Just do it,” he snapped over his shoulder. “Don’t let her in that fucking room.”
Carl Reed was planning to fool around with Lana in the penthouse suite. No way, not in his hotel.
Not while he owned the club.
And her boyfriend, fuck him, he was banging some woman who paled in existence compared to her, with not a care in the world for her safety.