I tossed my suit jacket on the back of the scarlet couch. Going to that dinner tonight had been a mistake on my part. Just because we were going to be married didn’t mean I had to give a shit about Cara or get to know her. I should have been on call, ready to head out to retaliate against the Russians instead of fingering Cara’s lace panties beneath a table at some ostentatious seafood restaurant. Not that it hadn’t been fun. Anything that made Cara Ryan squirm was something I found highly entertaining.
Slipping the thong from my pocket, I wrap it around my fingers and drop onto the couch. I’ve never been so worked up, both turned on and furious at the same time. Thoughts of Cara and the need to get back at the Russians for destroying another one of my clubs warred within me. I’d wanted to make Cara squirm for dragging me out in public like that to solidify a deal that had only been words before. I just hadn’t realized how my games might affect me as well.
I could still feel the softness of her skin against my fingertips, the heat that threatened to scorch me the closer I got to the center of her thighs. Staring down at the lace, I try to forget the way she felt, the way I wanted to push further to see how far she’d let me go. But fuck, I can’t.
I need to do something to get Cara Ryan out of my head. Because, if she manages to stay there, it’ll be just a short drop to losing my damn mind. I know her type. I know the damage they can do to a man, and I’d promised I’d never fall for that bullshit again. My fingers curl around her thong until it disappears in my fist, my brain already imagining what it would be like to have my hands around her hips, snug against her skin.
That black dress she’d worn tonight didn’t help things. It was long, falling well over her knees, but it was so tight it showcased every curve. The slit had inched up her thigh, revealing creamy white skin that had just been begging to be touched and savored.
I groan, my head falling back against the plush couch. Logically, I knew I needed to put a stop to those thoughts right now, but my dick has other ideas.Shit. I readjust, shifting the material straining against my hard-on as I stand. A cold shower should do the trick. It would calm me down about the Russian dogs and pull my head out of the gutter with Cara.
Tossing the panties to the floor, I head toward my bedroom. It’s just as black as the rest of the apartment, with a splash of red from the duvet that covers the king-sized bed. More floor-to-ceiling windows cover the far wall, tinted just to give me a bit more privacy. Unbuttoning my shirt, I pad towards the bathroom, flipping on the cold water before tossing my clothes into the bedroom. The icy water makes my blood spike before I give in to the sensation, letting it run down my spine and shoulders. I lean against the wall with both hands, water dripping from my hair, trying to think of literally any other woman I’d been with to get her out of my head.
But it isn’t working. The image of blonde hair quickly turns to shades of onyx. Blue eyes fade to brown. And tan skin that glows changes to the pale color of the moon. My shoulders tense. I can see her perfectly, as if she’s right there in the shower with me.
Her long, dark hair sticks to her shoulders, falling over her breasts in wet waves. Her eyes burn into mine with an intensity that sets me on fire. My fingers wrap around her throat, my thumb tracing the pulse beating wildly against her skin at my touch. Those perfect red lips part, a soft intake of breath that draws me in. My teeth drag across her skin, biting into the sensitive part of her neck, marking her. As if she were already mine. When I pull away, there’s no judgment in her eyes.
Her legs part easily as I trace a path from her throat, between her breasts, and down her stomach. Gripping her thighs, I dig my nails into her skin, leaving behind crescent marks on the smooth canvas, and she gasps. It’s the type of sound that has me yanking her by the back of her neck, pressing her breasts against my chest. I roughly nip at her neck again, eliciting a yelp of pain from her mouth before it turns into a soft moan.
“Please,” she begs as my tongue drags over the marks I’d made.
“Say it, Cara,” I growl, my hands inching towards the center between her thighs.
“I’m yours,” she breathes. “Only yours.” Her lips claim mine, and everything falls apart.
I can picture her perfectly. The way those lips would open in surprise, the way lust would burn in her eyes. Nails dragging across my back as I pleasure her, forcing her body to react to my touch. I’d watch the blush creeping along her cheeks as my fingers slipped along the folds between her thighs.
“Are you embarrassed?” I ask, lips brushing against her skin. “Are you scared?”
She shudders beneath my hands. I can almost feel her clit pulsing with need. She bites her lower lip, trying to hold back what she so clearly wants to beg for. I let my finger trail between her folds, sliding up until I reach her clit. She’s so fucking wet. I want to taste her—all of her. But not yet. I need to savor this.
“Turn around.” My voice drops, husky with need. Her eyes darken as if she can read my thoughts, her breath catching in her throat as her gaze flicks between my lips and my cock. She’s fucking drenched, soaking my fingers with her desire.
When she doesn’t move fast enough, I spin her around, pinning her to the shower wall. Water cascades down her body, along her ass. I surge forward, my cock burying—
I jerk out of the fantasy, my hand wrapped tightly around my dick as the last tremors fade away. A cold shower couldn’t even stop me from thinking of her. I rinse off, furious at myself for ever indulging in such a fantasy. Cara is a problem—more dangerous than any Russian scumbag who enjoyed blowing up clubs in their spare time.
She’s a distraction I can’t afford. Not now, after I’ve worked my ass off the past year. Everything I’ve trained for, everything I wanted, could all turn to shit if I let her get under my skin. She might become my wife, but I wouldn’t allow that to mean something to me.
I slam the shower faucet shut, stepping out onto the rug. Yanking the towel from the rack, I lash it around my waist furiously. Here I am, ordered home instead of out on the streets exacting revenge with only the thoughts of the one woman I couldn’t want stuck in my head. I need a distraction. Something better than Cara Ryan.
Making my way into the kitchen, I eye the shelves, knowing my stash of alcohol is long gone. Before I can really think things through and let guilt dissuade me, I snatch my phone from my jacket pocket and call Niccolo. He answers on the first ring.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Grab me a bottle of bourbon from the liquor store down the street. Top shelf. Don’t care about the label.”
“But, sir—”
I hang up before I can hear the rest of that sentence. I need a drink. Just one to get her out of my head. And then I’d put up the bottle like any other normal person would. At least, that’s what I tell myself. My eyes catch on the glass bowl at the center of the island counter, filled with different colored chips. Guilt curls in my chest at the sight of them, but I firmly push it away. I have nothing to feel guilty about.
I just need one drink to take the edge off and stop myself from thinking about her. I’ve got this under control.
14
CARA
Rough hands skim along my bare back, between my shoulder blades. I shiver, curling into the heat of his body. The erotic feeling of his stubble against my skin sends shivers down my spine, the warmth of his breath at the nape of my neck making my toes curl. He kisses along my arms, my hips, slipping further beneath the covers.