“Good morning,” he offers in his deep, smooth voice.
I don’t respond; I just attempt a smile. Both of us remain perfectly still.
“I trust you slept well.”
“I did, thank you.”
He watches me. I watch him right back. Knowing I should move. Yet I don’t. I like being close to him, breathing in his clean, manly scent, seeing the way the gold flecks in his eyes seem to spray out from his dynamic pupils like lava spewing forth from an active volcano.
“Thank you again for the chocolate pie last night. I went to sleep with that sweet taste on my tongue.”
Oh god! Why does that sound so dirty?
“I’m glad you liked it.”
“It was delicious. Makes my mouth water just thinking about it.”
I catch and hold my breath. This is why I should be glad he’s not near me more often, or that I’m not with him more each day. It’s been two minutes and already I feel like I might spontaneously combust.
I exhale slowly. His eyes shift to my lips. I watch him lick his own, like he’s wishing he tasted me there. I’m wishing the same thing.
He leans in closer, the scruff on his cheek scraping sensually across my own as he puts his mouth near my ear. “Breathe, Tommi. Don’t forget to breathe.”
Somehow, I’ve turned. I’m now plastered against the building beside the door, my fingers still gripping the handle, his palm still covering my knuckles. The concrete is cool at my back, a stark contrast to the heat I feel emanating from Sig. His body isn’t touching me, but it might as well be. I can practically feel every hard contour, like my skin is reaching out for it.
Then, just before the incredible tension lulls me into doing something stupid, he retreats. Gently rolling our hands until his is on the bottom, he grips the handle and pulls open the door. He holds it for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I smooth my hair and blouse, and walk demurely into the building. I know without looking that his eyes never leave me.
We ride the elevator in silence. I wonder if Sig is aware of the crackle of electricity between us. It’s like a living thing, snapping and sizzling. When the doors swoosh open onto the penthouse lobby, I’m hesitant to meet the eyes of Dane and Gerard. I wonder that I don’t look different, so much so that they somehow know what was happening in there, what I was feeling.
I take a deep breath and make my way to the living room. I stop at the edge when my gaze falls to the couple on the couch.
Lance is sprawled on his back and a girl is on her knees between his legs, her hand down his lounge pants. I clear my throat loudly and he cranes his neck to look back at me. His lips curve into a lascivious smile that tells me so much.
I wondered why he didn’t mention any plans for the day. Now I know. I also wonder if the girl just got here or if she’s been here since last night.
“There she is,” he says of me, tugging on the dark fall of hair that’s spread across his stomach. A very attractive young girl, probably not much more than eighteen or nineteen, smiles up at me.
She starts to unbutton her top. “Finally!”
Lance barks a general, “Leave us!” to everyone in the room. I know that applies to everyone but me.
I don’t glance behind me, but I can almost feel the burn of Sig’s eyes between my shoulder blades. My cheeks sting with humiliation. Most of Lance’s men are used to his…ways, but Sig isn’t. This is the first time he’s walked me upstairs. He has no idea what kind of man Lance really is. Or what kind of person I am because of him.
A stab of regret, a pinch of loss–loss of what could’ve been between Sig and me if things were different–slices through me. I’ll never have a guy like him. Even though he works for Lance, something tells me that he’s a good man. Better than most of the others. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that he helped me when I was stranded, when he had no idea who I was. Maybe it’s that he was so genuine and kind and polite when he was getting nothing in return. Whatever the reason, my gut tells me that he’s more. Just…more. And that I could never deserve him. This is proof. Proof of what I am, what I’ve become. What I’ve had to do.
I swallow an uncharacteristic lump of emotion as I straighten my shoulders and move into the living room. I stopped being squeamish about stuff like this years ago. There’s only one explanation as to why it would bother me now. And that is just one more reason why I have to keep Sig as far away from my heart as possible. He’s no good for me, for my plan. He’ll only get me hurt. Get both of us hurt. And I’ve come too far to let that happen now.
CHAPTER SIXEEN- SIG
I’m torn. My cock doesn’t know whether to fill up with blood or shrivel into a damn vagina.
The thought of Tommi being undressed by another woman is a huge turn-on. The idea of delicate, painted fingernails scraping over her nipples, the image of ruby-red lips kissing her bellybutton is so hot I could drive a nail into a wooden board with my dick. Holy Jesus!
But.
The thought of Tonin putting his hands on her, his mouth on her makes me furious. Like, put my fist through a man’s face furious. He doesn’t deserve her. I know she’s with him willingly, but I can’t believe that she’d be here if she had any other viable option.
I go back down to the lobby and text Finch, the other undercover. He’s going by the name Hop for the time being and I’m posing as his cousin, so we can get away with a certain amount of casual communication without it seeming suspicious. After leaving Tommi upstairs with that, I can’t just sit on my hands and wait for things to fall into place any longer. I have to do something.
Me: Tonin is tied up with a couple of chicks. Anything I can do to help you?
He doesn’t respond right away. Probably asking his boss, one of Tonin’s higher-ups.
Hop: Not right now, man. Just cleaning out the warehouse.
Warehouse?
Wonder what he plans to do with a warehouse? In looking back over what information Finch has been able to turn in, which has yet to amount to much of anything because he’s still unproven in Lance’s operation, I don’t remember any mention of a warehouse. Unless it’s a recent purchase. And if it is, what the hell does Lance Tonin need a warehouse for? It’s not like drug dealers keep stock or anything. But they do need a landing place for shipments when they come in. That or maybe he’s branching out into some other illegal kind of shit. Hell, I’d take anything I could use to bring his ass down. Anything at all.