She shivers when I inhale deeply and lightly brush our lips together. It’s not enough to taste her; just a feathery touch that catapults tingles over my scalp. Lust swells within me. Thunderbolts and lightning strikes exhilarate my muscles as delicate pants flutter across my cheeks.
Our chests meet as we quietly breathe together, the intensity of this deadlock simmering beneath the surface of my unshakable countenance. On the inside, I'm anything but calm. Plentiful ebony lashes flutter and lower to fan high cheekbones, her eyes shutting in momentary anticipation. This time she doesn’t push me away or tell me to move; however, I won’t give in. Strangely, I want to get to know the matured version of my childhood friend, as much as I want to devour her.
No matter how well trained I am in the art of seduction, my wife takes it to the next level. She's a turbulent temptation. If she wants to play the tease, I’ll up the ante.
With sudden swiftness, I rear back and tug at the curtain, sliding it sideways to break free from her spell. She stumbles forward, flushed and a little off-balance, her blinky lashes taking in the presence of a discreetly armed guard standing in the corner.
“Let’s go, Wifey.” I feign indifference even though I’m light-headed, because my dick has drained all the blood from my body, including my brain. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”
13
SINÉAD
The Honda slows beneath a colossal protruding shelter—the overhang of a gigantic hotel. André pulls over, parks the motorcycle by the curb, plants his feet on the ground, and kills the engine.
My hands automatically fall away from his waist. The second we lose contact, I oddly panic, scared it’ll be the last time we ride together. It’s an irrational thought given we’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, and I haven’t forgiven him for it.
He drags his helmet off and glances over his shoulder. His hair tumbles over, almost brushing his thick brows. Raking the lengths away with long fingers, he says in his low, sensual accent, “I have a business meeting. Let’s go inside.”
I use the footrests to elevate and throw my right leg over the back, something I’ve done a thousand times over, except this dismount feels painfully familiar. “Go ahead without me,” I mutter hopefully, the soles of my boots hitting the sidewalk.
A black Range Rover pulls up behind us, quickly followed by a second. Doors slam and suited men wearing earpieces move toward the hotel lobby. André acknowledges the arrival of his professional security detail, who followed us through the streets from the clothes store. He drops his key fob in the smartly dressed valet's hand and then stuffs a few dollar bills into his smart blazer pocket.
“Thank you, sir.” The young guy almost bows in reverence. “I’ll take good care of her.”
“You do that, kid.” His gaze sticks to mine. “After you.” He nods at the entrance.
“I’ll go for a walk.” I need space. Time to think. Independence. “I’m sure there’s a bar manager in the area who needs staff.”
André’s smoky chuckle distracts me from the large hand he slides beneath the jacket he’s made me wear again. He imprints his fingertips on the base of my spine. The heat of his touch is undeniably good. Being this close to a man like him, a predatory villain, shouldn’t fuel my blood with lust. Yet it forces my hate to tip lower than the unnatural craving I have for him, like a set of unbalanced scales.
“You’re not just someone. You’re a Souza,” he reminds me. “And we don’t walk the streets hunting for employment. We create jobs and fund the economy. Anyway, I have it on good authority that this hotel is recruiting more staff for its rooftop bar. We’ll check with the general manager while you’re here.” Glancing at his expensive-looking wristwatch, he sighs a little. “I have a thirty-minute window.”
I fix a scowl on my face and gaze past him. My jaw clenches as he ushers me toward waxy evergreens in massive cylindrical pots housed around twin concrete pillars where a few of his men watch us from the shade.
Once inside the grand foyer of the Sky Hotel, a charcoal slab floor gleams under hundreds of twinkling recessed lights and vast stone walls reach high to meet wooden slatted ceilings. We move to the steel doors of an elevator that part the second we arrive. Thankfully, I’m not left alone with him when two armed guards join us.
“You didn't eat this morning. If you want to stay ahead of the game, you need to take better care of yourself. Order from the menu when we’re seated.”
I scowl up at him, careful not to stare into his eyes for too long. Somehow, the cramped conditions have made him appear bigger, stronger—extra in every possible way.
“I’ve managed to look after myself for twenty-nine years. Save your unsolicited advice for someone who cares about your opinion.” I arch a sardonic eyebrow at him. “Weirdly, waking up as a married woman killed my appetite. Maybe it’s all the cum you forced me to swallow.”
“You didn’t swallow all of it. There’s a shit ton more where that came from.”
The right corner of his mouth hitches at the exact moment the elevator rises and my stomach flips. It’s solely due to the gravitational pull and nothing to do with his infectious smirk. He watches me, the woodiness of his cologne intensifying the atmosphere. My chest rises as I breathe him into my lungs and quickly regret how it gives me tingles.
“I’ll eat later,” I mutter, stubbornness being one of my best qualities.
A barely audible growl comes from his lips when I turn my head away faster than a strike of lightning.
His hand pressed to my lower back shoots out from under the leather and settles at my nape. Harsh fingers weave into the roots close to my scalp, allowing him to control the angle of my face.
Our chests bump and every breath blends. For the first time this morning, light glitters in his intense dark eyes. They’re no longer starless and more cosmic than baneful. He cages me against a mirrored wall, his overwhelming physique commanding my full attention.
“It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.” Coarse-tipped whiskers surrounding his red lips graze my cheek the closer he slants into me.
My hands fly to the tight material covering his biceps. The instant they settle on the planes of muscle, I regret the rash impulse. “How gallant of you.”
