“Okay. The only thing I plan on doing is working.” Walking him hand-in-hand to the door, I rise on tiptoes and kiss his chin. It’s as far as I can reach, but he seems to love it, purring whenever I do so.
“You keep putting those sinful lips on me, and I’ll take you hard right here against the door,” he growls in that grumbly, dominating voice that makes me wet every time I hear it.
“Promise?” I tease, running my hands down his hard, muscular chest and down past his belt to his growing erection.
“Shameless,” he mutters and holds my hand in place, squeezing his hand around mine. “You’d better be ready for me when I get home. Naked, spread wide and dripping for me.” He takes my breast with his free hand and squeezes, tugging roughly on the nipple before letting go.
“Mmm,” I moan when he pulls away.
“Mine,” he murmurs as he bites my earlobe and leaves me standing in need staring at the closed door. Damn, sexy man. Frustrated to the point only a cool shower can help, I lock the door and head for the bathroom to get my day started.
Having dressed for the day and finished with breakfast, I start up my laptop and settle into the new leather computer chair Haught bought me over the weekend. His disapproval of my old one had him throwing it in the dumpster out behind the building before I could even process what he was doing. I loved that chair, but this new one is so comfortable I’ve fallen asleep in it a few times while writing.
Current manuscript loaded, I hold my fresh cup of chai while reading over the last few paragraphs I edited yesterday. When I’m not working on my own stories I have a few Indie authors I have befriended over social media who use me to edit and format their novels. Reading has always been an escape for me when things in my head got too complicated. It’s how I learned to cope when things got too hard. Oddly enough, I haven’t had the urge to escape much since moving to Bel Mar and finding my mate. He truly is the center I’ve always needed.
A knocking on my door interrupts my editing three-fourths of the way through the manuscript. Glancing at the clock on my way to the door, I realize I’ve been working for the past six hours and it’s mid-day. No wonder my stomach is growling. As I reach the door, I start to feel uneasy but brush it off as the effects of missing lunch.
Opening the door, I’m startled to find Henri on my doorstep. That would explain the uneasiness.
“Henri,” I greet him, not an ounce of surprise hidden in my words. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for you,” he replies in a tone that sets me on edge. It doesn’t match the smile he wears, and I’m instantly on guard silently wishing my bodyguards would suddenly appear.
“What are you talking about?”
“We need to talk about the arrangement with our families,” he begins, taking a step forward to brush past me into my apartment.
"No, we don't. I'm married so that deal no longer holds weight."
I try and stop him from entering but have no luck as he barrels right on in. Afraid to close the door completely, I peek down the hall before leaving it partially cracked open. Where is Trick when I need him? I hope he sees this on all that surveillance equipment they have set up. Henri's angry even if he pretends otherwise. I can feel it.
"You're what?" he snips, turning unexpectedly to grab my arm.
"Married. Let go of me," I demand, shouting as I pull against his grip, but he tightens his hold. His nails dig into my skin, causing a slight twitch of my lips from the pain, but I immediately steel my gaze, refusing to further show he’s hurting more than what he just saw.
“Your marriage to that nobody can be annulled. No judge in the country will enforce this farce when they hear you were married against your will to that riff raff. Your mother informed me of that biker,” he snarls, standing straight, confident of his words. He’s delusional.
“That riff raff will be here in about three minutes, so I suggest you let his woman go before he arrives and tears you apart,” a booming growl of a voice says from behind me. Trick.
Henri shifts position, pulling me behind him with an unexpected yank and I stumble, my ankle rolling as I fall to my knees. It hurts like a mother trucker.
Before I know it, Trick has him by the throat and lifted off the floor by several inches. Growling at a cursing, struggling Henri in warning to stay still, he then looks down at me and offers his free hand. “You alright?”
Nodding, I take his help and stand, only to hop on one foot and fall onto the nearest chair. “Ow!” My ankle is killing me and the slight pressure I just placed on it has me in tears.
“Fuck,” he mutters watching me hold my injured foot.
“Larken!”
The calling of my name has our attention as Haught storms inside, the door slamming inward against the wall, and stops momentarily to take in the scene before him.
354
Hacker
“Bird,” I say in a softer voice, frowning when I see her cradling her foot.
“Haught,” she replies in relief. I can see her fighting back tears just as she turns to where Trick has backed a red-faced Dupree against a wall, hand around his throat.
“You mother fucker,” I snarl, launching myself at the pair, catching Henri by the throat when Trick steps out of my way. My hands squeeze as I raise him
