Had he come in while I slept and decided not to wake me up? Had he watched me sleep, and covered me with the jacket? I blink.
At least I hadn't drooled. Small mercies. I pick up the jacket, then bury my nose in the luxurious fabric.
The scent of him laces my nostrils—masculine, complex, layers upon layers that sink into my skin. My cheeks flush. My thighs clench. Ridiculous. I can’t have such a reaction to his scent. I drop the jacket on the couch, then spring up to my feet, and walk toward the desk.
Starlight streams in from the windows. Huh? It had been late afternoon when I'd arrived. How long did I sleep? I glance at the sleek wall clock on the far side of the room. What the—? It's late—almost 9pm. Why did he let me sleep away the evening?
I sink into the massive leather chair; the scent of him deepens. My belly flutters. My throat dries. Why the hell am I having such a strong reaction to the presence—? No. My lips twist. Technically, that would be his absence—of this man I barely know.
I touch the pad of the laptop in front of me and the screen lights up. It's fingerprint locked. I'd checked it as soon as Saint had left, of course. It wouldn’t have been that easy, right? I have to get into his files to get what I need, which means—my shoulders slump—I have to get close to him. No choice.
I glance at the desk, spot the riding crop on it. "What the—?" Who keeps a riding crop on his work desk, in his office? Saint does; that's who. I shake my head, reach for the top drawer. It's locked. Well hell, of course it couldn't be that simple.
I open the drawer below; there's stationery, pens, excel sheets printed with rows of numbers. I wrench open the drawer at the bottom... my breath catches. A gun? Huh? He keeps a gun? Another noise reaches me through the door. Shit. Where the hell is Saint?
I snatch up the revolver. The weight is reassuring. Two months ago I'd never seen a gun in my life. Now? Well, I'll take every break I get.
The one thing my experience has taught me is never to be taken by surprise. I shut the drawer, then walk across the floor. Opening the door, I step into a corridor. Strain my ears… Nothing. Scratch that... Is that a sound from down the hall? I glance down the passageway, then the other way. Right. I march down the hallway to the set of double doors, and fling them open.
Pale blue eyes cut into me; his eyebrows slash down.
I take in the breadth of his shoulders ensconced in the same white dress shirt he had on earlier. Only now, the front is unbuttoned and pulled apart to reveal his cut torso. Black hair clings to the eight pack abs that ripple and flow down to meet the waistband of his pants… His unzipped pants where a woman bobs her head. So, this was his very important appointment?
She grips his powerful pant-clad thighs, which buck and flex under her touch. He parts his legs, then clasps the back of her head. The veins on his muscled forearm flex.
A moan bleeds through the air and I’m instantly wet. My mouth waters. My scalp tingles.
Omigod, why is that the most intensely erotic thing I have ever seen? I seriously can’t be thinking that now. Get out of here, get out. My feet seem stuck to the ground, my legs too heavy to carry me out of there. I watch, riveted, as he brings up his other hand, the veins on his forearms popping.
His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows; his biceps bulge as he swipes a finger across his lower lip.
"You want to share it when you have it, but when you want it you don't have it." He rumbles, "What is it?"
His tone rams through the jumbled quagmire of my mind, pulling me in, drowning me down, insisting that I focus my attention on that beautiful visage.
His lips curl. He is laughing at me.
He knows exactly the picture he presents.
So damn arrogant. So confident.
Did he orchestrate this entire tableau for my benefit? Nah, why should he? Bet he has a mile-long queue of women outside the door ready to suck his every appendage. I chuckle.
His glare intensifies. "You have one second to answer."
"I… I don’t know." I swallow.
"A secret," he drawls. "That's the answer." His eyelids grow hooded. "What secrets are you hiding from me, I wonder?"
"None." I swallow.
"Everyone has secrets." He chuckles.
"Even you?"
"Especially me." His grin widens.
The wet sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the room. I drop my gaze to where the woman kneels between his thighs. His forearms flex, he spreads his legs, yanks her head closer, then begins to use her mouth in earnest. Back-forth-back; her entire body shakes.
A gagging noise splits the rhythmic effect.
My head spins. My core clenches and I chafe my thighs wanting…Needing more. So much more.
His chest seems to expand further and further; his shoulders swell. His pale blue eyes glow with a strange inner light.
He lowers his chin, raises an eyebrow, and a snarl rips up my throat.
A heavy sensation stabs in my chest; my vision tunnels. I am not jealous. I am not. I don’t want him that way. Besides he had…left me there on the couch, while he’d indulged himself? What a complete jerk.
My heart begins to race; adrenaline laces my blood. I raise the gun, aim it at Saint.
He stares back. His shoulders stiffens.
The woman between his legs glances around. I level the gun at her. She pales.
I wiggle the gun
