Enforcer (Seattle Sharks Book 2)

by Samantha Whiskey

  He waved me off and tapped my place card. “Paige Turner. When you see it written out like that it’s…” he laughed.

  “Mom has an incredible sense of humor.”

  He set the card back down and chuckled. “I can relate.”

  “I think Rory is a strong name.” And I wondered just how strong he was? Enough to hold me against a wall and make my eyes roll back in my head? How hard would it be for me to get him into bed? His well-advertised colored past suggested it shouldn’t take more than a few hints. Plus he had just said he’d never let me down.

  Are you really going to do this? Yes. Wait. No. I shook my head. Yes.

  Crap. I’d shaved and done some general landscaping, right? Right.

  He held his glass out to me. “To funny and not at all ironic names.”

  I scooped up my drink and clinked it against his.

  My eyes followed his tongue as it dragged across his bottom lip, and suddenly I wanted. Wanted not in a “gee, that’d be nice,” way but an “I need that more than dinner,” kind of way. Good God, how could I get that in my mouth? I’d never seduced anyone as renowned for being a wild man before, but I was a grown woman about to take over a multi-billion dollar company, I could do this.

  Your pep talk suggests otherwise, my nagging inner-prude said. I shut the bitch up with another drink. Perhaps I should approach it like a business deal—an asset I absolutely needed to possess—cut throat and direct was always the key to success.

  Matt Donaldson came on the stage before I could choke my proposal out. He drew everyone’s attention as he spoke about the cause and made a few jokes at the expense of his friends. He nailed the speech, creating a perfect balance between need and emotion, successfully wringing out another donation from myself as I assumed everyone else as well.

  “Thank you all for coming. The drinks stop when you say, and the music starts now,” Matt said.

  Applause broke out as he descended the stage and wove into the crowd to mingle. A band played a few moments later, starting the night off with a peppy jazz number.

  “You’d better nail him, or I will,” Jeanine whispered in my ear. Then she shoved me, flinging me into Rory’s massive, muscular frame.

  He caught me easily. “Whoa, are you okay?” His hands stroked down my arms, sending whips of electric current through me.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jeanine said. “I’m just clumsy.” She stood as I regained my seat. “I have to go check on the rest of tonight’s food, and I just fell right into you, Paige. My bad! You have fun!” she ran off before I could physically beat her to a little blonde pulp.

  Rory’s fingers lingered on my arms before he let me go. The loss of his touch was like stepping away from a warm fire. “Would you like to dance?” I asked Rory, taking my courage by the lady-balls.

  He set his drink down and pushed back from the table, offering me his hand.

  Wow. That actually worked. I took it, the heat from his skin somehow touching every inch of mine.

  We made it to the center of the dance floor and though there were stars all around me—including two of People’s Sexiest Men Alive from the last five years—I couldn’t take my eyes off Rory. He radiated sex. The peeks of scars beneath his unbuttoned collar gave him a dangerous vibe that had me more than ready to run my tongue down the raised skin. He was rough on the ice—an enforcer famous for initiating and finishing fights while simultaneously helping his team rack up wins. And tonight I wanted him to win me.

  Every time my conscience came to surface, I shoved her back down with the reminder that I only had three months. That was it. Then it was the boardroom and the nun habit. But not tonight. Tonight I was dancing in heels with Rory Jackson.

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, my heart pounding as he settled his hands on my hips and moved us to the music.

  He smelled like soap and cedar and mouth-watering man. The way he moved made my body bend in ways that seemed impossible for the dress I wore, but somehow, I didn’t end up flashing anyone. Maybe it was because he kept me firmly pressed against his body, which let me feel every hard plane of muscle he possessed.

  So this was desire. Want. Lust. I wasn’t stupid. I knew this wouldn’t turn into anything more—not with the way he rotated women on a weekly basis—no matter how much I thought there was more to him than his bad boy status. More than his looks, his muscles, his raw sex appeal drawing me to him, but right now it was his incredible body that held me captive. Like I was flipping fuses in my head, I shut down all the logic I used in the boardroom and instead gave my body control.

  As the band segued into a slower tune, Rory motioned to leave the floor, but I pulled him in closer.

  “One more,” I said, slightly breathless. I knew I had to act fast before I lost all my nerve and my last chance at number seven.

  Rory smirked and snaked his arms around my waist, bringing his lips to my ear.

  “What’s your angle, Red?”

  I jolted slightly against him, pulling away from his chest to meet his eyes. They were sharp as a hawk. He didn’t miss a beat, so I damn sure wouldn’t miss mine.

  “I want you,” I forced out, my eyes wider than the sultry demand required. Okay, so I wasn’t a born seductress, but damn he made me feel like maybe I could be.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I picked up on that. But we’ve been at Gage’s with drinks flowing enough to need guest rooms for the night, and you never made a move. My question is why now?”

  “Is it that hard to guess?” Don’t look further. Don’t make me look deeper.

  “Sometimes. You’re a smart woman, and I don’t see any delusions of love flashing behind those green eyes of yours. So again I wonder, what’s your angle?”

  I shook my head. “How do you know I’m smart?” Because this now seemed like the stupidest thing I’d ever done. Turning myself into a puck bunny over a fucking list.

  No. A groupie would follow him around and beg for sex. I would not do that. This was a business offer. He’d either accept the proposal or not.

  “Anyone who is about to head up a world-wide organization has to be more than sharp.”

  “First with the drink and now you know about my career?” I tilted my head at him, curious as to what all he noticed from afar.

  “Do you think I’m completely oblivious?”

  “Of course not.” I smirked and took a deep breath, allowing my breasts to graze against his chest.

  He hissed but pulled me closer. “Is it the trophy? Bailey tell you fucking a Shark is the way to go? Because I’m nothing like Gage,” he warned.

  The direct question, paired with the way his body tightened against mine, fueled my drive. That and the way his lips moved when he dropped the f-bomb like it was a promise, was hot as hell.

  “No.” I slipped my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world to touch him so intimately. “I like to keep my personal life private. I don’t want you for your money, or your status, and I have zero inclination toward becoming your girl.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Well, those are all great reasons for why you don’t want me. What’s the reason you do?”

  I tugged at my lower lip with my teeth. “Look at you.”

  His gaze drifted along my features like I was a puzzle he was trying to put together.

  The music stopped, and we broke apart, our eyes locked in what was the most intense eye-sex of my life.

  In fact, I was pretty sure he’d make me come on the dance floor if he kept looking at me that way.

  “I’m so glad I found you!” Jeanine said, swooping in with a grin. “You left your key card at the table.” She pressed the cards into my hand. “Penthouse,” she said with a wink at Rory. “Knock him dead. I want details,” she whispered in my ear before dancing off.

  My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, my body at war with my very reasonable brain. His tongue slipped out, wetting his incredibly full, wickedly sexy lower lip, and my bod
y won the war. How could it not?

  I slipped the extra key-card to the room inside his jacket pocket, not asking, or even waiting for him to answer. The words wouldn’t come out anyway. I made sure to put a little extra swing in my hips as I clicked off the dance floor and out of the banquet room, high-fiving myself once I was clear. I hadn’t fallen or made an ass out of myself. Yet. I stopped in front of the elevator bank, my own access card in hand. My heart raced, the anticipation and adrenaline mixed inside me and forced my brain to go beyond rational. I’d never been so direct in any of my relationships before, but I suppose this wasn’t a relationship situation.

  I wasn’t a starry-eyed Cinderella, and my shoes weren’t glass. I wasn’t stupid enough to think this was my happily ever after. No, this was my incredible now. This, if he agreed, would be the memory I kept locked inside my vault for when my boring, acceptable future husband couldn’t get me off anymore. I grinned like a lunatic at my uncharacteristic behavior. I was good at business, and that’s what this was. Dirty-girl business. And I hoped like hell he’d become an investor.

  Chapter 3

  Rory

  I flipped the key card over my knuckles as the elevator rose to the penthouse floor.

  What the fuck are you doing?

  Maybe the real question was: what the fuck was Paige thinking? The floors dinged by as I rose, each one bringing a new thought.

  Ding. Paige was a flawless beauty, the kind you didn’t see in magazines—they’d never lower themselves to be judged by their looks because she…

  Ding. ...was brilliant. Her brain never slowed down. Hell, she outmaneuvered men in business as if they were driving bumper cars at the Indy 500.

  Ding. She could have any guy she crooked her finger at, which hadn’t been any since she’d started coming around Gage’s place to hang with Bailey. Why me?

  Ding. There were a thousand reasons it shouldn’t be me.

  She wasn’t a one-night stand kind of girl, no matter how she swayed her ass after that little offer she’d laid out downstairs. No, she was the woman you meticulously planned dates for, strove to keep her interest, and then drove onto Relationship Ave with as quickly as possible before taking the Engagement onramp to Matrimony Highway. I, on the other hand, was a total one night guy.

  The floors sped by, and I rubbed my thumb against my forefinger, grappling with a decision I should never have been presented with in the first place.

  She was champagne, and I was beer.

  She was Chanel and Dior, and I was Under Armour.

  She was responsible where I was reckless.

  Ding. The doors opened directly into the penthouse.

  All of these things were still true, but I also knew none of them were going to stop me. That’s what made me the asshole in this whole situation. When given a choice, I inevitably made the wrong one.

  But damn, did that woman look so right.

  The French doors were open to the balcony, and she stood with one hip jutted out, a champagne flute in the opposite hand, looking at the city beneath us.

  She was all graceful lines and fuckable curves, from the delicate slope of her shoulder to the neck I wanted to mark in some outdated, primal need to show the world that for one night, this woman found me worthy of her.

  But the man who was actually worthy wouldn’t take it.

  I walked out onto the balcony, leaning back against the stone railing so I could look at the most beautiful view in the city. The lights, hills, and water of Seattle could never hold a candle to Paige.

  “You came,” she said, her voice shaking with the same fine tremor of her hand as she took a sip from her glass.

  “Explain it to me.”

  “Explain what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “That I want you? Half the women in Seattle would admit to wanting you, and the other half are liars.” Her gaze was steady, unwavering.

  “You only want one night?” A soft breeze blew by, raising goosebumps on her bare arm. I removed my jacket and slipped it over her shoulders, which earned me a soft smile.

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” I said, loosening my bowtie so the ends hung down. “So about this one night?”

  She cleared her throat and pulled the edges of my jacket closed. “Yes, I want a night. If that’s amenable to you.”

  Amenable? One night spent with Paige under me? Who wouldn’t be ecstatic over that?

  “But—” she continued, cutting off my thoughts, “I also have a proposition that might benefit us both.”

  “You’re literally propositioning me for sex? Isn’t that illegal?” I teased.

  A blush rose on her cheeks, and she looked away with a smile briefly. God, this woman wasn’t just beautiful—she was captivating.

  “Kind of,” she admitted with a shrug. “You are in the middle of a PR nightmare.”

  I blinked. “We’re really going to have to work on your pick-up lines.” Of course she knew. Everyone in Seattle knew, let alone our closest friends.

  “Well, there’s no use beating around that bush. You are. I know you’re up on contract, and that you’re not exactly a PR asset to the Sharks right now. I could change that.”

  “How? By pretending to be my girlfriend like we’re in some sappy rom-com?” One night, I could handle. But there was zero chance in hell I was faking anything in my life, let alone with a woman I honestly wanted.

  Her shoulders straightened, and her chin rose a good inch. Gone was the charming seductress—this was the savvy business woman. “Actually, I’m proposing that we enter into a real relationship with contractual limitations.”

  “I’m sorry?” I leaned in, certain I’d heard wrong.

  “I have three months until I’m set to take over the company—until I sign a contract with a morality clause that puts an end to pretty much everything I could possibly want for myself. I’ll basically be cloistered until an acceptable match comes along.”

  “So what you’re saying is that until your Mr. Right comes along, you’d like me to be your Mr. Right-now?” Holy shit, could tonight get any weirder? Here, have your dream woman for a while, but only because you’re not good enough for her in the long-term.

  “No,” she adamantly shook her head, those green eyes going wide. “I’m saying that I could improve your PR. I’m an upstanding member of the community. I sit on the board of several charities. I don’t get drunk in public or do anything that would put me in the tabloids—”

  “Yeah, you’re a regular thoroughbred filly,” I snapped, my insides twisting at the way she’d just laid out our differences.

  She looked down, her shoulders sagging the slightest fraction, and I immediately regretted my words. But then she straightened, arched a delicate eyebrow at me, and my heart fucking lurched toward her, glad I’d said the words so I could have this moment.

  “I am,” she agreed. “And what I want is three months with you. A real relationship with a real end date.”

  “This doesn’t feel a little Pretty Woman to you?”

  “Not at all. It’s a simple business transaction where we both benefit. We merge our lives for these three months, we both get what we need, we both get out unscathed and all the better for it.”

  “And what is it that you need?” I asked softly, stalking toward her. For every step I took, she retreated across the small balcony. She might act supremely confident, but the idea of proposing this insane little deal, and actually following through with it were two different things.

  “To live.” Her back hit the brick wall.

  “Clarify,” I ordered softly, running my thumb down the silk of her cheek. God, she was incredibly soft.

  “I want to experience...lust. Passion. Everything I’m guaranteed to give up in three months.”

  My dick sprung, pushing uncomfortably against the fabric of my tux. “Why me?”

  Her tongue slipped out, running along her bottom lip. “Because you’re the only one I want, and I know that this would be the only chance I’d ev
er get to have you.”

  I studied the small shifts in her expression, the tiny nuances in her eyes that showed me her certainty, her determination, and the sliver of what I knew she wanted to keep hidden—her vulnerability.

  “And when three months are up?”

  “Your reputation is on the mend, and we both have contracts to sign and some great memories.”

  And when three months isn’t enough?

  I shoved that thought as far away as possible. This morning Paige was as untouchable as she was beautiful. She was a fantasy, like the first time a fourteen-year-old boy stumbled onto a Victoria’s Secret catalog. Now she was standing in front of me, telling me I could have her for three months with no strings attached.

  It was every man’s dream. I’d be a fool to turn her down, but I’d be an even bigger fool to walk into paradise only to know I’d be cast out in three month’s time.

  “Rory?”

  “I’m thinking.” I brushed back a loose strand of red hair. Could I have her for three months and walk away unscathed? Unlikely. She’d burn me to the very core, but damn if that wasn’t a fire I was willing to walk through.

  “I know it’s an odd offer. And that you can have any woman you want in Seattle. Hell, probably the entire country. I’m not stupid. I see the magazines, the billboards, the thirty-foot tall poster of your face on the outside of the arena. And I know that I’m the one you’d be doing the favor for. I might not be a supermodel like that one girl last year—”

  “There were two.”

  “—but. Wait, what? Two? I only knew about the one.”

  “I can be very discreet when the situation calls for it.”

  She blinked and took a steadying breath. “Right. Well, fine. Then I’m not like the girls you typically date, but I’m good for you—”

  “Stop, Paige. Why are you trying so hard?”

  A flash of uncertainty crossed her face; then I watched with amazement as all pretense of her shell crumbled. She sagged against the wall, leaning her cheek into my open hand. “Because I know you may need me, but I want you.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. I want you, too. More than I’ve ever wanted any other woman.”