by Gwyn McNamee
The instant she disappears around the doorjamb, I grasp my rock-hard cock and adjust it away from under the zipper of my jeans. That woman is walking attitude and sex. I can already smell the trouble she will cause me, mixed with the heady blend of lilacs and rain she left in her wake. I haven’t reacted to a woman this way in, well, ever.
I pick up the phone and press the extension for the downstairs bar, waiting impatiently as it rings several times. “Yep,” Byron answers, slightly out of breath.
“A very angry, very beautiful blonde is on her way down from my office. She’s looking for her sister, Nora Eriksson.”
“Your office? Shit. I’m sorry, Savage. I stepped out back to take care of a delivery. She must have slipped in when I was gone. I’ll take care of it.”
As much as I want to ream him out for letting someone get up here unannounced, I know he was busy out back and it really isn’t his fault. It does get me wondering about better security, though. I thought we had things covered—Gabe is kind of an expert when it comes assuring things are locked down—but if a woman like that can waltz right up here, so can anyone else.
“Please do, and track down Nora if she isn’t here. See if she can come in and meet with me as soon as possible.” I drop the phone back into the cradle and relax back into my chair.
My cock is still pressing uncomfortably against my jeans, but there isn’t anything I can do about it now. So, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and make my best attempt to center myself.
Deep breaths, Savage. Deep, cleansing breaths.
There’s work to be done, phone calls that need to be made…
“What the hell was that all about?” Gabe struts into my office and drops unceremoniously into one of the leather arm chairs facing me. “Was she here for a job? Please tell me you hired that fine piece of ass!”
His lecherous grin makes me smile despite my disgust at his constant dehumanization of females.
“No, sorry, Gabe, she wasn’t here for a job interview. She was here to tell me off because I hired her sister, Nora Eriksson.”
Gabe’s eyes widen and his jaw drops. “That is Nora’s sister?”
I nod and he chuckles, dropping his head against the back of the chair.
“You know what she does, right?” he asks.
“No, should I?”
He pulls his head up and gives me a look I’ve seen way too many times over the last twenty-plus years of our friendship—the “you’re a fucking moron” look.
“Should I?”
His grin tells me I may be in more trouble than I realized.
“Uh, yeah, man. She’s a goddamn investigative reporter for the Times. If you cross her, you’re liable to end up being the cover story.”
Shit.
I knew she looked familiar for some reason. I’ve seen her photo at the top of her column every fucking morning.
“Fuck, you’re right…but I don’t think she was here for a story. This was personal. This was about her sister. I gathered that the last thing she would want is for the world to find out her little sister is now a stripper.”
Gabe barks out a laugh. “Why do you say that with such disdain? You own the place, Savage. You employ these strippers.”
“That doesn’t mean I would necessarily want any of my baby sisters doing it.”
That gets Gabe absolutely rolling, doubling over in the chair and wiping tears from his eyes. “God, I can just imagine if Storm or Skye tried to become a dancer. You would completely lose your shit.”
I glare at him. “Not funny. Stop picturing my baby sisters in thongs, you pervert.”
“They are hardly babies anymore, Savage. They’re what, twenty-seven and twenty-nine? Storm is married and has a child, for Christ’s sake.”
Not the fucking point!
My big-brother blood boils and, if Gabe weren’t basically my other half, I might act on my urge to punch him in the fucking jaw. I love the guy, but he should know better when it comes to the Hawke girls.
“Still, you’re practically family, and they will always be my baby sisters, so, just stop.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine,” he relents, standing and stretching out, the tips of his fingers almost hitting the ceiling. “You ready to get outta here for the day?”
“No, I asked Byron to try to get ahold of Nora. I want to talk to her and make sure nothing else is going on. Her sister seems to genuinely think she wouldn’t be here unless it was because of some sort of outside forces.”
Gabe looks concerned for the first time since he entered my office.
“You think Byron missed something in the interview?”
“I doubt it,” I reply, shaking my head, “but I have to ask, just to ease my own mind.”
He shrugs. “All right, just let me know when you’re ready to bail.” He disappears out the door, tossing a half-wave over his shoulder before closing it behind him.
I return to the paperwork on my desk and try to lose myself in the numbers and contracts in front of me. At least my dick has finally calmed down.
My reaction to Danika unnerves me yet has me considering things I haven’t thought about in a very fucking long time. If I spend any more time thinking about her, I won’t get anything done today. I try my best to push her to the back of my mind.
After an hour of phone calls and staring at the tiny print in these one hundred-page contracts, my head pounds and my eyes are starting to burn.
A soft knock at the door finally breaks the concentration I managed to find. I look up.
“Come in.” I drop the papers in my hand onto the pile accumulating on my desk and decide that, no matter what, I’ll head home as soon as whoever this is leaves. I am fucking exhausted.
Nora appears, barely popping her head into the cracked door. “Sir? Byron called and said you wanted to see me?”
Sir. Christ. I can’t be more than ten years older than her and she’s calling me sir?
“Yes, hello, Nora. Please, come in.”
She pushes the door open and steps in, all five foot three inches, one hundred pounds of her, timidly making her way to my desk. The sisters must really take after different parents, because I would have never known they are related based on meeting them. They have the same blue eyes and blonde hair, but where Danika was all confidence and legs, Nora is petite and carries herself more like someone walking the plank. “Um, am I in trouble, sir?”
Shit. Of course she thinks she’s in trouble. I must have scared the crap out of her, asking for this meeting.
“Oh, shit, no! Come, sit, please…and for the love of God, stop calling me ‘sir.’”
She hesitates briefly before slowly lowering herself into the leather chair across from me. I can sense her nerves. She’s barely able to make eye contact with me and her leg is bouncing up and down in an anxious rhythm.
“Ms. Eriksson, please, you aren’t in any trouble. It’s just, I received a visit from your sister earlier today and wanted to discuss it with you.”
She closes her eyes and curses before shifting forward to the edge of her chair. “Oh God, what did she do? What did she say? Shit…” She drops her face into her hands.
Her reaction shouldn’t be funny, as she’s clearly distressed, but after my encounter with Danika today, I understand her concern. I bark out a laugh as I lean forward in my chair. “Yes, well, she certainly is…opinionated, isn’t she?”
Her head snaps up and her eyes meet mine. She frowns. “That’s a nice way to say it, sir. She tends to be a little…overzealous at times.” She offers me an apologetic smile.
There’s the sir, again.
I don’t correct her, because it doesn’t really matter, and she clearly has bigger concerns at the moment than trying to stroke my ego by not making me feel so fucking old.
When did thirty become “sir” territory, anyway? I understand being respectful to your elders. As children, my parents always made us call people “sir” or “ma’am,” but in this situation, i
t just makes me wonder what happened to the last ten years of my life to suddenly make me an “elder” without me even realizing it.
Christ, I wonder how old Danika is and if she saw me the same way Nora does. At least she didn’t call me “sir,” although I’m sure she had a few choice names for me in her head when she stormed out of here.
Nora shifts in her chair, and I realize an uncomfortable silence has settled over the room. You aren’t making this any easier on her by daydreaming about Danika instead of just telling her what’s up.
“Yes, well, she seemed very concerned about your employment here, and what your motives for working for me might be.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh and relaxes back into the chair. “Look, I’m sorry you had to deal with her. She’s just used to looking out for me, but I can assure you, I’m here because I want to be here.”
I never doubted it, but hearing it from her does ease the tension in my neck and shoulders and make me feel like slightly less of a scumbag. What Gabe said was true. I’ve never regretted my choice in business, and I’ve never been ashamed of what I do, but every time a big brother—or sister—shows up here raging, I get that niggling feeling deep in my chest that feels a lot like shame and guilt.
“I’m sure that’s true, Nora. Otherwise, Byron would have found out.”
Nora stands and paces in front of my desk. “I’ve been avoiding her ever since I dropped out of school. I didn’t know how to tell her…”
Her distress tugs at my heartstrings. I can picture Skye in this position. My youngest sister has a habit of getting herself into unsavory situations and I’m constantly forced to play white knight, riding in to her rescue. She shares that trait with our baby brother, Stone. Things have only gotten worse with Skye in the last three years. Sometimes, I wonder how she has managed to hold down her job at the hospital. She’s a great nurse, but with everything going on, she just hasn’t seemed to be able to keep her shit together.
“Look, your relationship with your sister isn’t any of my business, but she seems genuinely concerned about you. I think it might be a good idea for you to talk to her, sooner rather than later.”
She nods in agreement. “I just want you to know, I really love working here. Danika won’t understand, but, I’ve been busting my ass my whole life in school, in work, trying to please my mother and Danika, but none of it made me happy and I just needed a break. Being here, dancing, that makes me happy. I feel like I can be free and just be myself.”
I nod my understanding and offer her a smile. A lot of the girls tell me the same thing. Something about being completely free on the stage…I can’t understand it, but if they love it, that’s all I care about.
“Thank you for coming in on your day off, Nora. Again, I don’t want to involve myself in your family relationships…”
“No…” She holds her hands up to stop me. “I really appreciate you letting me know she was here.”
“Of course. I’ll see you later.”
She turns and disappears out of my office, closing the door behind her.
At least she has some manners, something that apparently doesn’t run in the family.
The difference between the sisters is striking. Danika came in like a whirlwind—a finely dressed, heavily-attituded whirlwind—and let me have it. She wasn’t intimidated by me or by being on my turf. She stood her ground and managed to walk out with her head held high, despite the blush I caught more than once during our meeting. Nora, on the other hand, dances naked for a living, but dealt with me in a mild and respectful manner. She doesn’t possess the same fire as Danika; that much is clear.
Why the fuck am I attracted to the difficult one?
He presses his body against mine, chest to chest, and his hot breath fans my ear as he kisses his way up and down my neck. Large hands cup my ass and jerk me forward to meet his grinding hips, his massive erection pressing against my engorged clit, eliciting a moan from me against his cheek. I push myself even closer to him, pulling away from the wall. He growls and shoves me back, making it clear who is in control, and reaches one hand around to tear off my soaked panties, letting them fall to the floor.
“Please, Savage…” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them and I want to smack myself for sounding so needy and desperate. That is so not me. But I am on fucking fire! I need release like I need my next breath and he isn’t giving it to me. Instead, he’s teasing me, using his wicked mouth and body to push me to the brink of insanity.
“Hello? Earth to Danika?”
I jerk awake, almost falling out of my chair when Caroline grabs the back and spins it around to face her. “What the hell, girl?” She stares at me intently. “What is going on with you today? This is the third time you’ve totally zoned out since you came back from lunch.”
Since I came back from “lunch”—since I came back from seeing Savage fucking Hawke.
I’ve been a complete basket case all afternoon and I have only myself, and that man, to blame. Well, that’s not true. I can also blame Robert, my former fuck buddy who decided to up and move, leaving me utterly bereft and needy as hell.
It’s inhumane to leave a woman hanging like that. I always get like this when I don’t get laid. It’s been over a week—almost two. Twelve long, lonely, agonizing days, and now I can’t stop fantasizing about the first man I’ve been attracted to since Robert left.
Get your shit together, Eriksson. You have a job to do. Put your libido away until you get home and can spend some time with BOB or find someone else who can take your mind off Savage.
“I’m fine, Caroline, relax. I’m just distracted thinking about this story.” It isn’t a complete lie. I’ve been trying to nail Domenico Abello since I started this job almost four years ago, but all I’ve managed to do is meet with brick walls of silence.
Abello is dirty—the kind of dirty that makes Tony Soprano look like Mr. Clean.
Everyone knows his reputation, but I only recently got wind of some very unsettling information. Paul, my source, a low-ranking henchman of Abello’s, heard I had been asking around, trying to tie Abello to anything that could actually get him sent away. When he first approached me outside my apartment, I’ll admit, I thought I’d end up with a bullet in my head, but it turns out Paul wants out of the organization and he’s smart enough to know Abello won’t let him just walk away.
Paul confirmed something I’ve long suspected and feared—Abello doesn’t just control New Orleans’ underworld. He controls the government, too, through a seedy connection to Mayor Dunne.
Many of the people who stood in the way of Brian Dunne’s political advancement over the years have disappeared or been in questionable accidents. Once he reached office, a lot of his opposition seemed to back off quite unexpectedly from vehement resistance to certain projects. Quite a few contracts have also ended up going to businesses with hidden connections to Abello.
According to Paul, Dunne’s success is, in large part, due to this “assistance” from Abello. The only question is, can I prove it?
If I can verify and document that the head of the biggest crime syndicate in New Orleans has unsavory ties to the mayor, and has not only been receiving special consideration on projects in exchange for not even remotely legal favors, but may be going so far as to commit murder for Dunne, my career will be made.
“You still trying to get that source to get some documentation for you?”
“Yeah,” I say, spinning around to check my email, “he keeps hedging. I’ve only been able to get him to tell me about the shit he’s heard or seen, but no actual hard evidence of anything yet. No way I’m publishing this story until I have iron-clad documentation and the source’s allegations are backed up.”
Diligence is important in this business, and I won’t risk losing my job, or my reputation, on someone who may just have an axe to grind. Not that I really think that in this case.
“You don’t believe his story?”
Spinning back aro
und to face her, I shake my head. “That’s just it, I do believe his story but there is no way I am putting my neck out there and exposing the people I plan to until I have everything I need.” It would be career suicide to publish a story like this without one hundred percent confirmation. It wouldn’t be fair to my source, either. I know he’s putting his neck on the line for me, with no benefit to him other than the potential opportunity to get out from under Abello’s thumb. I can’t risk his safety.
Caroline drops down into the chair opposite my desk and frowns. “You still won’t tell me what this is all about?”
I sigh and run my hands back through my hair, which only reminds me of a hair-pulling Savage fantasy I had earlier this afternoon. Shit. I release my hair and let out a deep breath. Caroline is my best friend, and I would love to be able to share my Abello story with her, but I refuse to spill anything until I have the story wrapped up with a pretty bow around it—it’s just too dangerous.
“No, Caroline, but it has nothing to do with you, or me not trusting you. It’s just better if no one else knows this information. It’s safer that way.”
She gives me a leery look. “You know, when you talk that way, it makes me hella nervous, girl.”
I wave her off and bend to grab my purse and briefcase. I toss them over my shoulder, and she follows me out of my office. “You don’t have to worry about me, Caroline. My dad taught me how to take care of myself.”
Before he died, Dad ensured his girls knew basic self-defense skills—as much as you can teach that to a five and a twelve year old. Thankfully, I’ve never needed to use them. But, getting on the wrong side of a guy like Abello was probably not what my father contemplated when instructing me.
Still, I refuse to back down because of some potential perceived danger. That wouldn’t be doing my job, and I would feel like utter shit if I let my suspicions go. Maybe it’s because my dad was a cop and spent his whole life trying to put douchebags like Abello away, or maybe I have some innate moral compass compelling me, but either way, I can’t just let this get buried. If I did, I feel like I’d be letting myself, and my father, down. Dad died protecting people from Abello’s type of scum, and I’m not about to let him continue his control over this city.
