by Kira Graham
Technically, I’m in the business of saving people.
“You’re really intuitive.”
“Not really,” he laughs, settling back and offering me a drink.
I accept and enjoy the smooth, fiery burn of the aged scotch as it blazes down my throat, then lean back with a tired sigh. All in all, we spent a good three hours working our way around that room to get to Waters, but, in the end, it was worth it. He’ll sell to Adonis; I saw it the minute he agreed to a meeting.
“I’m not intuitive or sensitive to things. I work in absolutes, Rosetta. It’s a fact that companies and marriages are based on contracts, whether verbal, or signed and witnessed. When you help someone get divorced, it’s the same as helping a company that’s been cut loose from its contracts. You enforce the clauses, help them with penalties, and ensure that they’re healthy enough to contemplate another merger. I like that, and I love that you’re so good at the finer details. You’re a good attorney, Rosetta.”
The compliment warms me to the core, and I find myself relaxing for the first time in hours. I am freaking good. Great. Awesome. Too bad none of that will matter in the greater scheme of things. The people I just left behind are the movers and shakers, the decision makers, and being out of tune with them means that I can kiss any other high-powered job goodbye. It’ll be a shit show to get a toe in the door from here on out, and I honestly don’t know if the effort or fight will be worth it. Sigh.
“Thanks. You, too. I heard some guys say that your contracts are ironclad and inescapable. Kudos on earning the nickname ‘God of Law,’” I muse, strangely turned on by that.
God, Cleo is right when she mutters to herself. There really is something wrong with me.
“No kudos required. I didn’t want the title.”
“What did you want, then?” I ask.
Zeus is the head of legal for Hart Inc., and while that technically makes us of the same ilk, I don’t see much passion behind his words or his motivations. He follows the steps, maps things out to the last detail, and then makes sure that it’s done by the book, but as for enjoying the meat and bones of making and breaking deals, I don’t see it. He’s damn good at it; I just don’t know that he likes it.
“Don’t need much more than what I have now,” he drawls, giving me a heated look that I try to ignore despite my heating core.
Damn man is dangerous.
“And what’s that, Hart?”
“You know. Don’t worry, though, Rosie—negotiation is always on the table.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I admit silently as the car draws to a halt outside my building. Sexual tension charges the air as we step into the elevator and ride all the way up. I’ve made up my mind to just go with this and sleep with Zeus by the time we reach my door and he takes my key to let me in to my apartment, and I fully intend to go through with it when he leans down to peck my lips, my own lips opening and clinging to his, giving him a clear signal.
I’m aroused, ready, and all too aware of the desire that’s filling my veins and wetting my core, when he pulls away from me and takes a step back, a dark smile on his face. That smile revs my engine like nothing else, and before I can think, I’m pulling him closer with a hand fisted in his shirt. I kiss him desperately and ignore the thrill that works its way through my sex when he flattens me against the door and growls low in his throat.
This isn’t a good idea. I don’t know how many times I’ve said that very thing to myself when I’ve been around him, but this time, I mean it. I can’t be kissing this man, pulling him closer, or grinding myself into the hard, very large stalk that I feel pressing against his zipper.
And yet, I do. I kiss him as if my life depends on the fusion of our lips. I suck on his tongue, grind my sex closer, and do everything I can to let him know that I am ready, and that I want what is about to happen.
“Jesus. You taste so good,” Zeus growls, ripping his mouth away from mine and ignoring the protesting mewl I make.
I want him to kiss me harder, and then somehow get his cock out and into me, because I am so turned on right now that it hurts when he pulls his hips away, removing the small amount of friction that was created by my writhing sex against his.
“Z—” I gasp, trying to press closer and moaning when he stops me by cupping my sex in his large hand, the heat and slight pressure shuddering through me in waves.
“You smelled so good all night, Rosie-mine. Have I told you tonight how sexy you look, or that I’ve been thinking about what’s under this dress?” he asks softly, the heated glare of his lust burning when it meets my eyes. “Have I told you what I want to do to you in this dress?”
“Tell me.”
Oh God, this isn’t a good idea, but I find myself unable and unwilling to say that out loud when his hand moves, his fingers working slowly to bunch up my dress and letting the soft fabric whisper over my calves, then my knees, and finally allowing a cold breeze to flutter over my thighs when he reveals my panties.
There’s a wet spot on the pink silk, and Zeus growls when he sees it, his lips peeling back from his teeth as if the sight does something to him. As if he’s fighting control. I want that control to snap and bump my hips forward, grazing my wet panties against his hand. A shudder fills me at the brief contact and grows when he growls and twists, cupping me again, but this time harder, the touch possessive and so greedy that I feel another gush of moisture leave my core.
“I’m going to make you feel good, Rosie-mine. So good that when you sleep tonight,” he purrs, stopping to lean down and lick back into my mouth for a taste, “you’ll dream about us together.”
“Yes,” I gasp, whimpering needily as he keeps kissing me and moves his hand, with just the length of his fingers sliding against me.
I want that, need it more than I think I’ve ever needed anything before. What he’s offering me is a night to forget, a night to take something good and let go of all the bad that I’ve had recently. And, greedily, I want that.
Twisting his hand again, he moves into my panties and slides bare flesh against bare flesh, his lips pulling back with a hiss when he encounters my wet folds.
“So wet, Rosie. Is this all for me?” he asks against my mouth, kissing me almost savagely when I whimper and nod, keeping our mouths together.
It’s all for him. No one else is in my mind right now, and the relief of it is astounding, breath-stealing. Or maybe I lose my breath because Zeus snarls approvingly and starts to rub against me, his fingers dipping from my opening to my clit and back again, teasing me mercilessly. He keeps on going for several minutes, as if he likes the sensation of my silky flesh against his fingers, and then, with a hum, he slips down again and tickles at my opening, using soft, retreating dips to gently breach me.
It feels good, enticing, to have him do it so slowly, as if he’s dragging it out for as long as he possibly can. I’m more than okay with that because this is only the beginning. Tonight, I will have Zeus Hart, and just for one night, I will forget every reason that I shouldn’t. Letting go, I give myself up to him and concentrate on every feeling of having him touch me. He strokes me inside, uses his thumb to flick across my clit, and keeps kissing me.
The kiss is as arousing as the way he fills and rubs at my sex, a communion of sharing that heats up my arousal and makes me speed towards climax much faster than I want to. Moaning, I pant and shiver, moving against his hand, chasing the building pleasure until I go tight inside and then explode out, shuddering and clamping down around his hand.
Zeus doesn’t stop. He keeps kissing me and gentles his touch, playing out the orgasm until the last wave shudders through me and ebbs, leaving behind a sated, languid pleasure.
I cling to him, thinking that I can enjoy this for a little while before we move on, but he ends the kiss, lets me down, and rights my dress before stepping back with a soft smile and a last peck on my lips.
“Good night, Rosie-mine. I’ll definitely be calling you tomorrow.”
Then
he turns and walks away, closing my apartment door and leaving me panting, sated, and so confused that all I can manage to do is slump back against the couch and relive every second of what just happened.
And secretly hope that it happens again. And so much more.
Chapter Seven
Zeus
“Call her in,” Adonis tells me, shrugging easily when I open my mouth and close it again, speechless.
“That easily?” I ask, recalling the interview process that I was forced to go through.
Adonis made me jump through every hoop he could find, and in the end, it wasn’t so much that I made the cut, but more that I was the only one left standing after a grueling interview period. The one thing I can say about Adonis is that he doesn’t care how much blood we share; if you can’t do the job, then you can step off. My other brothers and I like to joke that Adonis does all of the work, and while it’s true that he micromanages the company to the point of obsessive control, we do each play our part.
Achilles loves construction, and with degrees in both business and architecture, he’s a big asset to have in that department. Ares is the lover, the guy who thrives on pleasing others, so we have him in the PR department, where his talent for spinning words gets us ad campaigns that outdo all others. Paris, the most playful of us all, runs the development department and works with the hokey projects that require a more open mind than most of us have. He’s almost entirely to blame for the production of cell phone accessories, a large income earner for our telecommunications divisions, because, as he put it, “People want to connect, man, but they wanna do it in style.”
Whatever the hell that means.
“That easily. Don’t glare at me, asshole. I’ve been looking into ways to headhunt Rosetta since she handled the Massoni deal eighteen months ago.”
“The deal we lost,” I point out, still a little peeved about it.
I worked on the contracts for almost five months, changing and rearranging things until I came up with something that would make us all happy. Then she stepped in, reworked it all, and made it an impossible deal to accept. Massoni took an offer from another company run by our rival, Hedge, and they in turn pioneered a waterless drilling system that is revolutionizing certain industries. The money aside, I wanted my name attached to something that big, and I missed out because the woman I happen to be obsessed with stepped in and stole it from me.
“A deal we should have lost. We knew going in that our offer was way below what Massoni would accept. Negotiation and bargaining is one thing, but we screwed up. I screwed up. I went in too low, against your warnings, and we lost it. Lesson learned. That’s where Rosetta comes in. She has a knack for knowing how to read an offer before it’s been made. With her on the team, you can concentrate more on the charity legals, something you’ve wanted to do for a while,” he points out, smiling softly when I blow out a breath.
I do want that. I just recently started looking into funding for archaeological restoration and preservation of the Native American land that borders some of the land we bought three years ago. The intended use of the large tract was to support the construction of a pipeline, but once we heard back from a number of experts and environmentalists, we pulled it and haven’t touched the land since. I like making money, but doing so at the cost of a culture that has been with us for millennia isn’t something that I’m willing to do. I want to work with the people there and find a way to meet in the middle. That land is important to us all—Achilles, mostly, because he wants to build a resort of sorts, not only to expand our portfolio, but also to provide some sort of economy in the area. Construction means jobs, and jobs are sorely needed right now.
“I do want to do that, but you know where I’m at right now,” I say tersely, my mind still reeling from last night’s conversation.
And that kiss. And her taste. And the very real pain I felt when I walked away, my cock so hard that I was forced to go home and jack off for an hour just to get the thing to soften.
“I hear you, bro. And I appreciate the effort and work you’re putting in. I want this fucker found, and soon. Cleo and I need to make things official, and the longer it takes for me to give her solid answers, the more she’s going to drag her feet on the wedding. Do what you have to, and use whatever resources you need, but give me something to work with,” he pleads, the stark pain in his eyes tearing at me.
Cleo is definitely dragging her feet on the wedding, canceling things left and right as the mood strikes, no matter what anyone says. At last count, there were three wedding planners who’ve blacklisted her, a bakery that will not touch her wedding cake because she’s notorious for changing things daily, and thirteen wedding dresses hanging in Addy’s closet, all somehow perfect one moment and then all kinds of wrong the next.
I’ll find answers.
“I’ll get on that first thing. After I call Rosetta and ask her to come in. Hopefully, she’ll agree to—”
The door bursts open before I can finish, and a harried, completely hysterical Cleo falls into the room, her sobs and screams spurring Adonis into action. He’s out of his seat and catching her before she makes contact with the carpet, and, as I watch, with everything happening in a strangely slow sequence that I track minutely, I take in what she’s wearing.
She’s still clad in her fuzzy sheep sleep shirt, a pair of striped, calf-length socks in pink and orange, and two different-colored boots that aren’t even in the same style. What makes this terrifying instead of funny is the way that she throws herself at Addy and then bursts into tears again, while Alex and Sin both fall into the room, looking just as unkempt, as harried, and as worked up as Cleo.
“Someone killed Donald, Perez, and that other loser who worked with Rosetta! It’s all over the news. Have you seen it? Of course you haven’t! Goddammit,” Alex yells, stalking over to the TV to turn it on.
What I see makes my blood run so cold that I almost fall back into the seat I just vacated.
“Ms. Sweet!” a reporter yells as cops drag a cuffed Rosetta out of her apartment building, her red hair standing up every which way and making it obvious that they dragged her out of bed.
What has my gut going tight is the sight of her pink dress, the same one that she wore last night—and the same one that I almost stripped off her before I regained control. There are dark stains running across the bodice, as if she’s swiped her hands over it to rid them of…Christ, that’s blood, my mind screams, terror filling me when the camera pans onto Rosetta, and her stark, terror-filled eyes meet mine.
I know that she’s not looking directly at me, but, God help me, I can hear her silent pleas for help.
“I’m calling Hector! Cleo, baby, you need to calm down for me, okay? You need to stop crying and take a deep breath. Zeus!”
“I’m going right now!” I yell, breaking into a run and heading out the door as people start to arrive in Addy’s office, and all my brothers rush towards the women who seem to be in shock or some state of catatonic horror.
I don’t spare anyone a glance as I dive for the elevator, shoving all the other people out because I can’t afford to make any stops on the way down. Achilles tumbles in after me, and I scowl, casting a look towards Alex, whom he is holding against his chest on one side, while he hugs Sin to the other.
“Don’t start with me! You need me with you, man,” he growls, his hand slapping the override button as he inserts a key to ensure that the elevator remains private.
That key also turns off all the cameras, a nifty little thing that Adonis put in place after the third video of Paris and one of the staff members was taken and circulated around the office.
“I need to get down there so that I can alibi Rosetta,” I snarl, my fists curling with fury.
She didn’t do this. She just didn’t. I know Rosetta, and I know her temper, but what I know more than anything else is that she isn’t capable of killing someone, unless provoked.
“You can’t do that! You know for a fact that you weren�
�t with Rosetta after you left the event,” he says with a vehemence that stops me in my tracks.
I should have stayed with her last night and acted on the signals that she was throwing out. Hell, if I stayed, I would have made us both happy, and then this wouldn’t be happening.
“Someone did this, Chilli. Someone watched me leave her apartment building and then went up there and did this. What time did this happen?” I ask, tapping my feet anxiously as I wait for the doors to open onto the lobby.
“Not sure. I called Brent Ulster as soon as this hit the news, and while the details are still sketchy, the coroner is putting the time of death at around three this morning,” he says, following me out.
We reach the outer doors in mere moments and are met by a screaming crowd of reporters as soon as we step outside. Fighting my way towards the limo that Adonis must have called for us, I dive in after Achilles and slam the door, cursing when a bunch of hands and microphones hit the glass beside me.
“Joe—”
“On it, Mr. Hart,” the driver barks, flooring it to get us away from the curb and the screaming crowd.
“This cannot be happening. It just can’t. Left her around twelve this morning. Call Heath.”
“I already did. When I didn’t get an answer, I sent Thomas to his place, and he found him passed out drunk on his couch and so out of it that he could barely form a word,” Achilles mutters, curing softly. “He can’t alibi Rosetta, either, because the surveillance feeds were all cut, and whatever footage there was is gone. Whoever snuck in and did this—”
“Planned it down to the minute,” I finish, swiping a hand through my hair.
“Exactly. Brent went out to take Heath’s statement and run his apartment as soon as Thomas called me. It’s looking like Heath was drugged, man—and, even worse, whoever did this must have gotten a hold of his records. They used morphine,” he says darkly, sparking off a string of curses from me.
