Ruthless Pride (Dynasties: Seven Sins Book 1)

by Naima Simone

  Logic argued that he leave it alone—leave her alone. But the thought of her being blindsided... Well, here he was sitting outside her home like some kind of goddamn stalker. Growling a curse, he shoved open the back door.

  “John, I’ll give you a call when I’m finished here,” he instructed his driver.

  The younger man behind the wheel nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Closing the door shut, he stalked across the street and up to the two-story brick building with its neat side lawns and sidewalk bordered by honeysuckle. Just as he approached the door, a couple with a small child pushed through the entrance.

  “Oops, sorry ’bout that,” the man apologized with a grin. “This one’s a little anxious to hit the park.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Joshua said, stepping out of the way and catching the door before it could close.

  But his gaze remained ensnared by the little girl who couldn’t have been older than four years old. The same age the child Sophie accused him of having was supposed to be. A sudden longing jerked hard in his chest, catching him by surprise. Years ago, when the world had been his to conquer, he’d wanted what this husband and father had—family.

  Now? Now, a wife, a child... They just meant a person had more to lose.

  Shaking his head, he moved into the large lobby, letting the door close behind him. An elevator ride later, he stood in front of Sophie’s apartment. Before he could again question the wisdom of being here, he knocked. And waited. And knocked again.

  Hell. He glanced down at his watch: 6:48 p.m. She should’ve been home by now, but then again, Sophie had the same work ethic as he did. It was one of the things he admired about her despite her choice of career. So she very well could still be at the office.

  He had turned and taken a step away from her door when it opened.

  “Sophie,” he greeted, running his gaze from the brown-and-gold wavy strands that fell over the shoulders of a purple slouchy T-shirt that hung off one shoulder, down the black leggings to her bare feet with pink-painted toes. Dragging his perusal back up, he couldn’t look at her—not those slender, toned thighs, high, firm breasts or lovely dove-gray eyes—without thinking of how she’d looked, naked and damp from sweat, under him.

  “Joshua, what are you doing here?” Joshua, not Josh, as she’d called him for most of those hot, dark hours they’d spent together.

  Part of him wanted to demand she call him the shortened version again. And in that sex-drenched, husky voice. Instead, he slid his hands in his pants pockets and kept a careful distance between them.

  “I needed to talk with you about something. I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, but you weren’t answering your phone today.”

  “Yes.” She thrust a hand through her hair, drawing the strands away from her face. “I saw the missed calls. I intended to call you back but just got really busy.”

  He cocked his head. “You make a shitty liar, Sophie.”

  She dropped her arm, heaving a sigh. “What are you doing here, Joshua?” she repeated.

  “I need to talk to you. And not out here in the hallway.”

  “I—” Indecision flicked in her eyes, her full lips flattening. Finally, after a brief hesitation, she nodded and stepped back. “Fine. Only for a minute, though. I’m working.”

  Suspicion flared quick and hot in his chest. Was she writing the follow-up article on him? On what he’d revealed to her? He hadn’t stipulated that Saturday night had been off the record. Would she...?

  He snuffed the thoughts out as he entered her apartment and closed the door behind him. But the embers of doubt... He couldn’t extinguish them. How messed up was it that he harbored reservations about her trustworthiness, but he still wanted her with a hunger that gave him stomach pains?

  “Can I get you something? I was about to fix a cup of coffee. But I have wine or a bottle of water,” Sophie said.

  The reluctance in her offer had a corner of his mouth quirking into a humorless half smile. Good manners probably had her extending the courtesy instead of truly wanting him to stick around and enjoy a drink.

  So he accepted.

  “Coffee is fine.”

  Again, her lips tightened, but she headed to the kitchen that was separated from the living room by a breakfast bar. Taking the opportunity, he surveyed the apartment. Though on the small side, the living room with its overstuffed couches, wood coffee and end tables and big arched windows appeared cozy rather than cramped. Lived in. Compared with his condo, her place was a home, not a place to just crash instead of the office sofa.

  The room flowed into a space that could’ve been a dining area but Sophie had jammed with filled-to-overflowing bookcases, a tiny love seat and lamps. A reading nook. Easily he could imagine her curled up on those cushions, book in hand.

  He tore his gaze away, returning it to her as she finished up the second coffee in the one-cup brewer. Though irritation practically vibrated off her petite frame, her movements were fluid, graceful.

  “What are you working on?” he asked, needing to remind himself of who she was. What she did. What she was capable of.

  “The follow-up article from my visit to Black Crescent. I need to have it in by the end of the week.”

  There it was. The reminder. Ice trickled through his veins. Yes, he’d invited her into the inner sanctum of his company and revealed the programs that were close to his heart, but now, tiny pinpricks of doubts stabbed at him over that decision.

  “What?” Sophie propped a hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. “Having second thoughts? You asked me to Black Crescent, remember? This time I didn’t force my way in,” she drawled.

  “I don’t need any help remembering...anything,” he said, and yes, it made him an asshole to feel hot satisfaction well in him as slashes of red painted her high cheekbones. But he didn’t care. Not when she couldn’t hide the gleam of arousal in her eyes before abruptly turning back to the counter and the coffee cups.

  “Do you take sugar or cream?” she rasped. And the sound of the slightly hoarse tone...

  He barely stopped himself from stalking across the space separating them and pressing his chest to her ramrod-straight spine. From notching his hard dick just above the tempting curve of her perfect ass.

  “Black,” he ground out.

  Seconds later, she handed him the mug with Shouldn’t You Be Writing? emblazoned along the side along with a picture of a shirtless Thor and his hammer. He would’ve assumed the choice in cup was by accident if a smirk didn’t ride the corner of her mouth.

  “Cute,” he drawled.

  “It’s one of my favorites. Nothing but the best for you,” she purred, strolling past him with her own plain black mug back into the living room, where her laptop sat propped on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Not that I don’t doubt my coffee is wonderful, but what are you really doing here, Joshua?”

  The pointed question shoved away any vestiges of humor, and he took a sip of the steaming-hot, fragrant brew before replying. “Pictures of us together from the art gala were posted online in a society gossip column. I didn’t know if you were aware. But in case you weren’t, I wanted to give you a heads-up. Although you weren’t named, the columnist included some speculation about our relationship to one another.”

  She huffed out a dry laugh. “Oh yes, I already know about it. Althea called me into her office today and asked if anything was going on between us. She’s worried about the conflict of interest for the paper if the reporter of the story on Black Crescent is involved with the CEO.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her no, of course.”

  “So you lied,” Joshua drawled.

  If he hadn’t been watching her so closely, he might’ve missed the slight tremble in her hand as she set her mug on the coffee table. But he didn’t. And he had to battl
e back the urge to cross the floor, take that hand, lift it and still the shivering with his mouth.

  “It wasn’t a lie. There isn’t anything between us. Saturday was one night. One time. That was our deal.”

  “And if I want to renegotiate the deal?” he murmured.

  The same shock that widened her eyes reverberated through him. Where had that come from? Asking for another night—another taste of her lips, another chance to drive into that sweet little body—hadn’t been his intention when he’d pulled up outside her building. Warn her, get out. That had been the plan. But lust had overridden common sense and hijacked his mouth. But he couldn’t exist within four feet of her and not crave her. Not want a repeat of the night that was branded into his memory with startling and unnerving clarity. Maybe he just needed to convince himself that his brain had exaggerated the pleasure he experienced. That nothing could be that good in reality.

  And maybe he was just seeking an excuse to get her under him again.

  He still didn’t trust her. Didn’t 100 percent believe that she wasn’t using him for another story. But none of that stopped his dick from throbbing like a toothache—insistent, hurting and needing relief.

  “Joshua...” She shook her head, ducking her head as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t think—”

  “Look at me, Sophie,” he ordered, setting his cup on the breakfast bar behind him. He moved farther into the living room, not stopping until only inches separated them. She lifted her gaze to his, and her obedience in this when she refused to give it to him anywhere else had excitement and arousal plowing through him. “Look at me and tell me that you’re not already feeling my hands on you. Tell me your nipples aren’t already hardening, begging for my fingers, my tongue. Tell me you’re not already hot and wet for me, desperate to have me stretching you again, filling you.” He grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her head farther back. “You can tell me all of that, Sophie, and I’ll walk out of here.”

  Her moist, warm breath broke on her parted lips, echoing in the room. For several long moments, she stared up at him with those molten silver eyes, her slender body swaying toward his, as if seeking his warmth, his possession.

  A shudder worked through her, and, lowering her lashes, she stepped back, breaking his hold on her.

  Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she turned away from him. Give me those eyes. Look at me, battered his tongue, needing to get out. But he clenched his teeth, trapping the command. Pride imprisoned what sounded too damn close to a plea.

  “Is it so easy for you?” she whispered.

  He frowned, shifting forward, reclaiming a little of the distance she’d inserted. It was an unconscious movement, as if his body couldn’t stand not feeling her warmth or being wrapped in her scent.

  “Is what easy for me?” he pressed.

  “This.” Pivoting to face him again, she waved a hand between them. “You don’t trust me,” she said flatly.

  “No,” he replied, just as blunt. “I don’t.”

  Hurt spasmed across her face, but in the next instant her expression hardened into a cool mask that somehow appeared so wrong on her. Like an ill-fitting dress.

  “Then why would you want to be with someone you believe would possibly sell you out for a story?” she scoffed, but a thin line of anger edged the question.

  “A relationship with you and fucking are two different things,” he said, voice hard, matter-of-fact. “And if that’s what you’re looking for from me, then we can end this now. I don’t do long-term commitments. I’m not the man who can give you the happy home with a perfect, smiling family and well-behaved dog. But I am the man who can make you come so hard it hurts. Yes, Sophie. I’ll make it hurt in the very best way,” he murmured, lust gripping him so hard, so tight, he could barely draw in a breath. “I don’t need to trust you for that.”

  Her thick fringe of lashes lowered, and her hooded silver gaze razed his skin. Red stained her cheeks and that lush mouth appeared even plumper, bitable. The aloof coldness had evaporated from her expression, leaving this one behind. And he recognized it. This face, stamped with arousal, had haunted his every waking and sleeping hour since Saturday night.

  Yet, he couldn’t deny glimpsing the flicker of pain beneath the lust.

  Before his mind could check him, he took a step toward her to...what? Ease it? Order her to tell him how to make it disappear?

  She shot a hand up, palm out, and he halted.

  Thank God.

  “I have my own stipulations. I don’t have your trust, fine. But I will have your fidelity. While we’re doing...this arrangement, you don’t sleep with anyone else. Just me.”

  “Of course,” he growled. “And the same with you. I’m the only man inside you.”

  “Of course,” she said, throwing his words back at him with a snap. “And at any time either of us wants out, it’s over.” He nodded, but she continued, “One last thing. This stays here. No one else knows. Anyone finding out could cost me my job. I might be losing some of my pride entering into this with you, but I refuse to lose my career.”

  She murmured the last part of that almost to herself, and he scowled. What the hell did that mean? Before he could demand an explanation, though, she stuck out her hand toward him, the fingertips nudging his chest.

  “Deal?” she asked.

  He stared down at it, anger and wild, raw need crowding into him. Pride? Being with him stripped her of pride? What else could he strip her of?

  Grasping her wrist, he tugged her hand up to his mouth. And licked the center of her palm, swirling his tongue over the soft flesh. Her gasp reverberated around them, and she tried to curl her fingers into her palm, but he stayed the motion with his other hand, holding her spread wide for him. He flicked a wet caress in between each finger before sinking his teeth into the heel of her palm.

  A shudder racked her body, followed by a throaty moan that had his dick twitching.

  “Joshua,” she whimpered.

  “Josh,” he corrected, voice harsh, roughened by the hunger that gnawed at him like a voracious beast. “Say it.” He trailed a finger down the elegant line of her throat, tracing the shallow dip in the middle of her collarbone.

  “Josh,” she whispered, and her swift capitulation was a stroke over his thick, pulsing flesh. And a caress to his pounding heart. She moved forward until her thighs bumped his and her breasts plumped against his chest. He fought to lock down the urge that howled at him to take her down to the floor and claim. Rising to the tips of her bare toes, she brought her mouth a breath away. He slid his tongue out, brushing that temptation of a full bottom lip. “Josh,” she repeated, softer, huskier.

  In answer, in reward, he took her mouth.

  Releasing her hand, he cradled her jaw, pressing his thumb on her chin and tugging down to open her more to him. She tilted her head, complying. Breathing a snarl into her, he thrust his tongue past her lips, rubbing and twisting, coaxing her to play with him. Not that she needed any persuading. She met him, danced with him. Dared him. Nails digging into his shoulders through his suit jacket, she coiled her tongue with his, sucking hard, and the pull arrowed straight to his dick.

  A savage, almost animalist burst of lust exploded within him, and he bent his knees to cup her ass in both hands and straightened, hauling her up his body. Her legs wound around his waist, her arms around his neck, settling her sex right over his erection. Goddamn. He clenched his molars together, reaching for his rapidly dwindling control. Still, nothing could stop him from punching his hips forward and stroking her up and down his dick. Her thin yoga pants and his slacks might as well as have been created of air. Her folds slipped over him, shooting electric pulses down his spine.

  “Bedroom?” he ground out.

  “Down the hall,” she rasped. “Last door on the right.”

  In the small apartment, it
didn’t take long to find her room. With long, impatient strides, he entered and headed straight for the bed. Carefully, he lowered her to the floor, sliding his hands up over her hips, the indents of her waist, the sides of her breasts until he held her face in his hands. Tipping her head back, he stared into her eyes. And though desire rode him like a jockey hell-bent on leather, he paused, seeking any flicker of hesitation, of second thoughts.

  “I need to hear you say it, Sophie,” he said, his voice seeming to boom in the tense quiet of the bedroom. “Say you want this. You want me to touch you. You want me inside you.”

  He waited. And he would continue to wait. Because a part of him—the stubborn part that grief, pain and betrayal hadn’t managed to amputate—had to hear her utter those words. Craved it like a drowning man seeking that life-giving gulp of air.

  “I want this. I want you,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling his head down until their noses bumped and her lips grazed his. “I want you to touch me. Want you so deep inside me I’ll feel you tomorrow. Will you give it to me, Josh?”

  He didn’t answer her. At least not with words. But with his mouth, his tongue, his hands? God, yes. He dug his fingers into her hips, jerking her closer so she would have no doubts of her effect on him. Unable to help himself, he ground his cock into the softness of her belly, even as he devoured her mouth. And she held nothing back from him. Not her response, not her sexy little whimpers and cries. Had a woman ever fully let herself be so uninhibited, so vulnerable with him before?

  No.

  And he’d never been that way with another woman.

  But with Sophie? Regardless of his claims of not trusting her, he couldn’t throw up his protective shields with her. Not in this.

  Here, they could be fully honest with each other. Naked in more than the baring of bodies.

  Naked. As soon as the word entered his head, the longing, the greed in him intensified until it became a chant in his head.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he fisted the bottom of her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. And oh God. “All that time you were offering me coffee and arguing with me, you didn’t have a bra on?” he snarled, palming her pretty, firm breasts and thumbing the pink nipples. Already tight, they pebbled further, and Jesus himself couldn’t have stopped him from dipping his head and having a taste. And when she tugged on his hair, her groan accompanying the pricks across his scalp, he indulged himself and sucked her into his mouth, lashing the tip. Pulling free, he rubbed his lips across the beaded flesh. “If I’d known you were bare underneath that top, you would’ve been against the wall with my mouth on you as soon as I closed that door.”