by Logan Fox
“Boss?”
No fucking way. She was about to say yes, I could practically smell it.
I turn my head around to see Derek standing just behind the cordon. Now, I like Derek, but the man has an uncanny knack for interruption and this time he takes the gold medal.
“I’m busy.”
I turn my attention back to Meisie, who’s now busy looking at Derek. Brilliant.
Does she want to go home with him instead?
“Boss I rea—”
I cut him off before he can finish. “Come here.”
He unclips the red velvet rope and comes to stand just before our table. “Look at her,” I tell him.
Derek looks everywhere but her, and then finally rests his eyes on the little thing sitting on my lap. “Do you see her? Fucking look at her. Unless the building just spontaneously caught fire then there is nothing more important than the conversation I’m currently engaged in.”
He stays silent for a moment, unsure of what to say.
Of course he is.
Derek probably knows me better than my own useless brother, and I’m positive he can tell this bit of bravado is purely for Meisie’s benefit. If she falls for it then I’m laughing all the way to the bedroom. Girl’s like to think they’re special.
He clears his throat. “It’s important.”
“Take it to Cole.”
He shifts, and I instinctively brace myself for the worst. “He’s gone and locked himself in the office toilet. I could hear him, but he didn’t want to hear me.”
Idiot.
Cole, that is. Not Derek.
“Do you need to go?” Meisie asks.
“I don’t need to go,” I tell her. Turning back to Derek, I ask him what’s going on.
He looks at Meisie, as if not wanting to talk business in front of her. Normally, that’s a rule I live and die by, but I don’t suppose it particularly matters tonight. She’s not going to remember this in the morning.
“It’s fine, this one’s a keeper. Spit it out.”
“Shipment got busted. I sent Paul over to redirect the second one, it should be alright but I thought you should know.”
I nod my head. “No worries. Keep me informed. And keep your phone switched on.”
Derek removes himself from the situation and I feel Meisie’s eyes bore into my skull.
“Are you…?” She trails off, as if not wanting to say the word.
A gangster? A criminal? A dealer?
I smile at her. “I’m a businessman.”
She smiles into her drink. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”
“Not really.”
“I bet you do this kind of thing all the time.” She says it like a statement but I know she means it as a question.
I’ll play along. “What kind of thing?”
“Choose a girl. Make her feel all special. Take her home with you, and never speak to her again the next day.”
I shake my head. “Not once. Honest. I’ve never taken a girl home with me. And if I take you home tonight, I fully intend on speaking to you the next day. And every day for the foreseeable, with a bit of luck.”
Not a single word of that was a lie. I don’t mix business and pleasure. And I can’t let her go even if I wanted to.
It seems to work, because that look in her eyes is back.
It’s a look that tells me exactly what she wants, she’s just not sure if she should be bold and go with it.
I’ll make this easy for her.
“I’m leaving, and you’re coming with me.”
She watches me for a second, and then puts her drink down on the table. “I guess I can follow you. Will you wait out front? I parked in the underground parking.”
And risk her changing her mind?
“I’ll bring my car around and you’ll get in it.”
Her wild eyebrows draw together. “What about my mom’s—my car?”
“It’ll be safe until the morning.” Safer than you’ll be.
“I’m fine with driving—” she starts.
Will this girl not fucking quit?
“You’ve had far too much to drink for that. I’m driving. Say it, Meisie.”
Her throat moves as she swallows. She glances away, and then gives a hesitant nod.
“Say it.”
“You’re driving.”
Good fucking girl.
CHAPTER FOUR
MEISIE
My dark hair tickles the nape of my neck as a breeze toys with my ponytail. I have a crystal tumbler in one hand, drink barely touched, my purse in the other.
Hey, Meisie? What the ever-loving fuck are you doing?
I’m perfectly sane, thank you very much. People do this shit all the time.
Overpriced hookers maybe.
I take a sip of my ghastly drink and pretend I don’t have someone yelling at me inside my own head.
The view from this penthouse studio apartment is…well, it’s fucking breathtaking. Edinburgh lies splayed out below, the city’s lights putting the streak of stars above us to shame.
I’m the daughter of the fucking First Minister but I’ve never been in an apartment this lavish. This luxurious. This…
Ludicrous.
Who the fuck lives in a place like this?
Everything out here is matte black and glass. Like Asylum, if there hadn’t been lights gleaming off those surfaces, you’d imagine you could just walk right over the edge of the balcony and fall to your death.
Great. Now I’m morbid and a whore.
You haven’t done anything yet. You can leave.
“Not a fan of cognac?” Cillian asks.
I shrug. I don’t really care what I’m drinking, as long as it gets rid of the voice in my head that keeps telling me what a huge mistake this is.
“Guess you’re bored of the view already,” I say, resting the tumbler on the balcony’s glass railing.
I shiver when Cillian runs a knuckle down my spine.
My dress is an open-back sequined wonder I ordered on impulse early in the week. The model pictured on the online store’s catalog looked like she could walk through walls. I’m not stupid enough to think such a superhuman ability was transferable through a piece of fabric, but after I’d put it on, I didn’t think twice about sneaking out of the house and borrowing Mom’s car like I was sixteen with an itch to scratch.
“A view like this? Not anytime soon.”
Something in the tone of his voice makes me glance at him over my shoulder. Was he talking about me?
He’s standing less than a foot behind me. Gone is the dark suit jacket he’d been wearing. His hair is mussed like he ran his fingers through it and didn’t bother to straighten it again.
“Mediocre pickup line,” I say. “But I’ll give you a three for effort.”
He grabs my waist in his massive hands and turns me on the spot so I’m facing him.
Good thing I’m not scared of heights, because the glass standing between me and certain death seems flimsy at best. Especially when he steps closer and forces me flush against it.
“Aye, but you’re forgetting one key detail. I’ve already picked you up.”
Cillian ducks his head to kiss me and in sheer panic, I turn away.
His laugh sends a puff of warm air against my cheek. “Why don’t we cut the blushing bride, nervous virgin act, hmm? I already told you what I was going to do to you.”
He did. He literally did.
But I still came up here.
Because that’s how desperate I am to forget.
I’ve been holed up in Mom’s house since I got off the plane. She doesn’t let me go anywhere—not even to the shops. If I want something, I buy it online or send one of her assistants to find it. She claims to be protecting me from the ever-present threat of the Paparazzi’s camera flashes. What she doesn’t realize is that the threat of giving me too much time to think is far worse. All I do is mope around, and miss my old life. And everything else I was forced
to give up.
But I can’t think about that anymore.
I shove away the voice. Listening to it is one of the reasons I’ve been withering away in Mom’s house this whole time. I can’t keep living in the past. I need to do what I came here to do. Tonight was supposed to be the first step in that plan.
How will I ever escape my cage if I can’t even work up enough courage to go out clubbing?
I mean, look where one night of bravado got me? I’m in this amazing—if ridiculous—penthouse suite with a stranger who’s tall, dark, and handsome. And, apparently, a deviant between the sheets. I hit the fucking jackpot.
But can I really give him what he wants? I’ve had my fair share of kissing boys in bars, but my only ever one-night stand didn’t end well.
Didn’t end well? Jesus, understatement of the fucking century, Meisie.
I glance past Cillian toward the suavely furnished studio. Even from here, the bed is visible. This is a place to fuck and sleep. A place he brings girls like me. Even though he claimed not to do stuff like that...I mean, look at this place. It’s obvious he’s lying.
I’m just another notch in his ten-thousand-dollar belt.
Shit. I can’t go through with this. I look up into his dark-green eyes, intent on telling him I’ve changed my mind, when my cell phone rings inside my purse.
I’m not psychic, but I immediately know who’s calling.
I don’t answer it, of course. What’s the point? Mother will pretend to care only long enough to find out where I am and then send her minions to sort out whatever fucking PR disaster she thinks I’m about to bring down on her head.
“Need to get that?” Cillian asks.
God, there’s something about the way he speaks that whips my nether regions into a fucking frenzy. It could be the alcohol too. The apartment. The gorgeous view.
But I know it’s him. It’s his fucking pheromones or something. I still can’t believe I let him talk me into getting into his car with him.
Honestly, though, no serial killer could ever be this hot and get away with it. I mean, Ted Bundy was a good looking guy, but Cillian…?
“No,” I say. I hesitate, and then I toss my purse over his shoulder. Thankfully it flies through the gap in the glass sliding doors and not through the actual glass.
Imagine putting in that insurance claim.
He glances behind him and then turns back to me, a faint smile teasing his mouth. “Aye. Let it go to voicemail.” His eyes slide to the tumbler in my hand. “Now why don’t you finish your drink so we can take this inside?”
I toy with the glass as I duck my head.
Shit, I should probably have taken that call. What if she gets her panties in a bunch and sends the whole of ‘Police-Scotland’ out to look for me?
Cillian grabs my chin and lifts my head. “Something on your mind, princess?” His voice is anything but sympathetic. In fact, he sounds downright pissed that my attention isn’t focused solely on him.
“Fuck this,” he growls.
I open my mouth, but there’s no time to say a word.
His lips crush mine stealing my breath, my gravity, every single thought in my head.
Strong arms wrap around me, lift me.
My mind rejects the thought that I’m perched on a balcony railing five stories up, but survival instinct causes me to wrap my legs around Cillian’s waist.
A move he seems to take as an invitation. I’m dimly aware that I’m splashing my drink all over the place as he grabs the back of my neck and drags me into him for another crazy-hot kiss.
Suddenly, I couldn’t give two fucks about the fact that if either of us let go, I could be dead in however long it takes me to hit the ground below.
All that matters is his mouth. The taste of him. The way his body tenses against mine as if he’s barely holding himself back. My body melts against his.
My insides twist into a knot as he shoves a hand between us and grabs the hem of my dress. I hiss into his mouth when the ice-cold railing touches my bare ass as he pulls the fabric out from under me.
And then reality comes crashing back like a tidal wave, stranding me on a very small island.
Or, in this case, me perched precariously on a railing about to get fucked by a complete stranger.
His fingers delve between my legs, scraping so roughly over my dress I’m sure he shears off a few sequins on the way.
I grab his wrist a second before he can touch my clit. Tearing my mouth from his, I let out a breathless, “Peaches!”
His body tenses even more, and then he slowly draws back from me, frowning hard.
As soon as we lock eyes, I become fully aware of the massive ridge of his rock-hard cock pressing into my thigh.
“Peaches?” he repeats quietly, as if to himself.
“Yeah.” I swallow hard, and then clear my throat for good measure. My head’s swimming like an Olympic athlete on steroids, but somehow I manage to get out words.
Cillian laughs, a low deep rumble that I feel in my own belly. “Fuck, you’re actually adorable.”
“Uh...so...I’m going to use my Get Out of this One-Night Stand free card now, if that’s okay with you.”
I wriggle against him, trying my best to ignore his erection, but I can’t go anywhere until he steps back and lets me slide to the floor. I shove my glass into his hand, releasing it before I’m even sure he’ll take it. But thankfully he does, else we’d both have been covered in booze.
I make a beeline for the elevator before I can second-guess myself, only detouring to collect my purse from the floor.
Shockingly, he lets me go. I guess ‘peaches’ made an impression on him, thank God. It was honestly the first random word that came to my head.
But as I get halfway across the apartment, my pumps sinking deep into the lush carpet, he calls out, “You need a key for the elevator, princess.”
Fuck. I should have known it was too easy. I turn on my heel and hold out my hand. “Key, please?”
Cillian pushes away from the railing with his hip and ambles closer with an arrogant smirk plastered over his face, still holding the glass I thrust into his hand.
“Aye, I’ll give you the key. But first, finish your drink.” He comes right up to me and hands me back the glass. “This stuff’s expensive.”
Anger spikes through me. I get that this guy hasn’t had to deal with a lot of rejection in life, but what the fuck makes him think he can order me around like one of his floozies?
And I was going to sleep with this guy?
I cock my head at him as I hoist up the glass by my fingertips like a wine connoisseur considering a particularly fine vintage. Then I take a deep swallow, wincing as the booze hits the back of my throat.
“This tastes like shit.” I tip the glass over, pouring his expensive booze all over the expensive carpet. “Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”
Cillian drops his head and lets out a dangerously low, deep laugh. Then he tips up his chin, staring at me with hooded eyes, his head tilted to the side.
“Aye, I’ll concede you may be right,” he says through another laugh. “But that’s because of the drugs I put in it.”
My heart tries to climb right up my fucking throat, and then plunges down into my stomach like it’s committing suicide.
Fuck!
Cillian laughs. “If you could see your face,” he murmurs, grabbing onto my chin and wrenching my head back. “You always this gullible?”
This guy’s assholery doesn’t know when to quit. I tear my face away from his grip and scowl up at him. “Now I get it. You have a really small dick, don’t you? That’s why you have to bring girls up here and get them drunk before they’ll sleep with you.” I push back my shoulders and yank at my dress, making my breasts brim from the bodice. “Find someone else to shove that small dick into.”
I turn, pick up my purse, and head for the exit with all the dignity I can muster.
Behind me, Cillian remains utterly silent. The elevator
doors gleam at me from across a room that’s suddenly the length of a fucking rugby field.
Why isn’t he saying anything? Did I really get in the last word? I smile to myself, but the expression slips off my face when my feet tangle together a second later. Christ, I shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
Except...I didn’t.
I pause for a second and squint at the elevator. Why is it so blurry? I blink a few times, but that doesn’t help.
Shit, I have to get home.
Drugs.
No. It was a joke. A stupid one, but...what if…?
I surge forward, half-stumbling half-staggering in the direction of the now very blurry elevator doors.
“Slow down, princess,” Cillian calls out after me. “You don’t want to hit your pretty little head, do you?”
Hit my head? Why would I--?
The ground slams into me, knocking the air from my lungs. It should have hurt, but for some reason I only realize I’m horizontal when I reach out and grab carpet instead of air.
Something clamps around my ankles. My dress hikes up my legs as Cillian drags me over the carpet. I see my purse pass to one side, and reach for it.
I manage to snag the wrist strap, but only with monumental effort.
My body’s growing heavy and clumsy.
Thoughts bob and weave through my fogging brain like veggies in a thick stew.
Cillian stops dragging me. I yank at my purse strap and grip it with nerveless fingers.
Hands grab my waist.
He hoists me through the air like I weigh nothing, which is impossible because I must weigh ten tons.
When he drops me, I bounce.
Bed.
I’m on the fucking bed.
No, no, no, no, no, no!
I’m going to break you apart. Again and again.
My consciousness is slipping away. I try to hold on, but it’s like trapping steam.
“Please,” I hear someone say. When he laughs, I realize it was me begging.
“Don’t bother.” Cillian appears in my view, and the mattress sinks down on either side of me as he climbs onto the bed and straddles me.
There’s sudden friction down my arms. A numbing cold spreads over my breasts.
He’s pulled my dress down to my belly button, baring my chest to the cool air. He studies me, but how a hunter studies a malfunctioning rifle that just cost him a kill shot.
