Shit. I hate it. I hate how he makes me feel, how he makes me want him. It’s not right. It’s not right how I want him to bend me over and fuck me like I’m his. How I want him to own every inch of my body.
I should tell him to fuck off. To go to hell. Fight the will and contest it. Take him to court, sue him for everything he’s got. But deep down, I know it’s not worth the fight.
The smug, handsome bastard has me in the palm of his hand.
And he so knows it, I think angrily.
If I accept his offer, I don’t know how I’ll get through it. Good God, how can I survive being around a man I want to kill and fuck, all at the same time?
This house. I need to focus on keeping this house and just being able to live. I have no money without doing this.
That’s it. My inheritance. What’s rightfully mine. What he stole from me. If I keep my mind on that, I should be good. He’ll never get to lay a finger on me. One date, and then it’s all over.
I wipe my face one more time and rise from my bed. I’ve got dried tears and slobber all over my face and nightgown. A cool shower will do me some good.
I make my way into the bathroom. I grab a towel and place it on the sink. Then I disrobe and look in the mirror. A haggard-looking young woman looks back at me. Even with a pound of foundation on left over from yesterday, I can see the bags under my eyes. Days of no sleep and constant crying spells are really showing.
Hopefully I’ll look more refreshed after a long, hot shower.
I turn away, open the shower stall and turn the knob. I place my hand under the stream and wait for the water to turn lukewarm. When it’s tolerable, I step inside and close the door.
I let the water hit my face and drench my hair, imagining it washing away my pain and worries. I grab the pouf hanging off the showerhead and lather it with a lavender-scented body wash. I lift it to my nose and inhale deeply, focusing on soothing my battered soul.
As I begin to lather my body, naughty thoughts about Liam begin invading my mind. Suddenly, I’m back in the moment of being pushed up against the wall, his cock pressing against me. Desire burns through my lower stomach and my legs tremble slightly as my pussy begins pulsing and clenching uncontrollably. I let the pouf drop and the water rinse everything away.
Unconsciously, I begin rubbing myself, imagining Liam here in the shower with me, his hard cock pressed against my lower stomach and demanding entry.
“Oh fuck,” I moan, the image making me dizzy with lust.
I move my hands faster between my thighs, rubbing my throbbing clit in a circular motion. Pleasure courses through my limbs as my nipples stiffen like stone.
God. I want him here now. Taking me. Fucking me.
My breath quickens, becoming ragged. I slump against the shower wall, moaning and groaning. In my mind’s eye, I imagine his chiseled body drenched with water, thrusting his powerful hips against my ass, plunging his huge cock deep inside my needy pussy.
Pressure builds inside of my core, threatening to explode.
I’m going to cum. All over his big fat cock.
Gasping, I snatch my hand away from my aching pussy.
What the fuck are you doing, Lizzie?
I’m shocked at how close I’ve come to having an orgasm. Fantasizing about Liam, no less. My enemy.
My thighs are trembling, and I’m shaking all over. I’m not sure if I’m shaking from my near-orgasm, or how frightened I am at just having lost control. Probably both.
Ashamed, I quickly finish my shower and then step out into the steamy bathroom.
As I dry myself off, I vow to forget what just happened. It was just a mistake. An anomaly.
It will never happen again.
Done drying off, I slip into an old favorite pink bathrobe. I locate my blow dryer under the sink and plug it in. I still can't think straight; I'm just going through the motions. I flip my hair to the side and am about to turn the blow dryer on when the doorbell rings.
“Shit,” I mutter, wondering who it is. After a moment, I figure it’s just a well-meaning family member, come to check on me. I have neither the temperament, nor the patience to deal with that shit right now. I’ll just ignore it. Whoever it is can come back later.
I press the power switch, and the loud hum of the dryer fills the room. I purse my lips when I think I hear the doorbell ring again. I turn the dryer off for only a second and sure enough, there’s another chime. I ignore it, turning the blow dryer back on and let the hot air run through my hair, enjoying the sensation. I can faintly hear the doorbell ring again, this time repeatedly.
Whoever it is, isn’t going away anytime soon.
I blow out a sigh of frustration and turn off my blow dryer.
I’ll just go answer the door and tell them I can’t deal with visitors right now. I check my appearance in the mirror. My hair is wet and disheveled. I look a mess. But I really don’t give a rat’s ass. The person outside has no business harassing me like this. I can’t wait to give them a mouthful.
I rush out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and down the stairs. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
“Just a minute!” I yell in annoyance. Good God. Whoever's outside is going to regret doing this. Don’t they know I'm grieving for my father? Why would someone be so rude at a time like this?
Breathless, I reach the door and snatch it open, ready to do battle. And then I know why. My heart does a backflip. Liam.
He's looking like he stepped straight off a modeling shoot, dressed in simple blue jeans and a buttoned white shirt that shows off his corded biceps. His hair is slicked back, and his chiseled profile makes my heart flutter.
His eyes widen as he sees me, wet from my shower, only clad in my flimsy robe. His gaze travels down my body, to my breasts and then my legs which stick out from the slit in my robe. In an instant, he catches himself and brings his eyes back to my face.
Too late. I saw him check me out. Hard nipples and all.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I pull my robe tighter around myself and cross my arms across my chest to hide my erect nipples. “What are you doing ringing my doorbell like a maniac?” I demand angrily. “Come to assert your male dominance some more?”
Liam swallows hard and then clears his throat. “I came over to tell you something.” He doesn’t seem at all bothered by my bitchy put-on in the least.
Images from the shower flash through my mind, causing my pussy to throb. Sweet Jesus. “Tell me what?” I ask, casting those naughty thoughts back to hell where they belong. My voice sounds strained. I hate it. And I feel guilty. If he only knew what I’d been doing in the shower before he showed up.
Whatever he has to tell me must be pretty damn important, leaning on my doorbell like that.
Liam pauses as if thinking about what he wants to say. “That I’m sorry about how I treated you yesterday,” he says finally.
My jaw nearly drops to the floor. “You? Sorry?” I snort with derision. “That’s a good one.”
Liam carefully keeps his eyes on my face. “I’m serious. I shouldn’t have come on to you like that. You just lost the most important man in your life, and were just acting out your emotions. I should’ve had enough empathy to realize that instead of behaving like an asshole.”
I'm at a loss for words. Seriously. I’ve been building up Liam as my enemy since I first learned who he was. Our last two exchanges didn't go well. And now this? I don't know what to think.
Yet looking at him, I don’t doubt his sincerity. He appears to be truly sorry.
“Well, uh... that’s nice of you to say,” I mumble, not knowing how to take this sudden turnabout in behavior. “Thank you for telling me.” I'm practically whispering, and I can't even look him in the eyes.
The corners of Liam’s kissable lips curl up into a soft smile. “Just nice?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Sweet. Really sweet of you.” I clear my throat and add, “I'm sorry, too. I was out of line.” It hurts to admit it, but it's t
rue. I just want to hate someone. I want someone to blame. And Liam's a good target.
Liam chuckles. “You’re really cute, you know that?”
My cheeks burn again. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Only by fucking idiots,” Liam growls.
I’m taken aback. Liam has not only apologized to me, but now he’s taking up for me. Now I’m really not sure what to make of all of this.
For a moment I'm stunned, unable to come up with a suitable response. I have too many conflicting emotions. Anger. Sadness. Lust. To make matters worse, all I can think about is how it felt when Liam’s hard body was pressed up against mine.
I look Liam in the eyes. I see sincerity there. And... desire. He wants me. I know it. I could invite him in right now for a passionate tango, and I’m sure he’d jump on the chance. I just can’t let that happen. I need to have some self-control.
I begin to part my lips to reply... I don’t know what. A part of me wants to demand he sign over my inheritance to me, another part of me wants to yell at him to go away, and yet another wants me to let him have his way with me.
I bite my tongue, not trusting myself to speak. With all the dirty thoughts and emotions raging through me right now, I’m afraid of what might come out. Besides, I’m not sure if Liam is trying to play me. By giving in to my desire, I could be playing right into the palm of his hand.
I have to be on guard with this man. I don’t know him at all.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you when you were so...” He pauses as his eyes flicker down my robe, and a shiver runs down my spine. “Indisposed.” He gives me a cocky grin, signaling he’s lying. Of course he’d meant to disturb me with the way he’d spammed the doorbell. But at this point, I don’t care anymore.
Suddenly, I feel as if I've made up my mind about my situation. I just hope it won't end in disaster.
He runs his hand through his hair and turns to look back at the house next door, his house, and then starts to say, “About that date--”
Heart pounding, I blurt out, “About that.” I cringe at the note of desperation that enters my voice.
Liam turns back to me and appraises me with a furrowed brow. “Yeah?”
Dear God, Lizzie. I hope you don’t live to regret this.
I take in a deep breath and reply, “I think I’m willing to take you up on that offer.”
Chapter 7
Liam
That was unexpected. I don’t know how to feel about this broad.
The last day or so, I've gone back and forth with how I feel about her.
The way she said she accepted my offer should tell me everything I need to know. This is a business deal for her, nothing more. We go out, and I give her everything that was left to me. A simple transaction.
I don’t fucking like that. That's not what I want. I want to go out with her, the real her… shit. I twist my hands on the steering wheel, and grip it tighter. My knuckles are white.
I'm a liar. I wanted to fuck her. That's why I said that shit. I know that's why.
I was hurting, she was hurting. And she was pissing me off. She didn’t even try to get to know me. My heart pains in my chest. Yeah I wanna fuck her, but I want her to know that I did care about her old man. My relationship with him was short-lived, but I know the pain she’s going through.
I fucking need someone, too.
I park my car in the office parking lot and look up at the highrise. It’s a sleek steel building with large, dark glass windows. It’s intimidating and masculine. And I own the entire building. I had it built just for our business.
It’s an odd feeling going from the cozy rundown house that Richard used to rent out and then handed over to me, to walking into this building.
It feels colder and lonelier than it ever has before. I don’t like it.
I don’t talk to anyone on the way in. I don’t need to. Most don’t know who I am anyway. I’m just a man who rents the top floor, or so they think. They don’t need to know what I do, or why I do it. My clients come in through the back of the building via an elevator strictly for my business' own use. Not this one. I prefer coming in through the lobby and taking in the condition of the place. I’m a silent partner, I am in all my investments, but I like to check in and make sure everything runs smoothly.
Everything is separated between my business and the other businesses here, even the parking lot. It keeps things neat and clean. I own everything, and that way I can control it all. This is why my brother and cousin need me.
We have high-end clients because of me. It doesn’t stop some of the Joe Schmoes from coming in and risking all they have on their favorite team because it's their lucky day, but it does make this business a commodity.
I stand by the elevator and walk in, trying to shake off my feelings about Elizabeth agreeing to my proposal. It wasn't meant as a business deal. I stretch my shoulders slightly and breathe out my annoyance. A few people walk in after me and I wait for them. I stand quietly at the back of the elevator. There are doors behind me and I have one of only three keys that will open them.
The bell dings, and the elevator cart comes to a halt.
I adjust my crisp white shirt sleeves and crack my neck as I wait for the two women in pencil skirts to stop gabbing and get off. There’s only one man left and he’s in a nice navy suit with thick blonde hair that’s styled professionally. He keeps eyeing me like he’s wondering what I’'ll be doing on his floor. He thinks I’m stopping on his floor since I haven't pressed another button, but I’m not.
I give him a tight smile as the cart stops on the thirty-eighth floor and he exits. He looks back over his shoulder with one last curious glance as I push the button to make the doors close. I take out the key and slip it in, pushing in the code and wait till it reaches the top floor.
I rock on my heels.
I used to think nothing of this. Going into work was just a daily chore.
I enjoy my job. There’s always something to do and new ways for us to improve. But my heart isn’t in it today. That’s for damn sure.
The doors slide open and I walk into the airy space. It’s one large, open concept area. The back wall is covered with 110-inch ultra high-def televisions. There are sixteen of them, spaced evenly on the back wall. The majority of the space is divided into four seating sections with sleek black leather sofas. And in the very back, there's a bar stocked with top-shelf liquor.
I head to the left though, past a buffet station used for catering and walk straight through to my office. It has the same masculine feel as the den. But I like staying in here because it’s closed off and soundproof. I don’t have to listen to that shit that goes on out there, but they also can’t hear whatever it is I’m doing back here.
If Elizabeth saw this, I wonder what she’d think. I doubt she’d think I was a bookie, maybe a party planner instead. Since we do throw what I guess you could call parties. It’s a live betting arena. And the thrill of watching it happen gives our clients an aspect to our business they don’t get anywhere else.
Every month I get more and more clientele because of the unique features we offer. And that’s a problem for some people, like Ian Dracho. Many of our customers come from him. He's a lowlife who I know for a fact has rigged games to get out of holes he dug himself.
To take the bets, you have to know the odds. You have to be good with numbers and statistics. My brother’s damn good at that, but Ian isn’t. So he rigs the games, or offers shit bets that only fools would take. I don’t blame his customers for leaving him. But he sure as fuck does. And he blames us for taking them.
My ass doesn’t even touch the leather in my Herman Miller Aeron chair before my brother Zac and cousin Tyler walk in. The three of us make a good team. I know I haven’t been around much lately, and they’ve been bugging the fuck out of me because of it. I’m not surprised they were on me the second I got here. It’s not like we’re going to have anyone coming in for an appointment until later anyway, so what else do they hav
e to do other than give me shit.
I sink back into my seat and try not to be irritated.
Zac looks like me, but with a baby face that makes him look approachable and charming. The sharp features only I inherited from our father, well they give you a hint that I may be dangerous. But Zac could fool anyone into thinking he's Mr. Right. He takes the seat across from mine at the dark walnut desk and angles it so Tyler’s included in a circle of sorts.
Tyler's all muscle, and that’s why he’s good at his job. His broad frame fills up the wingback chair in the corner of the office as he sits back and sets his right ankle over his left knee. He’s a quiet man and doesn’t say very much. But when he does, you listen and right now he looks like he’s got something to say.
“‘Bout time you came back.” Tyler’s voice is deep and has a hint of humor. That, combined with the smirk on his face makes me think he’s not quite as upset with my absence as Zac’s been.
“You done being on vacation?” Zac asks sarcastically. Yeah. Zac’s pissed. I'd spent a lot of time with Richard. I shouldn’t have. But what’s the point of having your own business if you can’t take a break when you need one? Although, I have to admit, it’s been a little over twelve weeks since I’ve had my head in the game, and that’s a long fucking time.
I fiddle with the engraved silver fountain pen on my desk. It always sits here. My father used to keep it in his pocket. He liked to say that it was his good luck charm. Always had this damn pen in his pocket... except for the day of the car crash. I'd begged him to let me hold onto it that day when he'd left. Zac was too young to remember, but I'll never forget. “It wasn’t a vacation,” I say simply before righting myself in the seat and leaning forward. I set the pen back down and straighten it, putting it right where it belongs.
I clear my throat and continue looking my brother in the eye as I say, “Give me an update on the numbers first.” The bottom line is what matters. Our expenses are immense and they pay off well. But a small dip one month could mean a decline overall if something’s not right.
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