When I looked down, I realized I’d accidently accepted the call. It was too late to hang up, he’d only call back. So I answered with, “Hans.”
“Hey,” he said with his alluring Swedish accent. “I thought maybe I could come over with wine and we could watch a movie.”
It wasn’t lost on me that Striker had beat him to it with beer instead of wine. But we hadn’t gotten to the movie. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Striker’s foot. He was still on the bed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said.
“Why? I miss you.”
I almost said it back because it was true, but not in the way he hoped. We were better friends than anything else. And saying anything too kind might have given him hope where none existed. “Hans, we’ve talked about this.”
“I know, but I’m close and—”
Hans knew about me staying in Soho.
“Should I go?”
I pivoted and watched Striker unabashedly stride into the room, dick swinging. I found myself captivated by the sight. The man was glorious, and my mouth watered.
“Lizzy, is someone with you?” Hans asked.
Fifteen
Connor
Lizzy shook her head and held up a finger I took as an answer to my question if I should go. I didn’t stop and kept moving in her direction. What she said next, I couldn’t make out as she’d lowered her voice. When I reached her, I parted the robe she’d slipped on and captured her hips.
Her breath caught before she hastily said, “I have to go,” and ended the call.
I nuzzled her neck and nipped my way to her ear. “Boyfriend?”
She squirmed, hardening my cock. “No. More like an ex.”
“Lovesick then,” I whispered.
She giggled as I took her earlobe between my teeth in a gentle tug and walked us backward.
“What are you doing?” she asked on a laugh.
When we reached the wall of windows, I pressed her back to the cool glass. She gasped.
“What am I doing?” I repeated. She nodded as I slipped my hand between us. “Giving your boy a show if he’s waiting outside with a speaker in his hand, hoping a love song might change your mind.”
“He’s not—”
As I worked her clit, I said, “If you can still talk, I’m not doing this right.”
I palmed her pussy, using the heel of my hand to keep pressure on that tight bud of nerves while slipping my finger inside her, pumping as she moaned her pleasure. When she was on the brink, I lifted her off her feet and positioned my dick for her to slide down. I was determined to excise the image of any other man from both of our minds. The only man she should be thinking about was me.
“God, I love your dick,” she cried out as her inner walls tightened around me.
A man who thrived on domination and control, I was undone by those few simple words. I grunted as I came long, hard, and deep inside my prey. Yet, my craving was far from sated. I walked her in my arms back to the bedroom. I pulled out as I laid her on my bed, and I stood there for a second.
She giggled some. “What about my butt print?”
“That’s what window cleaner is for.” I’d grown used to her being in my space. My need to paint diminished next to my need for her. “I’ll go get something to clean us up.”
Her come coated my dick. My seed was deep inside her. What the fuck was I doing? I only had her word she was clean and on the pill. The way we’d been fucking, if she wasn’t, she was certainly pregnant. I’d never once saw me as the fatherly type, but I could envision a child with the color of her hair with my eyes or the other way around. And why didn’t that scare the living hell out of me?
Yes, she was well off and an unlikely gold digger. But what did I really know about this woman other than she challenged me and didn’t take my shit? She was funny, and I enjoyed her company. No other woman in my life had intrigued me more.
“Did you get lost?” she asked from the other room, only slightly raising her voice.
I turned on the water and washed off my dick. Then I got a washcloth to do the same for her. Her sleepily sexy smile boiled my blood, and I found myself on my knees, dragging her to the edge of the bed to feast on her again.
Her giggles turned to moans until she was shouting my name. I didn’t relent until she was limp, eyes closed on the bed. I shifted her and covered her with the sheet as she dozed. Before I stood, I pressed a kiss to her temple, surprising myself. She wasn’t my sub, not yet anyway, but damn if she hadn’t performed beautifully.
I wanted to stay, but I had obligations. With Eliza on leave at my direction, I had to go to the club. There was no time to visit my father. I would have to do that in the morning on my way to work.
After getting dressed, I let myself out. Down the hall stood a man, and I gritted my teeth. Of course, Griffin still had her under surveillance. Whatever trouble Kalen had gotten into had spilled over to her. I wanted to call Griffin and give him a piece of my mind.
Not out of jealousy. I was angry for her privacy. How much had the man heard and what would go into a report? Who would read it? If anything leaked, there would be hell to pay. I didn’t give a shit about myself, but I was starting to care about her.
In the elevator, I called the hospital to get a status update and warned them my dad shouldn’t have any visitors—even his best friend, Charles, or my mother, his wife. I didn’t trust either of them. And unless he specifically asked, they wouldn’t get access to him considering I was listed as having control under Dad’s medical power of attorney.
By the time I made it to the club, I was in all business mode. I listened to my staff’s updates about the night’s events as I made my way to my office. It was the usual stuff, including who was in the house.
Once I was alone, I got to work. I needed to scrub Eliza’s computer because I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t also compromised. I’d spent time at boarding school educating myself on several things. One made me a self-taught computer guru— some might call me hacker considering my skill level.
A complete dive and scrub would take hours. While I worked, I had to decide Eliza’s fate. Tomorrow was guest night at the club, and it was all hands on deck. Like Mardi Gras, everyone wore masks—at least over their eyes—and lots of beads would be on hand.
By the time I made it to my apartment, I was dead on my feet. I didn’t bother with taking off my clothes before sinking in a chair and falling asleep.
When the alarm went off, I could have shot it. Good thing my gun wasn’t anywhere in reach. Today I had to play the dutiful son, but I had to do something first.
After a shower and a shot of espresso, I chose to drive my SUV. Timing was everything for what I had to do next. Not only that, I had a short window to do it in. I also needed to make it to the hospital to visit my father before my first official meeting of the day.
When I reached my destination, I pulled out a tablet. Security footage should show if the apartment was empty. I was betting my blonde was an early riser and would be off to work like most New Yorkers by this time.
A string of curses left my lips when I realized I’d been locked out of my security, no doubt by Griffin. As I opened another window and typed code, I almost smiled. Griffin had no idea of my tech skills. That was a well-hidden secret. Hacking the system they’d added to mine took a little time—because his team was good—but in ten minutes, I was in. Apparently, my sexy blonde had balked at being watched inside the apartment. The interior camera had been turned off. I would return the security protocols back to the way they had been.
She was expecting the paintings that were currently in storage in the hidden attic. I’d paid a premium to buy this place because I’d wanted that feature. To get them to her, I needed access to my apartment.
I checked the cameras again and was slightly disappointed she wasn’t there. I was unlikely to see her over the next several days and I was surprised to find I was dissatisfied with that.
There wasn’
t time, so I let that go. I felt like a thief stealing inside my apartment with my key. With no time to waste, I went directly for the concealed access door to the attic inside the pantry. I let it shut behind me as I made my way up a staircase to the vast area about the size of my apartment below.
I hit the lights, which were dim. I could open makeshift shutters to let in natural light when needed. Canvases lined the walls, and my latest project was on an easel. I’d painted from one night after leaving her sleeping after a fuck session. Looking at it felt like I’d walked into the memory the night I found the beautiful stranger in my bed, tangled in my sheets with hints of skin showing here and there. Her face was hidden, and I wondered if she would recognize herself.
As if to remind me how short of time I was, my phone buzzed. I checked the screen and saw it was a call from my father. I didn’t accept, as I was sure he was calling to make sure I planned to see him before going to the office.
I didn’t have time to carefully choose. I picked those pieces I could part with. I signed them JCK to comply with the terms of the contract I’d yet to send her.
Time continued to march on as I made several trips to get the canvases into my SUV. I was in the hidden stairwell with the last and largest canvas when I heard voices inside the apartment. It was a good thing I’d closed all doors as I entered and exited, just in case.
I walked the painting back up the stairs and set it carefully at the top before returning to the bottom. Just like that first time, I cracked open the pantry door to peek at who was inside.
“See?” Lizzy said to a man even I had to admit most women would find attractive. He stood far too close to her for my liking. “It’s genius.”
“What I see is a sexually repressed man in turmoil over his desires,” he said.
Lizzy giggled, and I wanted to kill the guy—especially when his hand landed on the middle of her back.
“You’re something,” she said, shaking her head. “I just need to grab my phone, which I could have done by myself.”
“No way was I letting you travel across town alone without a phone. This is New York.” He turned a predatory smile toward her. “Besides, I’ve been wanting an invitation to your new place.”
My grip on the door handle tightened.
She shook a finger in his direction. “We’re going to be late.”
Lizzy disappeared into my bedroom. If he had followed, I couldn’t see myself hanging back and watching. But seconds later, Lizzy appeared, and they left the apartment.
I hadn’t brought my tablet, but I could access building security on my phone. I watched the screen as they exited out the front.
I didn’t wait. I jogged up the stairs and took the painting back down and out of the apartment while checking my phone to make sure she didn’t come back. I didn’t want us to meet in the elevator.
As I drove to the hospital to visit my father, a jealous part of me wondered who would fill the princess’s time if she had an itch when I wasn’t available. Would it be the asshole who’d been with her?
If she was my sub, it wouldn’t be a question. In that moment, I decided she would be at the club with me tonight. If there was one thing I didn’t do—despite the club I ran—it was share.
Sixteen
Lizzy
Anderson was such a flirt, and I adored him for it. Though he hadn’t had to, I was grateful he’d come along. I’d felt naked without my phone. Much like how I’d felt when I’d woken alone this morning. I’d been so off, avoiding my phone because I didn’t want to see that he hadn’t texted, that I’d forgotten my phone completely.
Oh boy, what had I gotten myself into?
“So, when are these magic paintings going to arrive?” he asked as we walked back into the office.
I blew out a breath. “I haven’t heard back from Connor King. I’m not sure I’ll even get them.”
My assistant went dreamy-eyed. “Connor King. Prince of New York. Have you seen him in person?”
“No. Have you?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t. But I heard he’s delish.”
“If he looks anything like his brother, he most likely is.”
“Oh, that’s right. Bailey is dating the elder brother.”
I shook a finger at him. “Not exactly, and don’t ask me for more information. It’s her business to share, not mine.”
“You’re no fun. And lucky you, looks like we have a customer.”
The telltale soft musical chimes of the front door opening sounded. With only two of us, it was important to have that notification.
After Anderson left to see to our visitor, I sat behind my desk and checked my email. Nothing from Connor and I didn’t know how to feel. Especially since I had mail from my accountant. Bailey was an accountant, but I hadn’t asked her to do my books—mostly because I was embarrassed. My business was failing. My last chance rested in the hands of an arrogant, rich boy.
So I typed:
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Bad Business
Since you didn’t have the courtesy to notify me in writing, I’ll assume the artist has chosen to decline my offer. Or maybe you never passed on the message. I have to say, I thought you’d have better manners.
Before I hit Send, I read it twice. I didn’t want to be intrigued by the man, but I was, hence my strong wording. An overconfident man like him had to be put in his place. His handling of our initial email exchange had pissed me off. How had I allowed myself to think I’d gotten the upper hand?
Besides, I wasn’t at all interested in Connor King. I had Striker—or did I? I’d become far too attached to his presence in my bed. The difference between the two was cavernous. Connor was everything I hated in a man: rich and entitled. Sticker was everything I loved in a man: confident and good in bed. Neither was mine.
Until this point, I hadn’t really thought about what more I could want. Hans? Good-natured, good-looking, and fun to be around. There was only one thing he’d been missing. I hadn’t known sex was so important, but I would never be ashamed of that fact.
“Lizzy.”
I glanced up as Anderson waved to gain my attention. “Sorry, I was thinking.”
“I think your paintings are here.”
Just as I was about to get to my feet in surprise, an email came in. “Give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the back.”
Anderson nodded and left, closing the door.
To: Elizabeth Monroe
From: Connor King
Subject: Apology?
I’ve just confirmed delivery to your place of business. However, if the artist had gotten your last message, I would imagine he’d tell me to void the contract I have. I’ll leave it up to you. Do you want me to send? BTW, you have one minute to reply.
My jaw possibly hit the floor as I checked the time on my computer. I couldn’t be sure if my time was up. How long had it taken me to read? Twenty seconds? More?
To: Connor King
From: Elizabeth Monroe
Subject: Asshole much?
I accept under protest. Original terms still stand. Send me the contract. You have thirty seconds to do so.
I chuckled, knowing the curse in the subject line wasn’t professional, but I didn’t care.
To: Elizabeth Monroe
From: Connor King
Subject: Quid pro quo
The signed contract is attached. I’ll forward financial information if you can manage to make a sale.
I closed the laptop, afraid I might type something else unladylike. As I got to my feet, my phone chimed. A quick check of the display showed it was my brother.
“Matty.”
“I don’t have a lot of time. I got your text.”
“Yeah, jackass. I’m worried. I haven’t heard from you in days.”
“I told you I might not be able to talk you for a while.”
I groaned. “A text or something?”
“I can’t leave a trail to you.”
“I can’t wonder if you’re dead?”
“I’m not dead. Things are coming together. I can’t say more.”
“Just text me you’re alive every few days. And you could also send something to Mom and Dad.”
“You, yes. Mom and Dad, no, and you know why?”
“I don’t. I hate this.”
“Look, I have to go and please trust me. I’m fine.”
Before I could ask more, he was gone. I wanted to go back to my computer and do what he suggested, but Anderson was waiting. I was worried, but I trusted my brother more than anyone in the world. He’d been doing this for years. Before I’d known it.
Reluctantly, I set down my phone and headed to the back while trying to put the fear for my brother’s life on hold. Knowing my assistant, he would have already locked the front door and put up the sign telling anyone wanting entrance to ring the bell.
By the time I’d gotten to the storage room, all the paintings were lined up on opposite walls. I sucked in air at the sheer majesty.
The art in the apartment was mostly landscapes and a few abstracts. I hadn’t been sure what to expect, but what I got was landscapes with a twist. In each, a subject faced away as if enjoying the view beyond.
I didn’t agree with Anderson’s take that the artist was sexually repressed. He—my assistant, that was—injected sex into almost everything. I did think the artist, with his short, almost angry strokes, felt unseen. None of the subjects were facing forward. I wasn’t a psychotherapist, though I had taken a few psychology classes in undergrad, but the landscapes were painted as if the artist was looking through a window. The ones with subjects, it was as if he was watching them without their knowledge or they didn’t notice him.
But the largest of the paintings didn’t have a landscape. In it, the woman was lying on a bed, tangled in sheets, and wasn’t looking in the direction of the artist.
“You have a winner here,” Anderson announced with glee.
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