by J. S. Scott
He sounded irritated and underneath that anger, slightly confused.
I’d never been the object of any man’s lust, and it was slightly heady. Still, I couldn’t figure out what he saw in me. Trace probably had most of the female population at his disposal. Why would he waste time on me when he could be nailing a supermodel?
“Sex isn’t part of this deal,” I told him shakily, part of me wishing that it was. But it would be wrong for so many reasons. Like it or not, this had to stay business only for me. Anything more could be a disaster, and I’d had enough of broken dreams and shattered hopes.
Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he answered, “I know that. I’m not looking for a damn prostitute.”
I recoiled like he’d physically struck me. “I’ve never done…that.”
His fierce gaze locked with mine, and his eyes devoured me.
“I know you haven’t.” Trace’s voice was clipped and slightly pained. “I’m not about to hire a hooker to be my fiancée. No matter how well she played the part, my brothers would figure out the truth. Like I said, I need someone convincing.”
“I have a part to play, but I’m not sleeping with you.” Oh, but I wanted to. If that was a little taste of Trace, I wanted the feast. Unfortunately, I couldn’t gorge. Not with him.
A cocky smirk formed on his lips. “Okay. But I’ll still try to make you want me. I guarantee it.”
I already wanted him. It was physically impossible for my body not to respond to a man like him.
I propped my hands on my hips. “Why?”
“Because I want you, Eva. I want my cock to be buried so deep inside you that you can’t remember your own name, and you beg me to make you come.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes were still burning green fire.
I slammed my eyes closed, not wanting to visualize that scenario. The effort was unsuccessful. “Not happening.” I opened my eyes again.
“We’ll see.” Trace was still smiling, his expression decidedly smug.
“Besa mi culo.” The insult telling him to kiss my ass in Spanish slipped from my lips before I could stop it.
“Bare it, and I’ll kiss more than just your gorgeous ass,” he promised dangerously.
Damn! I couldn’t even insult him in Spanish because he’d understand every word.
Remembering his powerful grip on my ass, I flushed as my core clenched hard, as though my body was begging me to let him take me. He’d been hard, his cock straining against the confines of his pristine suit pants.
“Not happening.” I tried to sound firm, but to my ears, I was even less convincing than the last time I’d said those same words. Truth was, I wasn’t sure what I’d do if he really pushed my boundaries.
Luckily, I didn’t have to find out.
He put my backpack over his shoulder easily, a burden that had almost made me crumble from the weight.
Trace didn’t say another word as he motioned me out the door of my apartment.
“Do you have another key?” He glanced at me questioningly.
Digging into the zipper pocket of the backpack, I removed the spare key and locked the apartment door, and then put it in the back pocket of my jeans.
“I’ll have fun retrieving that so I can deal with your landlord,” Trace said with a smile in his voice.
Instantly, I reached into my pocket again, grabbed the key, and promptly shoved it under the door. “No, you won’t.” I smiled at him smugly.
He shrugged. “That won’t stop me. But it does kill all the fun.”
Trace’s gaze was teasing, and I found it hard to resist a smiling Trace. I had a feeling it was something he didn’t do often. “If you do, I’ll quit.”
“No, you won’t.” The certainty in his voice was annoying.
Nope. I probably wouldn’t. Now that my apartment was gone, I needed a job to survive. My nose simply tilted up and I rolled my eyes at him. I stomped off to make my way back down the decrepit staircase.
He was right behind me. “Your Latina temper is pretty hot.” His voice was gruff.
Shoving my nose further into the air, I huffed. “You haven’t seen just how hot I can burn.” I didn’t lose my temper often. I couldn’t afford to give it free reign whenever I wanted. But when I was really angry, I could fly off the handle with a lot more of a temper than he’d just seen.
I should have expected his retort; I should have known he’d pick up on the chance to make my defiant comment sexual. My words were going to have to be more closely monitored around him.
“I can’t wait,” he answered smoothly.
Since I had no answer, I hurried down the stairs, the sound of Trace’s wicked laughter following me.
Bastard!
Part of me enjoyed his teasing, the sexual tension that flowed heavily between us. But I couldn’t let it continue. I knew something he didn’t, something that would instantly stop this budding part of our relationship that neither one of us could seem to control.
He has a right to know.
I swung around at the bottom of the stairs, almost colliding with Trace as he reached the ground floor.
“We can’t do this.” My voice was adamant and sad.
“I’m attracted to you, Eva,” he answered candidly.
“You shouldn’t be.”
“Why not? You’re an attractive woman.”
I took a deep breath, unable to meet his eyes. I looked at the dirty wall with peeling white paint behind him. “I came to see you today for a favor. I was desperate. You don’t know me, but I know of you. My mother left me to marry your father. Even though I never saw her again and we’ve never met, we’re still related by marriage. Technically, you’re my stepbrother.”
JAN’S AUTHOR ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My deepest thanks to Barbara Riste, MBA MA LCP for helping me try to get into the head of a man with bipolar disorder. Your insight and suggested reading material was invaluable to me on my journey with Graham.
And as always, thank you to my husband, my KA team, and my wonderful street team, Jan’s Gems. Your support means everything to me.
And Ruthie, you already know I adore you. Thanks for making this project amazing.
xxxx Jan (J.S. Scott)
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INSATIABLE BACHELOR
(Bachelor Tower Series, Book 1)
A brand new series by Ruth Cardello set in a whole new world.
Dalton: Women are a perk of my lifestyle. I work hard. I deserve to play harder. But I didn’t get on the Forbes List of Rising Entrepreneurs by getting lost in the baggage and disruption that comes with dating. I’ve seen dozens of men fail when they fall in love. Pathetic.
That’s why I chose the Bachelor Tower. It was designed by a genius, my hero: the late, Garry F. Sinclair. He created an all-male haven for ambitious men who want to live like kings and play by their own rules. Casino nights, a fully equipped gym and lap pool, cigar and Scotch bar, and a media room with screens the size of the average movie theater. The list is endless. I easily network with men trying to launch their careers or those at the top who want to stay hungry. The best part: the tower attracts women, beautiful women who hang out in the lobby bar and vie for an invite upstairs. Easy, like fishing in a barrel.
Until Sinclair dies and Penny Fuller moves into the apartment next to me because the new owner doesn’t share his vision.
Everyone agrees Penny can’t stay. I don’t want to get involved, but she doesn’t understand the lengths my fellow building mates will go to to get her out. She’s not only irresistibly sexy and painfully optimistic, she’s also in real danger.
Siding with her would be career suicide.
Betraying her was never my intention.