The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  He chuckles lightly, resting his leather folder on the island. “Like I said, he’s in no rush, but I’m sure I can work my magic for you, Beau.”

  So it’s Beau now? “Assuming it’s what I want,” I say, wandering to the back of the apartment, taking in the spacious but cozy lounge as I go. It needs redecorating; the walls are scuffed and a bit grubby. “The bedrooms are this way?”

  “Yes, with two very generous bathrooms.”

  I enter the master and am pleasantly surprised by the size. “Good space,” I muse, walking around the cream rug.

  “The bathroom is just through there.”

  I follow his pointed hand, entering. He wasn’t kidding. Very generous. The walk-in shower is minimal, just a sheet of glass fixed to the tile and anchored to the wall by a silver bar.

  “So what do you think?” Dean asks, standing in the doorway.

  I hold back my thoughts, tampering down my enthusiasm. “It’s got potential,” I say quietly, running my palm across the wood-veneer vanity unit.

  “Can I ask what you do, Beau?” he asks, sweeping a hand through his slick hair. What do I do? Good question. Currently, I’m floating between heaven and hell. Usually, I’d be distracting myself with some painting, although not much of that has happened of late. I must finish James’s office.

  My cell rings, saving me from Dean’s question, and I take James’s call as I peek in the mirror-fronted cupboard hanging over the sink. “Hey, I’m in the apartment. Head into the lobby.” I close the door of the cupboard and turn toward Dean, who nods and gets straight onto his cell, calling the concierge.

  “Yes, show her up.” He cuts the call and slips his cell into his pocket. “I’ll let her in.”

  “Thanks.” I follow him out of the bedroom on a smile, wickedly looking forward to the moment when Dean learns that she is in fact a he. A big he. An impressive he. A fierce he. We wander through the open living area, and I hear the sound of an impatient knock as we pass the kitchen.

  I hover to the side of Dean as he swings the door open, smiling brightly. “Hi, I’m . . .” His head tilts back, and he reverses his steps, his smile falling.

  “This is my friend,” I say, biting my lip furiously to restrain my smile. “James, this is Dean, the real estate agent.”

  James gives me a narrowed eye when he catches the amusement I’m doing a terrible job of hiding. Nor the thrill of how ruggedly handsome he looks in trousers and a shirt, open at the collar. He’s dressed rather smart for errands on a Saturday.

  James grunts, looking nothing short of pissed off, giving Dean a glare paired with a curled lip. Poor Dean doesn’t know where to look, his persona changing in an instant.

  “What do you think?” I ask James, trying to distract him from whatever’s gotten under his skin today. It could be me. I don’t know. It probably is.

  “I think I need a tour,” he says quietly, wandering over to the kitchen. I follow, a little wary. “Has he made a move on you?” he asks, not nearly quietly enough, nothing but displeasure on his face.

  I tilt my head. “Would that be a problem?”

  “Yes.” He doesn’t beat around the bush, scowling over his shoulder, and I glance back, seeing Dean’s smile is now more nervous than cheesy. “That would be a huge problem.”

  “Why?” I ask, not certain that I want the answer.

  James looks at me in question, definitely wondering the same as me. Do I want to know? Is this another bout of jealously? Something tells me I’m about to find out. “Beau and I are going to take another look around,” he says to Dean, eyes still on me. That gaze is threatening. And electrifying. I start to shift on my feet, and James doesn’t miss it.

  “Sure.” Dean lowers to a stool. “Take your time.”

  “I will.” James cocks his head at me, and I inhale, my chest expanding. My waning stability becomes ricketier as he seizes my hand and pulls me, and I feel Dean’s stare follow us.

  “The TV room,” I say as he tugs me through, my skin tingling, preparing, bracing for his touch.

  “Lovely.”

  “The view.” I look over my shoulder, smiling awkwardly when I discover Dean looking at us, alarmed.

  “Great,” James mutters.

  “The dining area.” I blindly point at the table and chairs I know to be somewhere in this vicinity.

  “Amazing.” He drags me on, unperturbed.

  “James,” I hiss as Dean disappears from view and I’m yanked into the master bedroom. “Bedroom,” I breathe, and James releases my hand and places a palm on my shoulder, walking me forward. To the bathroom. I hear the buckle of his belt clang, and then the unmistakable sound of it being pulled free of the belt loops of his trousers. Oh Jesus. My mind is yelling at me to stop this, but my body is absolutely begging for him. “Bathroom,” I whisper on a shaky breath when we enter, hearing the door close. My purse slips from my hold, hitting the floor, and when I glance at the mirror, he’s looming behind me, looking ready to strike. Jealousy. Possessiveness. It’s written all over him, and I’m wary of it.

  His eyes turn to something, and I read him, following his gaze to the solid metal bar that’s suspended from the ceiling, attaching the shower screen to the wall. I’m damned if I can say no. And he looks far from prepared to accept a refusal, anyway.

  I wander across to the shower and stand below the bar, raising my arms, and his chest is pushed to my front in a second, his hands working expertly and blindly above me, his intentions burning holes in me as he stares, daring me to back out. I won’t. Can’t. There’s no room to consider where we are. Not past the inexorable lust. I’m out of my mind on James, and that’s the best kind of crazy I’ve ever felt. And, strangely, I realize what’s about to happen isn’t intended to release me from anger, from pain, from fear. But him? This will be a possessive fuck. He needs me. But just fucking someone shouldn’t involve possessiveness or jealousy.

  The warm leather of his belt rubs against my wrists, and I look up to see my hands bundled together, bound above my head. I breathe out. It’s wobbly, my heart thrashing double time. I feel James’s palm frame my cheek, and I let my gaze lower. I’ve never seen so much conviction in a stare. The agent could breeze on in here at any moment, although after encountering James, he might think twice. But that could be part of the game for James. The risk. He said it himself. I know firsthand that being watched isn’t a problem for him.

  Jesus, what am I doing?

  “Did you miss me?” he asks, dragging his fingers down to the buttons of my shirt. He starts unfastening them one by one as I battle to find some air and some words. “Beau?” His hands stop, his head tilts, his eyes blaze. Demand. He’s not rushing. He really couldn’t give two fucks if Dean walks in on us. “Did you miss me?”

  “I missed this,” I say quietly. Today was as long as a day could be. I was restless, my thoughts chaotic, jumping between James, Lawrence, Zinnea, and whether Nath has found out anything about Mom yet.

  “This is me,” he says roughly. “This is us.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He pulls my shirt open and yanks the cups of my bra down, and I jerk, harder still when he takes my breasts and molds firmly. “I’m saying there is no this if there is no us.” He undoes the fly of his trousers, unfastens a few more buttons of his shirt and pulls it over his head, and then works my fly, tugging my jeans down my legs to my ankles, leaving them there, effectively restraining my feet too. I look at the ceiling, every brain cell consumed by a need inside simmering dangerously, ready to bubble over and have me screaming his name. But I still manage to read between the lines of his words. What he’s saying, James-style, is that only he can do this to me. No other man. No one. Only him.

  “What are you going to do?” I pant, knowing there’s no chance of penetration when my legs are unable to spread. “Tell me what you’re going to do.” I need to prepare. It’s a crazy claim. I could never be prepared for James. But always ready. Always willing.

  When he doesn’t an
swer, I find him again. His thick cock rests in his hand, being stroked slowly, every muscle in his chest rolling smoothly. “Oh God,” I breathe, knowing the level of torture I’m about to face, restrained, unable to touch him or myself. This won’t be escape. This will be hell. “James.” I look at him with pleading eyes, shaking my head. I will have to depend on him, and something tells me he’s not in an accommodating mood. I’m blaming Dean. Or James for being unreasonably possessive.

  His smirk is salacious. Dirty. It’s knowing. “I want you all to myself,” he whispers, guiding himself to the juncture of my thighs and slipping the throbbing head of his erection across my pulsing flesh. I cry out, bowing violently, straining against my bonds. “Is that a problem, Beau?”

  “Stop,” I beg, as he circles my clit with his cock, his free hand grabbing my jaw.

  “You want me to stop?” he asks, slipping his thumb past my lips and circling my tongue. “Then say my name.”

  “Which one?” I gasp, and then yelp when he changes the direction of his flesh slipping on mine, pushing closer toward my opening.

  “The name you know.”

  My internal walls scream, trying to grab his cock and pull it in, trying to get the friction it needs. My jaw tightens, my eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” I order. He knows I’m not telling him to stop this. I’m ordering him to stop purposely fueling my intrigue.

  “You stop it,” he counters, tackling my mouth hard, fisting my hair at my nape, holding me steady as he starts increasing the friction between my legs, driving me wild. The feel of his arousal, firm but soft, plays havoc with my nerve-endings, tickling them, teasing them. Our tongues tussle, our teeth clash, our moans collide. “You’re burning up down there, Beau,” he pants, biting at my lip and returning to my mouth, continuing the clumsy, frenzied kiss.

  Heat sweeps through me, working its way to my head. My muscles start to stiffen. My mouth becomes urgent on his, my arms yanking and pulling at the restraints, my legs solid. I’m going to come so hard, and there isn’t a doubt that Dean will hear it. “James,” I say in warning, though all the signs tell him.

  The friction is suddenly gone, his mouth missing from mine, and I growl my frustration as my orgasm retreats. He reaches down and yanks my jeans off, taking my flip-flops with them, and then seizes behind my thighs and yanks me onto him. He slips into me with no guiding. No holding. No encouragement.

  “Yes,” I whisper, my forehead falling onto his shoulder. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  He groans, holding still, and the feel of him beating inside of me brings my vanishing orgasm back with a vengeance. “How are your arms?” he asks, his voice still hard.

  “Numb,” I admit. Every ounce of blood in me seems to have gone to my head and my core. “Finish it,” I order, and he rolls teasingly, turning his face into my neck and kissing me way too softly.

  “This will never be finished,” he murmurs.

  I open my eyes, gazing across the bathroom to the door. “Good.” I lift my head, turning into his face, finding his eyes. I see too much freedom in his gaze. Too many promises. And too many secrets. I hold his stare, lowering my mouth to his and nibbling at his lip. He quickly turns it into a kiss, and then gets moving again, thrusting into me steadily and firmly, no rushing, no urgency. But my release soon comes, and when James’s fingers dig into my thighs, his hips becoming rigid, I know he’s with me. It seems to hit us simultaneously, and we both jerk and whimper, prisoners to the pleasure. Our bodies roll. Our groans meld. James chokes a little, releasing one hand and grabbing the rail above us, clinging on, holding us both up, as our rolls transform into shakes and our groans become broken rather than smooth, the nerves of my clitoris pounding, my walls squeezing him unforgivingly.

  He stills, and I become limp, the strain on my wrists becoming painful. The sound of our labored breathing is golden. “It’s a no from me,” he pants into my shoulder, and I sigh drowsily.

  “You don’t like it?”

  “No.”

  “What’s not to like?”

  He peels his skin from mine and lowers me to my feet, reaching up to the leather holding me in place. “You living alone, that’s what’s not to like.” My hands are quickly free, and they fall like lead to my sides. I wince, and it doesn’t escape James’s notice. Taking an arm in turn, he starts massaging some life back into them, checking the welts, which are red and raw again. “I don’t see why you don’t just stay with your uncle. What’s the rush?”

  “There’s no rush, hence I’ve been at Lawrence’s for nearly two years.”

  “Then what’s the problem?” He looks up at me, and I detect something in his cool eyes I haven’t seen before. Worry. I’m sure it’s worry. I’m surprised James is encouraging me to stay with Lawrence after my uncle was so rude to him. So, is there more to this?

  “There wasn’t a problem, but now you’ve made me feel like there is a problem.” I gently pull my arm from his hold and find my jeans, pulling them on while I watch him closely. “You’re making me suspicious,” I admit, but what I could be suspicious of is beyond me. He’s a stockbroker, for God’s sake. Wealthy, lives in a glass castle, has cameras everywhere, fucks random women with no apology. Everything I learn about James results in more intrigue, and it’s getting to the point I’m losing the battle against my head, which is telling me to keep my mouth and ears shut. Just take what you need, Beau. Take that and nothing else. “Is there a problem?”

  James fastens his trousers and gets his shirt back on, tucking it in. “Why are you asking if there’s a problem? Because if there is, you’re going to tell me you don’t want to know what the problem is.” His lips straighten, and my eyes narrow.

  “I fucking hate your riddles.” I fasten the buttons of my shirt with a heavy hand, and James stares at me as he coils the belt in his hands.

  “They’re not riddles, Beau.” He steps into me and kisses me gently, nibbling his way across my lips. “But if they were, the answers are right here waiting for you.”

  I get lost in his attention. It’s a given. “Do you hate how much I don’t want to know?” I ask around his mouth, looping an arm around his neck.

  “No, I hate how much I want to tell you.” My ass is seized, and I’m pulled up his body, my legs wrapping around his waist. I pull back and get his face in my sights. His gorgeous, manly, handsome face. I drop a kiss on the corner of his otherworldly lips and sweep my hands through his waves. And as I’m breathing him into me, relaxed, my mind seems to open and piece together the endless things James has said.

  His other name. How much he wants to tell me. How he thinks I’m getting more than I bargained for. His errands today.

  Oh my God.

  It’s so fucking obvious, I don’t know how I didn’t consider it before.

  I stare at the wall past his shoulder, my twisted thoughts all straightening out.

  He’s a dad. He has a kid.

  I pull away and look at him in question, my mind spinning at one hundred miles an hour. How did I miss this? He hates how much he wants to tell me, because sharing that part of his life is a serious business—something a man would only do if he was thinking of introducing someone to their child. Right? Is he thinking of introducing me? And what does that mean? Me? A kid? Fucking hell, I couldn’t inflict my gloom on a child.

  I try to detach myself from him, but he stands firm, keeping me hanging from his torso, dipping to get my purse from the floor. Then he turns and walks out, and I catch sight of the fogged mirror. My face is distorted. Blurry. Unclear.

  I don’t bother telling him to put me down. I don’t think I can walk anyway, not after that orgasm, and not while my mind is so focused on my latest revelation.

  “It’s a no,” James says to Dean as he carries me through the apartment.

  Dean’s face is a picture as he stands from the stool, walking slowly into the middle of the room as he watches us leave. I raise a hand and offer a small, guilty smile before the wood of the door comes between us.

 
Only once we’re in the elevator does James put me down. “What’s up?” he asks, assessing me closely, blindly hitting the button for the first floor. I don’t like it. Not at all. I can’t look at him. Being involved with a man who’s a dad is no joke. It carries responsibilities. I’m not equipped. God damn it, and I feel awful for thinking it, but I’m pissed off. Pissed off that he’s ruined the illusion. Tarnished my escape.

  “Nothing.” I thank all the gods when my cell rings. Nath’s name on my screen fills me with dread and relief all at once. “Excuse me,” I say to James, stepping off the elevator when the doors open. “I need to take this.” I wander to the seats in the lobby, but I don’t sit down. “Nath?”

  “Hey, you free?” he blurts, no greeting, no enquiry into how I am.

  I’m not imagining it, he sounds tense, and Nath doesn’t do tense. He’s as cool as a man can come. “Now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, and I feel every muscle in my body harden.

  “Is this about Mom?”

  “Can you meet me at mine?”

  “Why your place?” I have never, not ever, met Nath at his place. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever stepped foot in his house. I’ve picked him up. I’ve waited outside while he went in to fetch something. But I’ve never been inside. He’s always claimed it’s too messy, that he’s ashamed of how undomesticated he is.

  “An hour,” he says, not answering me. I glance at my screen, seriously disliking the pinching feeling all over my skin. He sounded out of breath. Stressed.

  “Okay?” James asks, approaching with caution.

  “Yeah.” I back away, and even though I don’t like the call with Nath, it’s a perfect excuse for me to gain some space from James to get my thoughts in line. “A friend needs me. I have to go.”

  He can’t disguise his displeasure. Or his suspicion. But I have to make him believe it’s nothing much, because the alternative will open a whole can of worms that I absolutely do not want to share with James. “Man trouble.” I shrug lamely. “Call you later?”