Best of 2017

by Alexa Riley

  My pussy feels slightly raw. I must have touched myself in the middle of the night. One sniff of my fingertips tells me I’m correct on that assumption as well. At least I can always count on myself, even when I’m fucked up beyond memory.

  A quick peek in the hamper and closet tells me I’m not crazy. I did come home and undress as usual. With a sigh of relief, I take the longest shower known to man. My calves are sore and the rest of my body is achy due to my hangover from hell.

  My phone buzzes from my nightstand where I managed to remember to plug it in last night. Now freshly showered and dried off, with a towel wrapped around my wet hair, I walk naked over to the bedside. A chill ripples through me. The feeling of being watched by Vaughn has never really gone away. I blink it away to read my message.

  Apparently I’ve missed several.

  Sean: I had fun last night. Sorry if things got out of hand.

  Sean: Let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight?

  I’m already shaking my head in disagreement. I refuse to spend another moment alone with Sean. I’m already horrified over my behavior last night.

  Sean: I wasn’t exactly a gentleman so don’t go blaming this on yourself.

  I chew on my lip and head back into the bathroom. Pulling my towel off and dropping it to the floor, I look at my reflection. Despite my stupidity last night, I still look like the woman I’d eventually shaped myself to be. I’m no longer her. The woman wrapped up in Vaughn’s twisted little world. I’m healthy and educated and successful.

  Breathe, Violet.

  He no longer has his hand around your throat.

  I spend the rest of the morning taking my time getting ready. Once my makeup is on and my hair is dried into sexy tresses, I spritz on my perfume and leave the bathroom on a hunt for some clothes.

  I get that eerie feeling once again of being watched as I enter my bedroom. The bedroom door is cracked. I squint to make sure nobody is peeking through.

  “Stop freaking out,” I chide myself. “He’s not here.” I still shiver as I root around in my closet for clothes. I’ll never be able to fully convince myself that Vaughn can’t find me. That I’m safe. I’ve taken precautions, but he’s a resourceful man.

  A click jolts me from my thoughts, and I scamper out of my closet. The bedroom door is now closed. Alarm slices through me. Yanking my robe from the bathroom hook, I quickly wrap it around me and tiptoe over to the door.

  Silence.

  I try not to breathe.

  Another soft click from the living room.

  “Shit,” I hiss as I engage the lock on my bedroom door. The gun I keep loaded under my mattress is still there when I look. I pull the heavy cold object into my grip and summon up the courage to escape my bedroom prison. My phone buzzes from the bathroom, but I ignore it. Quietly, I manage to check every part of my apartment from top to bottom.

  Nothing.

  My nerves are eating me alive this morning.

  I need protein and sugar and coffee.

  I need to snap out of it.

  I’m shaking my head at my stupidity when my gaze skims across my apartment to the front door. All three locks are disengaged.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Confusion causes my blood to creep through my veins like molasses. I never forget to lock my doors. Never. Ever. Fucking never. With three leaps to the door, I snap all of the locks into place before choking out a relieved sob.

  Someone was in my home.

  Vaughn.

  Tears threaten to spill, but I furiously blink them away. He won’t own me this time. The heavy gun in my palm wobbles as I imagine myself pointing it at him. A calm washes over me and my hand stills.

  If it comes between me and Vaughn, I’ll choose me.

  Every time.

  I compose myself and make my way back to the bathroom. I have another missed text on my phone. But this time it’s from an unknown number.

  Vaughn.

  Unknown: Meet me for breakfast. The hotel on 7th and Madison has a brilliant selection of muffins.

  Muffins?

  Me: Who is this?

  Unknown: It’s Gray, little quitter. Let me treat you. We both know I owe you. I have six years to make up for.

  Relief floods through me once I realize Vaughn doesn’t have my phone number. I went to great lengths to keep this number hidden from anyone I don’t want to have it.

  Me: I’m more of an omelet and French toast kind of gal. But, sadly for you, I’d rather eat alone.

  Despite my reply, I find myself rooting around in my closet for something to wear. I dress professionally for this man every single day, yet he has never once looked me in the eye. Not once has he spoken to me. Not one time has he appreciatively glanced over my outfit.

  Except yesterday.

  Yesterday he seemed to have realized what was in his face all along.

  And now he’s, what? Curious. One might even conclude that he feels bad. It makes me want to rub it in his face. Make him understand that I’m not something who can be looked over or forgotten. I am someone. Someone special and beautiful and worth knowing.

  Unknown: Dear Violet, you’ll never be alone as far as I’m concerned. Twenty minutes. I’ll be waiting.

  His words should alarm me, but right now, I’m attempting to suppress the good kind of shiver that is rocketing through me. Excitement courses through me. I want to dangle in front of him what he can’t have. What he was too blind to see all along. Since Vaughn, I’ve enjoyed any moment when I can make a man feel powerless in my presence. Because it wasn’t too long ago that the roles were grossly reversed.

  With a skip in my step, I start for a red dress but pause with my hand in the air. Red reminds me of Vaughn. I skim over to a white sweater dress I bought for a date I never ended up going on. Because I’m feeling slightly bitchy, I slide the soft material down over my body sans bra. The nude lace thong is all that stands between my flesh and the cashmere. I find some thigh high boots that hit just below the bottom hem of the short dress. The look is sexy, but I’m also trying to be a little classy so I find a belt to go over the dress and a grey infinity scarf to halfway attempt to hide my bare breasts beneath the fabric. As soon as I step in front of the mirror, I know he won’t be able to help noticing me now.

  I’ll be on the radar of any man with a working dick.

  I look hot and I know it.

  Smirking, I grab my purse and a coat before leaving to meet my soon-to-be ex-boss. My gun fits in my purse and that’s right where it will stay until I make sure Vaughn is still just a figment of my imagination.

  T-minus thirteen days until I move on to my newest adventure. But until then, I’m going to make Grayson Maxwell regret letting me slip through his fingertips.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GRAYSON

  I SIT at my usual table wearing my usual scowl. Twenty minutes comes and goes. Then thirty. But, thank fuck, thirty-eight minutes after my text, she shows up at the hotel restaurant looking like she owns the damn place.

  Her hair is what I notice first outside the window as she exits the cab. The wind sweeps it up in a lover’s grip and the sun catches the gold in her mane. She fucking shines. Brilliant and beautiful. And mine.

  I run my tongue along my bottom lip and feel a smile ghosting up on one side. This woman revives dead parts of me. She makes me feel alive. Like smiles and excitement and the thrill of a chase. Her scent lingers on my lips, despite my brushing my teeth this morning, and I can’t help the groan that escapes me as I watch her strut toward the building. My cock is rock hard as I imagine peeling off her leather coat and peeking at what she’s hiding underneath. I’m already standing by the time she enters the restaurant. Her eyes light up when she sees me. I jerk my head to signal her in my direction.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” she says, her words breathless.

  I inhale her floral scent. Just like I promised myself I would, I got a good whiff of her as she exited her bathroom earlier. Even from my shitty position on her a
wful carpet, I could smell her. Her perfumed scent killed the disgust of the floor and instead replaced it with…her. I hadn’t wanted to leave her but my stomach—after not having eaten dinner in my quest for knowledge of her—had started to grumble. Loudly. I didn’t want her to find me sprawled out under her bed with a ten-inch boner. Plus, I needed to shower and change clothes.

  I stand to greet her as she approaches. “You look radiant,” I tell her, my voice low and husky. Radiant doesn’t even begin to describe how gorgeous she is.

  Her brown eyes narrow at my choice of words as she sheds her coat. The moment she slips it from her shoulders, my cock hardens. Her nipples are erect underneath her sweater. I can see the faint pink outline of them beneath the soft cashmere.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss as I yank her chair back. “Where’s your damn bra?”

  She chuckles and it has a musical quality. “I don’t like wearing one with this dress. You can see it.”

  “I can see your tits, Violet,” I seethe as I sit across from her. My gaze sweeps over the lingering late breakfast crowd, but thankfully nobody is paying either of us any mind. Her tits are safe from the leering eyes of the other patrons for now.

  “Those are choice words coming from my boss. Hmmm,” she bites out before sniffing the air. “Do I smell a sexual harassment suit?”

  Rolling my eyes, I hand her the menu in hopes she’ll cover her perfect tits from any onlookers. “If anyone is sexually harassing anyone, it’s you harassing me. I came here for breakfast. The show was free.”

  Our eyes meet and hers flicker with challenge. The defiant look in them has my cock engorged with blood and the need to push inside her is all I can think about.

  “What do you want, Mr. Maxwell?” she demands, her voice saccharine sweet.

  I stretch my leg out under the table, settling it between hers once I’ve pushed her ankles apart with my foot. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t try to move away. Just the thought of her thighs spread slightly open has my jaw clenching. I wonder if she’s wearing panties. My mouth is about to blurt out some shit that isn’t ready to come out. She’s not ready for what I have to say. So instead, I stare at her. Blatantly. I eyefuck her because clearly that’s what she wanted when she put that dress on. Her throat moves as she swallows and she shakily lifts the menu as if to hide those tits from me.

  With my finger, I push the menu back down to the table and then sweep my gaze over her gorgeous mounds. I linger my stare before licking my lips and then give her a smug smile.

  “W-What do you want?” she asks again, this time minus the hidden venom.

  My eyes sear into hers. “Isn’t it obvious what I want?”

  “I’ve made my decision and will start at Slante Mortgages in less than two weeks,” she mutters and picks up the water glass on her side of the table. She downs it in a few unladylike gulps. “I’m leaving your company.”

  As long as she doesn’t leave me.

  Once I have my sights set, I acquire my target.

  Violet O. Simmons isn’t going anywhere.

  “Sean Slante is a sleaze ball,” I grunt as I flick at the button on my sleeve of my dress shirt. Suddenly I’m fucking hot. And pissed. After I roll both sleeves up my forearms, I thread my fingers together over the table and look back up at her. Her brown eyes are staring at my arms. She swipes her pink tongue across her bottom lip before lifting her gaze.

  “So are you,” she challenges with a lifted brow.

  I smirk. “I’m not the one forgetting to wear parts of my wardrobe to meet my boss. Perhaps you’re the sleaze, Violet.”

  Anger surges through her and her nostrils flare. “Are you always such an asshole? I’m glad you ignored me until now to be quite honest.”

  Ignore isn’t the right word. I simply didn’t see her until yesterday. Now, she’s all I see.

  The server interrupts our tense moment to take our order. When she can’t decide what to eat, I abruptly instruct the man to bring one of everything on the breakfast menu. Watching her neck heat to a perfect crimson color has another one of those rare grins tugging at my lips.

  “So not only are you a sleazy asshole but you’re also a chauvinist pig who orders for his date,” she snaps. “Got it.”

  I lift a brow. “Date?”

  This gets another blushing reaction from her. It also gets me a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.”

  “Actually, I don’t. Do you want this to be a date? Because if it were a date, I’d find a way to get you out of that dress later,” I tell her as I motion to her perfect tits on full display beneath the fabric.

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not a date. And you will not be seeing what’s under this dress.”

  Oh, but I already have, sweetheart.

  I let her win for now and change the subject. “Where does all your money go?”

  The smirk on her face is wiped right off. Fear flashes in her eyes briefly before she steels her gaze. “What are you talking about?”

  “I looked up your address.” And then I napped under your bed while you slept. “You live in the fucking ghetto.”

  Her lip curls up. “Did I seriously dress up on a Saturday morning for my soon-to-be ex-dickhead-boss to berate me about every single part of my life?”

  “Just answer the question. The rent on those places is like two hundred bucks a month or some shit. Scum lives there. Not…” I wave at her as if to imply exactly what I mean. Diamonds like her don’t belong in the rough. Diamonds like her need to be polished and cared for. Diamonds like her are meant to shine without fear of always getting dirty. “Not people like you.”

  She casts her gaze out the window. Her jaw flexes as she desperately clenches it closed as if to fight off emotion within her. A tear hastily snakes down her cheek but she discreetly wipes it away. With her eyes elsewhere, she responds, her voice ragged. “I like it there, okay? Can you drop it?”

  No.

  I can’t drop it.

  Not until I know why.

  “Are you hiding from someone?” I demand.

  She jerks her head to gape at me. “Why would you ask that?” Then, her nervous gaze flits across the restaurant. As if she’s looking for the very person she’s hiding from. I notice because it’s in my nature to notice these things. That and because I now notice everything about her.

  “That building accepts rent in cash only. Month-to-month lease. The superintendent is a scummy asshole who doesn’t like to pay taxes. I know this because I called.” Of course I called. I attempted to pull more information from him. According to the raspy voice over the phone, he didn’t know shit about the snobby lady in three-twelve.

  “You’re a stalker,” she huffs.

  If she only knew.

  Before I can reply, the server comes back with several loaded plates. They all won’t fit on one table, so he drags another one over to us. For a good five minutes, Violet stabs at her food making sure to keep her mouth full, probably so that she doesn’t have to talk. When she swallows, I speak again.

  “Where is all your money going?”

  She glares at me. “This is none of your business. Thanks for breakfast, but I need to go.”

  Earlier, I rifled through her desk at home while she slept. I’d flipped through her bank statements. Tracked where her money went. During each pay period, she pulls out over a grand in cash. Twelve hundred dollars of her hard-earned money every two weeks. I know at least a few hundred of it goes to the scuzzy building she rents from. The rest…I need to find out. My eyes narrow as she stands and yanks her coat from the chair. I know where she’s going. To the farmer’s market near the office. Like clockwork. Her receipts show a purchase from there every Saturday.

  “Violet.” My voice is husky with regret. I don’t mean to upset her, but she’s a pretty puzzle I’ve just gotten my hands on. I want to put her together and see the picture she makes.

  “Mr. Max—”

  “Gray.”

  Her brown eyes harden as she
shrugs her coat on. “Just let me be. Two weeks and I’ll be out of your hair. I’d appreciate it if things went back to normal. Back when you didn’t even know my name.”

  Guilt surges through me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been this way. I’m not like most men. I don’t do relationships. I don’t mingle and try to get along with people. Everything I do has purpose. Everything has reason. All of the other bullshit along the way is just complicated and messy. Highly unnecessary.

  But Violet?

  She’s necessary. For what? I’m not sure. All I know is that I need to know every detail about her. If I don’t unravel all of the parts of her, I’ll go fucking crazy. Usually, when I get hyper-focused, it’s on a project. A deal. An assignment. I analyze data and zero in on my target. I make shit happen. My focus has only ever been on a woman once before. And that was Adara. When I made it my mission to know her so that I could complete one of the most difficult assignments I’d faced in my life. I picked her apart. Studied her. Then I used her.

  But she wasn’t supposed to die.

  My thoughts are dark and raging by the time I realize Violet is gone. I catch a glimpse of her shiny hair before she slips into her cab. An empty feeling settles in my gut. I feel an actual sense of loss without her shooting scathing glares at me.

  I’ll get her to warm up to me.

  She’ll see I only want what’s best for her.

  I wave at the server to bring the check and I pull out the extra key I swiped from one of her drawers. A key to her apartment. Today I’ll have a copy made and then put this one back before she notices. Then, I’ll be able to keep a close eye on her. My mind flits back to the way her naked body writhed with the need to orgasm when my phone buzzes.

  Bull: You’re too quiet. I don’t like it. Thanks for standing me up last night.

  I scrub at my face and let out a sigh.

  Me: Remember Adara?

  Bull: Is this a trick question? Of course I fucking remember Adara. She almost got your ass killed.