by T. L Smith
As well as being my brother’s best friend, he was also my damn boss.
And he was standing at the entry to my office trying too hard to fight the smirk forming on his lips.
Mmm... sex.
“Yes?” I snapped, disguising my lusty eyes.
At work, Hawk dressed in power suits, his broad shoulders strong and confident. Now, in jeans and a well-fitting black shirt, he still looked a mix of casual and sexy sophisticated. Basically, everything he wore complemented his looks and attitude. And each time I saw him, it was a delightful battle of the senses.
And then he opened his mouth.
He was curt, demanding, and sometimes he cut to the bone.
But no matter what he was saying, in whichever tone, Hawk could get me wet between the legs like no man ever could.
Call a retailer’s meeting. Wet.
Book the restaurant for eight. Wet.
Where’s my goddamn stapler? Wet.
You’re late, Britta. Wet.
“Meeting, Britta.”
Back to reality.
“Huh?”
“I did email you the reminder as you requested.” Hawk looked at his watch, and my legs squeezed tight. His gaze then moved to the flowers, and my own followed.
Anger returned.
“I was side-tracked.”
“So I can see,” he said, voice husky and ruthlessly delightful. He walked past and picked up the card, that like the petals, had found its wayward path after smashing against the wall. He straightened, tanned fingers tapping on the cardboard while he read.
I bit my bottom lip, hard. Those words weren’t meant for anyone else to read.
Especially Hawk.
He glanced at me, my stomach butterflying before rereading the evidence.
Finally, he turned, holding the offending item between us.
His face was stony, eyes deadly serious.
Sexy.
Scary.
“Tell your brothers, Britta.” He handed me the card, fingers grazing my skin before walking out the door, leaving me in a room of broken flowers and possibly a broken heart.
... Possibly.
Chapter 2
Hawk
That skirt did wonders for her, fucking wonders.
All that was on my mind were those legs. Those irresistible fucking legs that were on display every day she wore a skirt. Every. Fucking. Day.
She smiled at me, the same way she did every day.
And I wanted to kiss those lips hard, the same way I fantasized every day.
Instead, just like every other day, I walked back into my office and slammed the door.
Slate was here, and I wasn’t surprised to see him. He usually came over once a week to see his sister. Out of all the Valentino siblings, those two were the closest.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Slate threw a rubber ball against the wall, caught it on rebound and threw it again. He appeared lost in his own head.
“Slate,” I barked at him. He startled, and the ball hit him in the chest before bouncing on the ground. “What do you need, brother?”
He shook his head, unperturbed by my business manners. “Do you think I should find someone for her? Like a date?” he asked, scratching his chin.
“Who?” I asked, feigning ignorance. I knew who he was talking about, but I played along with his game.
“Britta,” he said, retrieving the rubber ball and placing it where it belonged on my desk. “All she seems to do is work. She has zero social life.”
I shrugged my shoulders, indifferently. “She loves her job.”
Slate rolled his eyes. “Please. You love your job, and you should. You’ve created a multi-million-dollar empire on what women wear under their clothes. There’s a lot of guys who would envy your position,” he joked. But it was true, I was constantly surrounded by scantily-clad beautiful women.
“But why does she love it?” he asked, shaking his head. “This isn’t her baby. She needs a date is all I’m saying.”
I paused, considering the words playing on my tongue. “She has an invitation, to his wedding,” I finally announced.
After the hurt Roman had caused her, they would kill him if given a chance. Yet, although Britta was left broken-hearted, she still accepted gracious defeat in the hope of being the better person. And that was precisely the issue. She was too nice. And now the fucker thought he could rub it in. The bastard was getting married to the same bitch he’d had an affair with. His eyes had always wandered. He was constantly looking for the next best thing and missing the one girl who was worth a thousand of the ones he’d ogled.
That was the type of scum he was.
And that was why Britta’s brothers deserved to know. He didn’t deserve her, not from the start.
Britta was a walking sex pistol. And that was coming from a man who worked day and often nights with women parading around in lingerie. But she... she could be fully clothed among the various states of nudity, and still be the hottest woman in the room.
But her brothers weren’t to know that.
I looked back at Slate. He was angry and rightfully so.
“No. Fucking. Way,” he said, both shocked and appalled.
“He sent her flowers, too,” I added, and it was all I needed to say for him to stand, walk off and slam the door behind him without so much as a farewell. I figured it was better him than me. Having Britta on the wrong side was not ideal in many ways. She was an asset to the team, and an asset to my cock if the right time ever came. And I was counting on it. Sooner rather than later.
The clock on the wall barely ticked past a heartbeat before my door flew open.
Britta stood in the doorway, heels and legs for days, her hands on her hips, rage flying from her pretty eyes.
“Why did you tell him?” she demanded. “You know he’s going to tell them all now, and I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
I shrugged my shoulders and proceeded to pull out the files we needed for the upcoming meeting. This seemed to annoy her even more, and I swear I heard a little huff.
She fucking huffed, and it took all my might not to smirk.
Britta could be sexy and cute, all wrapped up in one dangerous little bundle.
“You ready?” I asked, hoping to deter her.
“That’s all?” Her perfect brows shot up in admonishment.
“I’m not here to discuss your love life, Britta.”
I said that, but I would love nothing more than to tell her who she could and could not date. And in my opinion, that would be no one.
“You mean you’re not here to discuss it with me, but you will my brother?”
I met her head on, my face blank. “Yes.”
Her nose scrunched slightly without her even knowing. “My brother keeps telling me to date,” she started, unable to disguise her displeasure. “But if men are anything like you two I’d lose my mind.”
She started to walk back out the door and my mouth stopped her. “So, you’d rather men like Roman?”
Britta paused, her back to me, shoulders stiff. I’d hit a nerve and I was a prick for saying it.
“I suppose if you’ve never been in love before, you wouldn’t know what it’s like.”
“Oh!” This time I smirked. “I thought you did love me, babe.”
This time she turned, anger long since faded, her cheeks reddened with embarrassment, a small smile playing on her lips. “It was in the heat of the moment, and those words slipped out,” she said, referring to the phone call.
“Well, at least one of us sounds convinced,” I challenged, watching the red deepen. It gave me a sick form of pleasure watching her squirm under my gaze. And she did just that, unsure whether to meet my penetrative eyes or continue her path back to her office.
“Meeting, Britta...” I finally said, reluctantly cutting the sexual tension between us.
She gave a small nod, cleared her throat and walked her fine ass down the hall, a
lbeit a little unsteady.
“AND THEN SHE GOT DOWN on her knees, creamy white tits in full view, and showed me just how appreciative she was...” The jackass sitting across from us laughed, his flat palm slapping the table at his own sick humor. “If only all women could be like that.”
Beside me, Britta’s stony face said it all. She was sitting across from David Renshaw, but she may as well have been invisible as he retold the chauvinistic story in order to garner a few laughs. Or perhaps he was very well aware of her presence and got off on making her uncomfortable. Britta was less uncomfortable and more outraged. Her tense fingers wound tightly around the pencil that threatened to break. Her unimpressed stare enough to frighten the best of men. But Renshaw? He was unfazed.
He was President of the Marksman department stores, the leading supplier of Carnage Lingerie. It was an unfortunate business relationship which was barely tolerable, but our monthly meetings were required to ensure both parties were living up to their ends of the bargain.
Still laughing, his puffy face turned red as the men next to him shared his joviality.
They continued sharing crude jokes about their poor conquests, when Britta turned to me and whispered through ventriloquist’s lips, “I hope the next girl bites his cock off.”
My lips twitched in an attempt to hide my own laugh. Leaning back in the chair, legs stretched in front, I locked eyes with her. She smiled despite the frustration, knowing I was humored by her joke.
“You’re a dangerous woman, Britta Valentino.”
“Oh?” Her beautiful smile widened, revealing perfect teeth. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“I wish I did know,” I dared. “Not the cock biting bit, though.”
This time it was Britta’s turn to laugh. In fact, she snorted so loudly, the three Marksman men ceased their loud and obnoxious conversation, intrigued by our own.
“What’d we miss?” Renshaw asked, smiling, eyes narrowed as he studied us.
“Nothing of benefit,” I said, and Britta bit down hard on her bottom lip.
And goddamn did that make my cock twitch. Under the scrutinising stares of the three Marksmen, I imagined thrusting inside Britta as she bit that same luscious lip.
“Well...” David cleared his throat, “... let’s continue this negotiation. We can be assured that adding floor space to your expanding line can only benefit us both.”
“Not only the expansion but—”
I was cut off by the sudden violent vibration on the mahogany table. Britta’s face flushed red with embarrassment as all eyes fell on her. Sheepishly, she retrieved the cell and cast a glance at the screen. The redness of her cheeks paled until white. Her worried eyes looked to mine for a brief moment before she slid the cell into her handbag. Her knee bounced in agitation, and clearly whatever she’d just read had caused Britta quite the disruption.
David cleared his throat one last time, his own agitation clear. “Do you have somewhere to be, Ms. Valentino? Somewhere more pressing?”
Britta shook her head and put on her best professional smile, yet the color still hadn’t returned to her cheeks. “Nowhere important,” she responded, interlacing her fingers.
“Right,” David heaved. “I say you propose when...”
For the next five minutes, I didn’t hear a word David Renshaw was spewing. His mouth was moving, and his thick eyebrows were dancing around his forehead as he spoke, but I wasn’t focused on him. I already knew what he was going to say. My lingerie line was his top seller, and he’d only want to increase his selling capacity. He mentioned something about a possible joint venture or sale, but I wasn’t listening.
My focus, however, was firmly on Britta.
While she remained on the ball, listening attentively and answering the questions, she fidgeted with the ruby ring on her middle finger and wriggled continuously in her seat. Her behavior was off, and it was all thanks to that text message. Suddenly, she stood and threw a questioning glance at me.
The meeting was over.
After we all shook hands, Renshaw’s sweaty and limp, I guided Britta quickly out onto the street where my driver was waiting. Her pretty brows had knitted together, and this time she was biting her lip so hard, the soft pink hue turned white from the pressure. As the driver pulled away from the curb, I studied her silent profile.
“You gonna tell me?”
She turned quickly, feigning a smile. “Tell you what?”
“Don’t play coy with me. You know exactly what.”
Britta shrugged her shoulders. “He’s just a jackass, that’s all.”
“I’m not talking about Renshaw, and you know it.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“Was it him?”
“Who?”
I rubbed my hand over my rough cheek, exasperated by her behavior. “Britta Valentino,” my gravelly voice warned. “I’ll put you over my knee and spank you until you tell me the truth.”
The driver glanced in the rear-view mirror, no doubt expecting a show. Britta, on the other hand, looked delightfully amused.
“As enticing as that sounds, I don’t think Rufus would survive it,” she smiled, and her eyes twinkled. I’m glad she found humor in the situation. And she’s right, Rufus the driver, would have a heart attack. “If you really must know, it was Roman.”
“Yes, I’ve gathered that much. And?”
“And?”
That’s it. Lunging for Britta, I gripped her thighs and started to pull her toward me. She squealed in both terror and delight.
“Okay! Okay!” She laughed, but she was desperate to avoid punishment.
“It was in regards to his stupid wedding,” she panted, righting her skirt.
“What about it?”
“It’s a long story—”
“I’ve got all the time in the world.”
Chapter 3
Britta
“You what?”
“Renshaw was pissed... you were sitting right there looking... looking your perfect self, and Roman was messaging, putting the hard word on me. I freaked, and yours was the first name that came to me.”
Hawk, for the first time ever was speechless. “And....” I started, drawing half circles on the carpet with the point of my shoe.
“And?”
“And you have to be my fiancé.”
He laughed, humored eyes wide as he waited for me to say it was all a joke.
“You said what?”
Clearing my throat, I glanced nervously out the window while fiddling with my ruby ring.
“I said... you have to be my fiancé,” I spat out the words faster than I could think them.
“See, that’s what I thought you said but considered it a mistake.”
“No mistake.”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed as he studied me long and hard, causing my cheeks to heat. I couldn’t tell if he was angry or simply entertained.
“And why do I have to be your fiancé?”
I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “It kind of slipped out this morning when I saw him.”
“Mmm...” Hawk barely blinked.
“I was caught up in a moment. Angry that he’d just sprang the invitation on me. The way he looked at me like I was still meant to be grieving for him, and this was his olive branch.”
“And what do I get in return?”
My breath caught, and I stared wide-eyed at him, the suggestive question causing raw tension between us. Heat radiated from the inside out, a throbbing between my legs causing a delightful discomfort. Finally, I swallowed, unsure whether he was merely baiting me and whether I wanted to be stupid enough to accept it.
He’s your boss.
Your brother’s best friend.
“I—”
“Uh oh,” came a familiar voice from behind. “What’s she done now?” Slate asked, striding in, a playful smile on his face.
I, on the other hand, was not smiling. Instead, I was frozen in place, silently freaking out whether
he’d heard any part of the conversation.
“You know your sister,” Hawk’s gravelly voice rumbled. “She’s always full of interesting ideas.” He smiled, yet my brother remained none the wiser of Hawk’s wicked insinuations.
“Is that so?” He sat in-between us, breaking the friction. “Party? Tonight,” he demanded.
Parties had almost become a ritual to these boys. They knew how to throw them because they’d had plenty of practice hosting them. The group of close-knit fraternity brothers, real brothers and friends, took turns in orchestrating the event. Parties usually averaged every second weekend, and while I always got an invite, I typically declined. Working with Hawk kept me busy. Too busy at times. I loved what I did, and everyone knew it.
But this week had me under the pump, and I’d already decided that the weekend was going to be used as catch-up.
But then there was my brother and his puppy-dog eyes, always ready to turn on the charm when needed. Slate may be my brother, but he’s also my best friend. I considered him to be my person. While Hawk, being older, hung out with my eldest brother. Slate and I were usually paired in games and left to hang out, while the others grew of age to do stuff we couldn’t. We were tight as siblings and still were as adults. I told him everything. Well... almost. Stories about my ex were often sugar-coated or avoided altogether, simply because Slate was not only devastated for me but ready to break Roman’s neck.
“You know your sister,” Hawk chimed in, bringing me back to the present, a playful challenge in his eyes. I raised my eyebrow at them. “She will think of some excuse not to go. She always does.”
He was right, but I was out to prove him wrong. Work was not an excuse. It was a legitimate reason.
“For your information, I have—” Slate covered my mouth with his hand preventing any further words.
“Not one excuse,” he warned. “Everyone asks about you every time you say you’re coming and then back out last minute. They’re beginning to think you don’t like them anymore. And your brothers miss you... so, therefore, you’re coming.”
Rolling my eyes, I pushed his hand away and stood, smoothing my skirt.