“You said you were keeping it.”
She knew he meant the tattoo. “I changed my mind, not that it’s any of your business. A woman’s prerogative, right.”
“The other night—”
“I don’t want to talk about the other night.” That’s what they were calling it now. How mature. “I want you to leave, now.” She pointed to the open door.
He moved closer. “Turn. I want to see what she’s done.”
She gritted her teeth. “No.”
He grabbed her shoulders and spun her. She struggled to free herself to no avail. His hands were unforgiving, nearly bruising on her flesh until she gave up and fumed silently. She felt his eyes roaming over her skin like an intimate touch and hated every second as much as she craved it.
His hands turned gentle on her shoulders, his thumbs making random circles. It was exactly what she needed and precisely what she didn’t. “The sketch is pretty. It’ll be beautiful on your skin.” His breath fanned her neck, warming her entire body.
She couldn’t look at him, not with her emotions so close to the surface. “Why are you here, Harden?” she croaked, fury melting into desire. It shouldn’t be this way. He shouldn’t have this power. It was so wrong.
His hands dropped from her shoulders. “Don’t ask me that when you know the answer.”
But she didn’t. How could she after being scrubbed like a stain from his life. She spun to tell him precisely that, but he was gone, and Dawn was back.
“Ready, or do you need a break?” she asked, concerned.
Jentry shook her head. “No. Let’s get it done.” She stretched out on her stomach again and pretended the only pain racking her body came from the tattoo gun and not her heart.
∞∞∞
“I hate ta spread gossip, but…” Said right before the same person spread gossip.
Jentry grabbed her clipboard and kept moving. The night before Thanksgiving and the club was packed. They had to turn people away and still there was a line to get in. Jentry had been here since two checking on inventory, ordering, stocking, booking events for the upcoming holiday season. Working was better than sitting at home, trying to ignore her itchy back. It wasn’t easy applying that antibacterial cream to her upper back on her own. At least she didn’t have to worry about Allie. Her parents and daughter had a love fest going on.
Hillary kept pace with her. “I know you don’t want to ’ear this, but de rumahr is you an’ Harden broke up, an’ inquirin’ mends want to know.”
No. Hillary wanted to know. Jentry wasn’t an idiot. None of the women at Denizen or Catalyst were subtle with their interest in the boss. Harden back on the market—not that he was off—sounds the dinner bell for all those hungry bitches. The light in the skybox flicked on when it had been dark the entire night. Why now when the club was closing in another ninety minutes?
Then he was there, at the floor length window, surveying his domain. No suit tonight. He was in a black leather bomber, gray sweater, and jeans. Where had he been that didn’t require his business attire? And how dare he look so damn good.
It was never her business, especially now. “I don’t know what you and anyone else thinks they know, but we were never a couple. And I am no longer residing in his spare apartment. You and all the other thirsty bitches have at it. Grab a microphone and spread the news.”
She didn’t want it to sound bitter, but yeah, to her ears she sounded bottom of the barrel bitter. Moving past Hillary, Jentry headed for the stock room for a final inventory check before leaving for the holiday. Thanksgiving was tomorrow and the club was closed. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only two days they weren’t open.
“Need some help?”
She looked over her shoulder to find Quincy. Her personal bodyguard was good at giving her enough room to work and pretend he wasn’t present. He was unobtrusive, and professional, and friendly. An all-around nice guy. “Nah. I got it. Just doing a few last-minute checks.”
“Oh, I thought you were hiding.”
She scoffed. “Me? Hide? Never.” Lies. And they both knew it.
“Good. Because you have nothing to hide from.” Quincy moved away, giving her space once more. He was too sweet bolstering her battered self-esteem and exactly what she needed to put things in perspective. He was right. She had a job to do and hiding in the stock room wouldn’t get it done.
Like a divining rod, the second she returned to the dance floor, her attention gravitated toward Harden. He’d left the skybox and the pull was impossible to resist, particularly when he was standing twenty feet away speaking to Lee. And there was Hillary, bringing both men a drink and lingering. As if the other bartenders weren’t drowning in customers.
Jentry stepped up and took charge. She stormed behind the bar, grabbed an apron, and plastered a smile on her face. Eyes on the drinks and the clock, somehow, someway, she managed to ignore the three of them until thirty whole fucking minutes later Hillary returned. The bitch was smiling so hard you’d think she’d won the lottery. The heifer was lucky Jentry didn’t fire her ass. Instead, she stripped off her apron and marched to the office.
She left a note for Lee saying she was leaving for the night and passed it to one of the club’s security guards. Coat, gloves, and purse. She was even kind enough to grab Quincy’s coat off the coat rack and hand it to him when she exited the office. He said nothing as he pulled it on and signaled to the rest of her three-man entourage. They exited through the alley. The Range Rover was waiting.
She had to admit, it was nice being chauffeured to work and home and not having to deal with the subway. Heated bucket seats, soft music, she could close her eyes and take a nap, something she’d never do on the subway. If only her mind would stop churning as they navigated through the city streets.
There was a list of things she needed to take care of, starting with an apartment. She found a few listings online in her price range in Queens. No way she could afford living anywhere in Montauk. Saturday, she hoped to find some options. Her back continued to itch. The outline of the tattoo had started scabbing. She hated this part of the process.
Her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and nearly rolled down the window and tossed it. Instead, she hit silent and threw it back into her purse. No reason to answer it when she had nothing to say. A neon glow filled the dark interior of her purse.
Get the hint. I don’t want to talk to you.
Her phone went dark and she settled into her seat though her calm was destroyed. He may be her boss, but she’d bet her life his call wasn’t job related. What the hell did he want? Should’ve answered the call, then you would’ve known instead of your brain pulling conspiracies out of thin air.
Next to her Quincy’s phone chimed. He studied his phone for a few seconds, then tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Pull over.”
She jerked her entire body around to face Quincy, who refused to look at her. “What? Why? Why are we stopping?”
“The boss ordered us,” he murmured.
You’re my bodyguard, she wanted to shout, but he wasn’t. They weren’t. On loan to her, they belonged to Harden. They protected her because of Harden. They weren’t friends, pals, buddies. She was a job. They were employees. Just not her employees. God, she was stupid. No one was her friend when dealing with the syndicate.
That’s it. She was done. She put up with the whole bodyguard thing because, technically, she was living with, and screwing, the head of the New York syndicate. Now that the world knew it was over, she’d moved out and he’d moved on, there wasn’t a single reason to have three men shadowing her. Once more she was invisible, and she liked it.
And damn it, she had moved on too.
The car got off at the next exit on the Long Island Expressway and rolled to a stop at a gas station. Now, they waited, but not long enough for her to come up with an escape plan. Through the rearview mirror, a sports car pulled in behind them. It was black, and sleek, and low to the ground. An Aston Martin by the hood orn
ament. She had no idea about the model other than it was pretty and Harden was exiting the driver’s side.
She saved her vitriol for when he yanked open her door and peered inside. He was too close, filling her vision with his arrogant, brutally handsome face. His scent, an alluring mix of sandalwood and a hint of male musk, was intoxicating. “What do you want, Mr. Gage?”
The responding heat in his cold eyes made her jerk away. It was too late, not that the outcome would’ve been any different. His arm banded around her back and under her legs. He scooped her out of the seat as if she didn’t weigh one hundred and thirty pounds and strode to his waiting car.
Quincy was there holding the passenger door open for Harden to slide her into the seat. Quincy wouldn’t meet her glare, the traitor.
Whatever was said between the two, she didn’t hear, but it took longer than goodnight or TTYL. Then Harden was striding around the front of the car and folding himself into the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.”
The engine revved and he didn’t wait for her compliance to peel out of the gas station. They merged back onto the Long Island Expressway. As the car hit ninety and the buckle your seatbelt alarm chimed, she finally managed to pull the belt across her chest and lap and click it home.
3:00 a.m. the usual bumper-to-bumper traffic was gone. With the open road in front of him, he drove fast. Ninety-five. Ninety-eight. Heart in her throat, hands clutching the seat, she closed her eyes when it hit one hundred, and said a prayer. “Where are you taking me?” Her gaze now on the landscape whizzing past.
He shifted gears and accelerated to one hundred and ten.
Jesus! Deep breaths calmed her frazzled nerves. “I asked you a question, Mr. Gage.”
His gaze narrowed on the road and he gripped the wheel tighter. Now wasn’t the time to distract him, however, she had a right to know. He shifted again and the engine whined. “Whatever you’re pissed at, it wasn’t me, so stop being a lunatic and slow down. I have a lot to live for!”
He decelerated quickly, the tires smoked, and Jentry lurched forward. Luckily, the seatbelt kept her from hitting the dashboard. Flopping back into the seat as he exited the expressway, she glared daggers at him. The first red light, she was gone. She’d find her own way to the beach house.
Yellow light ahead, the car slowed. She grabbed her purse in one hand and gripped the buckle. Release, then door handle, she’d melt into the night before he could do a damn thing. Red light. The car rolled to a stop on the empty streets.
Jentry freed the seatbelt and—Harden leaned over and captured her face. “You. That’s what I want.”
Now he answered the question she’d asked when he yanked open her door to the Range Rover? Her reply was lost when he smashed their lips together so hard their teeth clashed. He kissed her savagely, hands in her short curls angling her to his specifications. His aggression edged the line crossing over into violence. She clung to his forearms, her fingers digging into his leather coat as she whimpered under the carnal assault.
He backed off, easing away from the line to eat hungrily at her mouth as if she were his only sustenance and he hadn’t fed in a year. And she loved it, loved every sweep of his tongue and nip to her bottom lip. Utterly consumed by his whiskey taste, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, not until he broke the kiss.
Her senses muddled, she stared into his icy eyes. Like dry ice that burned at the touch, his cold blue eyes torched her. She burned and he left her that way, roasting in her own arousal, close to begging him to finish what he started, to have mercy and not leave her panting for his attention.
A cruel smile twisted his lips. He knew what he’d done, the tumult he’d wrought to her senses, and how close she was to breaking. Bastard.
Nipples diamonds, pussy clenching on air, she forced herself to ignore both. He’d hurt her, deeply. She wouldn’t pretend he hadn’t when the cut still bled. “You don’t throw away something you want,” she whispered harshly.
Confusion sliced through his heated gaze and his hands tightened on her face. “I didn’t throw you—”
“You did!” She cut him off. “While you fucked me, someone packed Allie’s and my shit. They took apart her bed, Harden. You did that.” She punched a finger at him. “You ordered it! No one else did, so don’t fucking deny it.”
She dropped back into the seat and focused on anything but him as his gaze bore holes in the side of her head.
“Yeah. I did it… And to keep you safe, I’d do it again.”
She didn’t have to look at him to know his cold detachment had returned. Goose bumps raced across her skin from the chill coming off him in waves.
His attention returned to the road and the yellow, oh no, red light. Only God knew how long they were parked in the middle of the street with their tongues down each other’s throat. He did that on purpose. Maybe passion overtook him. More likely he did it to shut her up. He wanted to play. Well, she wasn’t a novice and wouldn’t be swayed.
“I never asked you to protect me.”
“You didn’t, but I would’ve anyway.”
She snorted. “Phuleeze.”
“I watched you for weeks, determined to stay away because I knew I would ruin your life, but most importantly… You’d ruin mine.”
Her brain stuck on Harden watching her for weeks, then lurched to her ruining his life. “I ruined your life! How have I ruined your life?”
“Every time I look at you, touch you, taste you, fucking smell you, I am ruined.” He swung back onto the expressway.
His words were a slap in the face, a punch to the gut. She ruined him? What about her? He forced his way into her life, demanding her compliance, her obedience, and she gave it because he was the head of the syndicate and she was terrified… And thrilled. Deep down, buried within her subconscious, she was thrilled. He watched her and secretly, she watched him. How could she not when she was drawn to him like flies to shit. God, that was a bad analogy! But it was true. She was still drawn to him, the pull irresistible. She wanted him so bad she trembled; her body had a chemical reaction seeing her drug of choice within arm’s reach.
“You threw me away!” she growled. Like she was trash, the trash Carl said she was while beating the shit out of her.
He punched the steering wheel. “I got you out of the line of fire.”
“What fire?” She threw up her hands. “The Ukrainians are dead.” He looked at her surprised. “Fished out of the Hudson River. Yeah, I found that out on the internet. Not from you. There is no fire I’m in the line of.”
“Colin O’Rourke is out of prison, paroled courtesy of Alezandar Karpovilov.”
She paused, racking her brain. “I don’t know who that is.”
He spared her a frosty glare. “My brother.”
The brother he staged a coup against and sent to prison. “That Colin?”
“I went to a wedding to eliminate a threat and gained a new one. That’s why I sent you away.” He snarled low.
It made sense. His brother was back in town with blood in his eyes. She was in the crossfire. Her and Allie. He wouldn’t hesitate to use them against Harden. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” The car accelerated quickly from seventy-five to ninety in the blink of an eye.
Oh no! Not this again. She unbuckled the seatbelt and climbed onto the seat.
“Jentry! Buckle the damn—”
She didn’t think. She acted on instinct and went with it. Jentry stuck out her tongue and licked the shell of his ear. He choked on his words.
“W-what are you d-doing?” He moaned and angled his head, giving her greater access.
Good-damn-question. Turnabout was fair play, she rationalized. He didn’t want to slow down. Well, she’d make him. She wasn’t in hiding to die in a fiery car crash. Leaning over the gearshift, she ran a finger down the center of his chest, abs, and didn’t stop until she cupped his cock straining behind the zipper. “I’m making sure you drive the speed limit.”
Belt, button, zipper. It
wasn’t easy over the seatbelt, but with him tilting his seat to give her access, in no time at all she had his length in her hand. She spared a glance at the dashboard. He was tooling along at a respectable sixty-five miles per hour.
Jentry scooted beneath his arm to lick the precum pearled at the tip. His scent, she adored. His taste, salty, yet flavored with a sweetness she couldn’t name. Salted caramel. Her brain provided the answer. Damn! It was delicious.
“Fuuuck.”
She glanced up to see the harsh plains of his face reflected on the passing streetlights. Their eyes met, locked for a moment of time. What she saw in his frigid depths made her clit throb and arousal spill from her oh so empty pussy. That’s how she wanted him to look at her, as if the world could wait, as if nothing was more important than her, Jentry Playne.
His gaze snapped back to the road. Not dying was imperative. But so was licking him like a lollipop and dipping her tongue into his weeping slit at the peak of each up-stroke before rolling the tip around his broad head. He cursed darkly, threats mingling with pleas to continue and praise when she obeyed.
She wrapped her fingers around his thick, rock hard cock and stroked slowly. She rode her hand back and forth, enjoying the hot flesh in her grip. Beads of precum collected at the tip, pooling, then sliding down the crown. Quickly, she licked him and continued to lap him clean, hungry for his taste.
“Jentry.” He groaned. “Baby, don’t stop.”
The raspy, needy pleas were gasoline on her already burning arousal. She wanted to climb onto his cock and bury it deep inside her core. Instead, she opened her mouth and took him to the back of her throat. Swallowing him down, his cock kicked.
“Damn!” he shouted. The car swerved. Jentry yanked free, afraid she’d pushed him too far. “I’m good. We’re good.” His breaths short. He speared her with a hard glance—his eyes strangely neon in the passing streetlight—and grabbed the back of her head. “Don’t stop, baby.”
Plain Jane and Mr. Wrong (Plain Jane Series Book 4) Page 30