If having her staying in his apartment was a personal fucking torment, then so be it. He would rather live with that than have her move out, leaving him sitting here worrying about her every damn minute of the day and night.
Jenna couldn’t even look at Atticus as she sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV as he drove them to her workplace. Not because she was still angry with him, but because she was embarrassed at how close she had come to revealing her true feelings for him.
She had been so physically close to him earlier, she could feel the warmth of Atticus’s minty breath wafting across her lips and the heat of his muscular body just inches away from her own.
She gave a low groan at the realization she had almost—almost—given in to the need she’d had for years to feel Atticus’s firm lips pressing against her own and his strong arms about her, the muscular heat of his hard body molded against her softer curves.
“Are you okay?”
Jenna’s jaw clenched as she turned to look at the man she had lusted after for years, and would no doubt continue to lust over for a lot more years. God knows what she was going to do or feel when or if Atticus ever found and settled down with another woman.
“Fine,” she bit out tightly.
He glanced at her. “Not in any pain?”
Oh God, he must have heard her groan! “My broken ribs hurt a bit occasionally,” Jenna dismissed. “But that’s normal, apparently.”
“It is,” Atticus confirmed.
Jenna knew he’d had broken ribs several times himself. In fact, if Atticus hadn’t been wearing that bathrobe this morning—oh God!—she would have been able to see all the scars on his body from the years he’d spent in the army and latterly from working for Steele Protectors. Atticus was a hands-on head of the company and was more often than not away on one job or another. In fact, these last three weeks were the longest she could ever remember him being in England.
“Do you still have some of the painkillers the doctor gave you?”
“Yes,” she answered with exaggerated patience. “And do you know why that is? Because I’m twenty-two years old, not two, and perfectly capable of asking the doctor for another prescription if or when I run out of medication.”
Atticus’s large hands tightened about the steering wheel, his knuckles white as his fingers gripped the leather so tightly, it squeaked in protest. “One of these days, you’re going to push me too far, little girl, and then I’m going to do something you’ll definitely regret.”
Jenna knew he had deliberately used that name for her after she’d complained about him doing so earlier. But the threat of retaliation was new…
She licked her lips, preparing to speak.
“Don’t ask unless you really want to know the answer,” he warned in his gravelly voice.
“You could give me a clue.”
He snorted. “I can guarantee whatever it is, you aren’t going to like it.”
Jenna’s heart began to pound as her imagination instantly went to Atticus standing in a dark dungeon at a club somewhere, his bare chest gleaming with sweat as he stood behind a submissive and bare-arse-naked woman—who looked suspiciously like her—tied to a leather spanking bench.
She closed her eyes, a shiver running down the length of her spine as she imagined what happened next. One of those large hands landing so hard and painfully against the cheeks of her arse, it pushed her forward on the bench she was tied to. Followed by another. And then another. It was—
“I was thinking of turning off the internet in the apartment for a couple of nights so you can’t do your social media shit, but if you have something else in mind, I’d like to hear what it is,” Atticus drawled. “Whatever it is, it seems to have you pretty excited,” he mocked.
Jenna’s lids flew wide, and she turned to look at him with apprehensive eyes. “I don’t— I wasn’t— Turning off the internet is cruel and unusual punishment for what was only my normal teasing,” she accused lamely.
He gave her a glance. “From the blush in your cheeks, the way your aroused nipples are pressing against your blouse, and the dampness I’m pretty sure is wetting your panties right now, I think you like your idea of retribution better than mine.”
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
“I didn’t—” Her fingers were gripping and twisting the strap of her shoulder bag so tightly, she was in danger of crushing it out of shape. “I wasn’t—”
“Oh, but you did and you were,” Atticus taunted. “You’re also starting to repeat yourself.”
Jenna glared at him. “You think you’re so damned superior, don’t you.” Her nostrils flared. “Sitting up there in your fucking ivory tower looking down on the rest of us poor mortals!”
Atticus scowled. “What have I told you, repeatedly, about your language?”
She snorted. “And what have I told you about it being none of your fucking business whether I do or don’t swear or how and when I do it?”
“One,” Atticus grated.
“One what?” she sneered.
“Two,” he added mildly.
“Wow, who knew you could count to two!”
“Three,” he bit out.
“And now three,” she taunted. “I’m sure Aunt Joanne and Uncle Simon”—she named Atticus’s parents—“would be pleased to know that not all the money they spent on your private education was wasted.” All the Steele brothers had attended a private school, as had Jenna. The six brothers had all preferred to attain their degrees while in the army rather than attending university as Jenna had.
“Four,” he snapped.
“What the hell are you counting, Atticus?” she derided.
Jenna was one fiery vixen, Atticus acknowledged with admiration. Unfortunately, for her, after the incident in his bathroom earlier and now this conversation, his patience with her was completely shot.
He’d tried, he really had, but Jenna was now destined to see a side of him she’d never encountered before.
Not Atticus the big brother.
Not Atticus the capable and lethal head of Steele Protectors.
Not Atticus the man Jenna enjoyed teasing and tormenting.
No, this Atticus was far more intense and less inclined to care whether or not Jenna enjoyed what was going to happen the next time the two of them were alone together.
He parked the SUV outside the bank where she worked. “Go to work,” he rasped. “Ben is on duty today.” He nodded acknowledgment of the Steele Protectors employee standing near the entrance to the bank. “I’ll be back here to collect you at five o’clock as usual.”
She looked more than a little flustered. “I thought I might try taking a cab or the tube home this evening.”
The fact she called his apartment home so naturally should have helped to soothe Atticus somewhat. It didn’t. How could it when even the thought of Jenna traveling home alone tonight after she finished work gave him heart palpitations? Not just because of the few reporters who refused to give up and continued to hound her for her half of the story of her attack, but if she was ever taken again Atticus knew he would end up killing someone with his bare hands.
“I’ll be waiting right here at five o’clock,” he repeated.
She turned in her seat. “Look, you were the one who started this whole thing when you talked about—talked about my aroused nipples and—and my having wet panties,” she accused, cheeks aflame with color. “My comments were reactions to those.”
Yes, they were, but Jenna’s response had been entirely her own. He could smell the perfume of her arousal and see those hard little nipples pressing against her blouse. Whatever Jenna had been imagining a few minutes ago when she sat next to him with her eyes closed, and from their conversation it wasn’t too difficult to guess where those thoughts had been, it had aroused her.
Enough that he had even reconsidered spanking her arse after all.
But had decided against it.
If there was going to be retribution, then he wanted to enjoy i
t too, and spanking a woman just didn’t do it for him. At least, he didn’t think it did. Never having tried it, and the way his cock had hardened just thinking about it, he could just be wrong about that…
“Don’t keep me waiting tonight”—something he knew she was perfectly capable of doing, if only to annoy him—“or the count will have gone up to ten.”
“Ten what?” She looked exasperated. “And isn’t ten a massive leap up from four?”
Atticus gave a half smile. “Perhaps the money wasn’t so well spent on my education after all.”
Her mouth tightened. “I hate you!”
“Five.”
Her eyes widened. “What the hell was that for?”
“Lying.” He gave a shake of his head. “You don’t hate me, Jenna.”
“I want to.”
“Not the same thing.”
No, it wasn’t, Jenna accepted wearily as she climbed out of the SUV onto the pavement and closed the door behind her. If she could learn to hate Atticus, then she wouldn’t have to live with the twenty-four seven knowledge of how much she loved him.
The passenger door window slid down beside her. “Have a good day,” Atticus drawled.
She looked across at him. “I’ll try.”
“Good girl.”
Her eyes widened. “I’m a woman, not a girl, and don’t you dare try using that dominant and submissive crap on me.”
Atticus gave a shake of his head. “You really have the wrong idea about me, Jenna.”
She eyed him warily. “I do?”
“You do, yes.” He nodded. “I’m arrogant, not a dominant, and I never try to do something, I always succeed,” he taunted before putting the vehicle in Drive and accelerating away.
Jenna shouldn’t feel so…shivery at what those words implied. Nor should her thoughts have returned to the darkness of that dungeon and the sweat gleaming on Atticus’s bare chest as he spanked her bottom. Over and over again. Warming her pussy as well as her bottom cheeks, until—
“Are you okay, Jenna?”
She opened her eyes to see one of her coworkers looking at her with concern. Everyone who worked at the bank was aware of Jenna’s abduction and the beating she had suffered, and the time she had needed off work to recover from both.
Jenna drew in two deep breaths before answering the other woman. “I’m fine.” She forced a smile as she stepped forward to join the other woman and several other employees of the bank as they entered the building ready to start another day’s work.
All the time, Jenna was aware of her aroused nipples and wet panties.
Chapter 3
“What bug has crawled up your arse and taken up residence?” Rourke, one of Atticus’s brothers and Logan’s twin, looked as elegant as always in a dark three-piece suit, cream silk shirt, and perfectly knotted tie. “Or should I have been asking, who?” he taunted as he leaned against the side of Atticus’s desk, arms folded across his chest.
Atticus scowled at him. “I’m not in the mood for riddles, Rourke, so if you have something to say, just fucking say it.”
Rourke looked unabashed. “Well, so far this morning—and bearing in mind you’ve only been in the office for an hour—you’ve impolitely told a prospective client we don’t get involved in divorce cases.” He raised one finger. “Almost bit Sophie’s head off because she allowed the man in to talk to you in the first place,” he named the receptionist at Steele Security as he raised a second finger. “Accused Haydn of being incompetent because he didn’t instantly bring up a report you had only asked for two minutes earlier.” He raised a third finger. “I’m just wondering who you’re going to verbally attack next.”
“Well, so far this morning,” Atticus snarled, “a prospective client’s thirty-years-younger-than-him wife wasn’t missing at all. He just wanted one of us to follow her because he wants evidence she’s having an affair with her tennis coach.” His mouth twisted in a sneer. “Which, looking at the husband, she probably is. The bastard only wanted us find evidence against her because they signed a prenup that states if she’s unfaithful during the marriage, she doesn’t get a penny if they divorce. The guy obviously has the next trophy wife waiting in the wings and doesn’t want to pay out a large divorce settlement to the current one.”
“Wow.” Rourke grinned. “You got all that from the five minutes he spent in your office before you kicked him out?”
Atticus nodded. “Steele Protectors is a security company. We offer personal security and kidnap retrieval. I told him he needs to find a private investigator to spy on his wife, not us.”
“And Sophie? The guy obviously misled her when he made the appointment.”
He sighed. “I’ll apologize to her in a few minutes.”
“Haydn?”
He grunted. “Him too.”
Rourke nodded. “So I think from that, we’ve now established the burr was up your arse before you got into the office.” He eyed Atticus curiously. “How much longer are you going to wait before putting Jenna over your knee and giving her a good spanking?”
“What the hell?” Atticus recoiled back in his chair. “Why is everyone suddenly so fucking obsessed with me spanking Jenna’s arse?”
Rourke’s brows rose. “Someone else also thought it was a good idea?”
His jaw tightened. “Have you forgotten it’s only been a month since Jenna was found in a back alley beaten to within an inch of her life?” Atticus was never going to forget walking into the hospital room that day and seeing Jenna’s face so battered and bruised, he almost didn’t recognize her.
His brother snorted. “She’s been asking for a spanking for a lot longer than this past month. Besides, she’s recovered enough to go back to work and obviously make your life hell again.”
Atticus’s smile was rueful. “She’s been doing that since the day she went to live with the parents and decided I was some sort of superhero who was always going to make sure she was safe.”
“Which you have.”
His expression darkened. “Except for a month ago.”
Rourke shrugged. “You weren’t even in the country a month ago.”
“Then I should have made sure someone else was keeping her safe.” That was a guilt Atticus now lived with on a daily basis, made all the more difficult because Jenna was currently living in his apartment with him.
“We were,” Rourke stated flatly. “One of us called her every day, we had a bodyguard following her discreetly whenever she went out, and Haydn kept a close watch on the surveillance cameras at the bank and in and outside her apartment building. It was just pure chance and bad luck, along with a case of mistaken identity that she was taken when she went out the back exit of the nightclub that evening.”
Atticus gave a shudder. “All the way on the flight back from the States, I really thought someone her father had pissed off had finally found her.”
It was Rourke’s turn to scowl. “Well, they didn’t, and if we have our way, they never will.”
All the brothers were aware of exactly who Jenna’s long-absent father was, and his place as enforcer of the Irish Mob in Northern Ireland twenty-three years ago. Luckily, Seamus O’Malley was already in an English prison by the time Jenna was born, and afterward, her mother had changed her name and moved to a small village in Southern Ireland to keep her and her baby daughter safe.
None of which they had shared with Jenna, the family having agreed, as she had no idea who her father was nor had ever met the man, there was no reason for her to be worried with any of that information. They all wanted her to have as normal a childhood as possible, including making friends and going to university.
Jenna had never questioned why her mother had chosen Joanne and Simon Steele to be her guardians after she died, but the Steele family knew exactly why that was. Simon was now a retired operative for the English secret service, and living in the South of France, but he had been working here and in Northern Ireland twenty-three years ago.
Simon had helped
put together the evidence to bring the Irishman to England to stand trial and then be placed into a prison here before assisting O’Malley’s pregnant wife to disappear. Sarah had chosen Southern Ireland as being the last place anyone would think to look for her and her baby daughter. As the years passed without discovery, she had been proved correct.
Joanne and Sarah had become friends during the years that followed, and when Sarah was diagnosed with cancer, the two women had agreed Jenna would come and live with the Steele family after the other woman died.
But they had all always been aware that one day a member of the family of one of the people Seamus O’Malley had killed could discover Jenna’s existence and come looking for retribution on him through her.
It had been Atticus’s worst fear when he was informed of Jenna’s abduction a month ago. An unfounded one, as it happened, but the fear still remained.
It was also another reason he was determined to keep her photograph out of the newspapers. It would be disastrous if anyone were to recognize her as being Seamus O’Malley’s daughter.
His brother gave him a searching glance. “Atticus, who else thought it was a good idea to spank Jenna?” he prompted slowly.
He gave a rueful chuckle. “I think she was more intrigued by the thought of it than actually believing it was a good idea.”
“But it was Jenna?”
He scowled. “Yeah.” He’d almost come in his pants watching the expressions flitting across her beautiful face when she’d drifted off into imagining him spanking her.
Rourke nodded. “Then do it.”
“What?”
“Do it,” his brother encouraged. “And when you’ve finished spanking her arse, throw her on the nearest bed and fuck her brains out.”
Atticus almost choked. “Are you fucking insane? She’s our adopted sister.”
“Unofficial adopted sister,” Rourke correct. “For obvious reasons, it was never made official. And we promised the parents last year, when we insisted they go ahead with their dream to move to the South of France once Dad retired, that we would all continue to protect Jenna with our lives. But that doesn’t alter the fact she isn’t related to us by blood, only by love.”
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