by Nikki Ash
The school bell rings, signaling the end of the day and the start of my meeting with Zane. A flush creeps up my neck as I wonder how I’ll thwart his advances today. Outside my office, I can hear Zane and his friend, Elma, laughing about something. Those two would be better suited for each other, but no matter how hard Adam tries to hide it, I know he’s sleeping with her.
There’s been a few times I’ve heard…stuff…in his office. Giggles. Smacking. Moans. I shift in my seat, suddenly too warm. Adam has PTSD, and most recently after fireworks going off in the auditorium, he had a panic attack. Elma was able to calm him down by kissing him. I was shocked to say the least and disappointed that the principal whom I admired was obviously in an intimate relationship with a student. I’d expected outrage from Coach Long, since he was the other witness to the event, but he didn’t seem surprised, nor did he seem to care. So, I never breathed a word of it to anyone.
Elma giggles once more, but not from whatever it is she and Adam get up to in his office. No, her laughter is from Zane. Again. For some reason, it’s grating on my nerves today.
It’s not her fault, though.
Because Daddy chewed me out over the phone earlier, I’ve been overly anxious and upset. That explains the tears and bitchiness, not Elma.
“Looking extra fine today, Miss B,” a deep voice rumbles. “I like when you wear white because I can totally see your bra.”
And just like that, I’m bright red.
As though he has a magnetic pull I’m helpless to fight against, my eyes greedily land on him. He closes the door behind him, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face as I blatantly check him out. His black hair is messy today, but it’s as though he fixed it that way on purpose. Bright green eyes blaze with amusement and his lips twitch like he wants to smile. Today he’s wearing a too-tight black T-shirt that shows off his impressive physique and jeans with more holes than is allowable for the dress code.
Stop looking.
As though he can hear inside my head, his grin spreads across his face in that wicked way I sometimes fantasize about. I straighten in my chair, pursing my lips, hoping like hell he can’t see how much he affects me.
“Stop the nonsense, Mr. Mullins.”
“You know I prefer it when you call me Daddy Z.” He waggles his brows at me as he crosses the room, wafting his manly scent my way. He drops his body into the chair across from me, sprawling out as though he’s royalty and I’m here to serve him. “Besides, Mr. Mullins is my dad and I’d prefer not to be anything like him if I can help it.”
His words are said in jest, but I don’t miss the clipped way in which he says them. Zane is tightlipped most of the time about his father, but I know he doesn’t get along with him.
“How did training with Coach Long go last week?” I ask, ignoring his attempts to fluster me.
“Did you see me limping when I came in?” he asks, his green eyes brightening.
No, I was too busy staring at your kissable mouth.
“I did not.” I clear my throat and smooth out the non-existent wrinkles on my skirt. “I take it he’s helping you work through your injury?”
His features grow stormy and he nods. “Coach is such a dick, but he knows his shit.”
“Don’t curse,” I grumble.
“Oh, sorry,” he amends, “I forgot you have virgin ears.”
He licks along his bottom lip and dammit if I don’t follow the action, completely enamored by the movement.
“I, uh, don’t have virgin ears. It’s just inappropriate for school.” I lift my chin, hoping to assert some authority over him. “Can we discuss your plans for when you graduate next month?”
“Probably prison if we’re being honest.” He shrugs and then chuckles. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss B. We both know it’s inevitable.”
I’m about to chide him when my phone buzzes with another call from Daddy. Probably to apologize for being so cruel earlier. I try to ignore it, but as soon as it hits voicemail, he tries again. He wouldn’t continue to call unless it were an emergency.
“Answer it,” Zane says, gesturing to my phone. “I can tell it’s driving you crazy not to.”
“I just need to make sure nothing’s wrong.” I swipe a finger over my screen to take the call. “Hello?”
“For heaven’s sake, sweetheart, you know I hate when you don’t answer the first time,” Daddy chides in greeting.
“I’m in a meeting,” I mutter back. “What’s the emergency?”
“No emergency,” he assures me. “I just have someone new for you to have dinner with. Someone I think you’ll be more compatible with. Sean Gentry is also an attorney at our firm, but he’s younger than Carl. I think you’ll like him.”
A flash of annoyance bursts through me. He’s so hot and cold. One minute he’s calling me a disgrace to our family and now he’s pretending as though that conversation didn’t happen. He’s back to auctioning his daughter to the highest bidder.
“Daddy,” I clip out, “I have a student in my office. You know Mondays I have this weekly career meeting. Can we discuss this another time?”
The line goes silent. All irritation fades as my anxiety spikes. I don’t like upsetting my father, but sometimes he’s too overbearing that even the good girl who’s used to pleasing him loses her cool.
“Just meet Sean for dinner at five. I’ll text you the details,” Daddy says in a curt tone. “We can discuss your disrespectful attitude over Mom’s roast on Sunday. Goodbye, sweetheart.”
And just like that, the stinging tears are back.
I swallow down the giant ball of emotion forming in my throat. Now’s not the time to analyze why no matter what I do, it’ll never seem to be enough for my father. Keith had the right idea. He chose himself. His happiness. His needs. My brother knew he’d never measure up to Daddy’s impossible standards, so he didn’t even try. Keith’s happy being a single, nearly thirty-year-old playboy bartender.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, unable to look at Zane as I set my phone down on the desk. “I shouldn’t have answered that. Where were we?”
When he doesn’t reply, I lift my eyes to meet his intense stare. He jokes around a lot, but on occasion, I catch him staring at me as though he has private access inside my mind. Like he knows secrets about me no one else does.
“Your dad sounds like he’s just as much of a dick as mine is,” he says, his brows furling. “Want to talk about it?”
I chew on my bottom lip. No matter how much I try and force him to talk about his future, it’s pointless. He doesn’t budge. Yes, his grades have improved and he seems to enjoy training with Coach Long, but as far as his plans beyond graduation next month, we haven’t made any progress. So, straying from the usual argument we have, I decide on a different tactic. Maybe if he can trust me a little as a friend, I can get him to open up.
“He’s not a…” I fight a smile. “Dick.”
Zane laughs. “There’s my girl.”
My heart does a flutter inside my chest. I feel like an idiot for letting him get to me, but I can’t help it. His forward nature these past three months is wearing me down.
“He’s just overbearing,” I admit with a sigh. “I’m the good girl. The twin who followed the rules and got a respectable job within the community. He’s used to me obeying and when I don’t, I think it reminds him of my brother.”
Zane crosses his arms over his chest, which makes his biceps bulge. Not that I notice or anything. His scrutinizing gaze has me squirming in my seat.
“What?” I mutter, suddenly self-conscious.
“I’m just trying to imagine another version of you. I bet he has no problems getting laid.”
I curl my lip up. “No one wants to imagine their brother getting laid.”
“You have a point there.” His lips quirk up on one side. “You never have the urge to disobey Daddy?”
My face flames hot at the breathy way he says the word Daddy. “No,” I hiss. “I don’t like disobeying him…”
“But? Come on, Miss B. Don’t hold out on me now.”
“But sometimes I wish he’d stop trying to set me up on dates. There. You happy?”
His features darken and his jaw clenches. “Am I happy that your dad is trying to pimp you out to old douchebags? Fuck no.”
Warmth pools in my belly. “I, uh, think we should discuss college now.”
“Why?” he probes, his gaze dropping to my chest. “Is the conversation getting inappropriate?”
The room goes silent and then we hear it.
Soft, breathy moans in the office next door.
My eyes widen and Zane stands, shaking his head.
“Just let them be,” he grits out, a fierce expression on his face. “Please.”
“I…holy crap.”
This is so awkward. And wrong. I should tell someone, right? The principal of our school is not just kissing a student like I witnessed recently, but is most definitely fucking her, clearly unbothered by the fact others can hear. I can’t live in denial when I’m witnessing it firsthand and with another student no less. I need to report this, right? But I’m no better because I have far too many late-night secret fantasies where the man, who’s now rounding the side of my desk, warms my bed. I wouldn’t act on them, though.
Liar.
The idea of Adam losing his job because of me makes my stomach clench violently. Someone else will have to report him. I don’t want that guilt on my hands.
Zane grabs the arms of my chair and turns it so I’m facing him. With him in my space and so close, I can’t form words or think or breathe for that matter. All I can do is stare up at his perfect, handsome face and inhale his masculine, soapy scent.
“It can be our secret,” he rumbles, green eyes boring into me. “Say okay, Miss B.”
I open my mouth as if to argue, but no words come out.
“How about I tell you what I really want out of life?” He squats down in front of me. “Do we have a deal?”
When I nod, trading my silence for his words, I realize I’ve just made a deal with the devil.
His evil grin confirms he knows this too.
Chapter Two
Zane
Fucking finally.
I’ve hit on this woman every day for months and she won’t open up. Sure, she’s cracked a little here and there, letting me see past her stiff, prissy exterior but always closes back up before I have a chance to slip inside to see the real her. The vulnerable woman who aches to be loved and adored.
I want to be the man who gets in.
Not just in the physical sense.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t dream of stripping her bare and pinning her beneath my hard body, fucking her like a madman. But it’s more than that with Kerry Bowden. Everything about her is so soft and refined and fucking perfect. It calls to the dark, baser parts of me that want to ruffle those parts of her. She’s someone trapped in this veneer package. Someone broken and sad. Someone like me. I just need to save her from herself.
“Tell me,” she murmurs, a blond tendril falling from her tight bun. “Please.”
Always so sweet and well-mannered.
“Take your hair down.” I rise to my feet. “And join me on the sofa.”
Her blue eyes narrow as she studies me with suspicion. “Why?”
“Because I need you to relax.” I hold my hand out to her. “When you relax, I relax. How are we to become friends, Miss B, if you don’t let me inside you?”
She gasps, her plump pink lips parting. “Mr. Mullins!”
“Relax,” I say again, winking at her. “Come on.”
To my surprise, she takes my hand. It’s so small and soft. I’m not eager to let it go, so I don’t.
“Shoes,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze.
She rolls her eyes, taking years off her age, and she kicks out of her heels. I like how just like that she becomes a short, tiny thing.
Mine.
She’s my short, tiny thing.
“Now the hair.” I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to comply.
Averting her gaze, she reaches up to tug at the hair tie. Golden waves tumble out over her shoulder and she gives her head a shake. Her floral scent becomes stronger with her hair now down. I crave to take a handful of it in my fist and bury my nose in it.
“That feels so much better,” she says, a smile teasing her sexy lips.
I’m unable to tear my gaze from her pretty features. With her hair down, she seems younger. After stalking her lame-ass social media accounts, I learned she’ll be thirty in November. I’ve never dated a woman twelve years my senior, but I’d make an exception for her, because something tells me dating her would be better than any shallow relationship I’ve ever been in.
“You can let go of my hand now.” Her voice quivers and based on the way she peers shyly at me from beneath her lashes, I’d say she doesn’t actually want me to. She’s just saying what she thinks is the right thing. That daddy of hers has tried his damnedest to turn her into a compliant, rule following robot. Since my dad is no different, I understand this probably better than anyone ever could. It also makes me want to drag her out from under his influence, because unlike me, she’s still trapped.
I don’t release her hand, and instead tug at it for her to follow me over to the sofa in her office. Once we sit, our thighs touching, I drag her hand into my lap. I expect her to try and pull free, but she doesn’t. Her blue eyes probe me in an expectant sort of way, as though she wants me to lead the way for us.
Don’t worry, Miss B, I’ll take care of you.
“Dad doesn’t care what I do so long as I don’t interfere with his campaign,” I mutter, the words bitter on my tongue. “I don’t want to go to college.”
“But—”
I cut her off with a frown. “I thought you were going to listen.”
She purses her lips together and nods.
“I like math,” I tell her even though she already knows. “Coach Long likes to bust my balls in the classroom too, not just on the track, but unlike on the track, I can answer every damn one of his questions.”
“There are lots of careers that involve math,” she blurts out and then her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry. I’m trying.”
I flash her a wide grin. “I forgive you, beautiful.”
This time, her lips curl up into a shy smile that makes my dick twitch in my jeans.
“When I was ten, my dad and I built a treehouse in our backyard,” I explain, my voice dropping to a husky drawl as I remember the past. “It was one of the last times we did something together. Back when he liked me.”
“Your dad likes you,” she exclaims in vehemence. “Tell me you know that.”
“I’m not a liar. He doesn’t. Not anymore.” I rub my thumb over the back of her hand. “Anyway, so this treehouse was awesome. Dad let me design it. It had real windows and cabinets and tile floors. I spent more time sleeping in my treehouse than in my real house.”
Her blue eyes are wide as she intently listens to my story. I take a moment to study her pretty face up close. Cute little nose. Long, dark mascara-painted lashes. Pouty mouth. So fucking beautiful.
“For four years, I loved that thing. But, as Dad got more and more bogged down with work, he came out to see it less and less.” I grimace as I think about how many nights I spent yearning for my dad to care about me more than his job. “It wasn’t until I broke my leg freshman year that I too stopped going to the treehouse.”
Because I couldn’t climb.
By the time I could again, I was too angry at the world. The last thing I gave a shit about was a stupid treehouse I built with my dad.
“The thing I missed about it wasn’t so much the space but the love and hard work that went into it. We built it. From nothing.” I lean into her, unable to blatantly inhale her delicious scent. “That, too, seemed like a pipe dream after my injury, but I don’t know, after the past few months working with Coach Long and working past the pain in my leg, I think m
aybe it’s possible. That maybe I could do something with my hands. Design, build, create. The idea of making something from nothing excites me.”
The idea of having my own business and not having to answer to anyone is enticing. Some people aren’t made to work for the man. I think I’m one of those people.
A smile graces her lips. “I can see your passion.”
“Can you?” My voice is a guttural growl as I reach up with my free hand to toy with a strand of her hair. “See my passion, that is?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Maybe we should cut this meeting short.”
“But we’re just getting started, Miss B.”
Her eyes flutter closed as I dip closer to her face, unable to resist the pull she has over me. I’m desperate to capture her lips with mine and kiss the hell out of her. Testing my luck, I slide my hand into her hair, gripping just hard enough for her to understand I’m in charge here.
Not her daddy.
Not Renner next door.
Not her inner moral code or the ethical code of conduct she signed.
Me.
I tighten my grip, tilting her head back and exposing her creamy neck. With a gentleness I didn’t know I even possessed, I kiss the pulsating vein on her neck. A brush of my lips and a swipe of my tongue. Her whimper sings to my fucking soul, drawing me in closer to her hot flame. I don’t even care if I get burned. I kiss her neck again, this time nipping at her flesh with my teeth. I can burn too.
The doorknob twisting has me releasing Kerry and sitting back as though I wasn’t about to bruise her neck with my mouth. As the door swings open, I stand up, drawing the attention of our intruder and giving her a moment to collect herself. If I know my girl, she’s mentally freaking the fuck out.
“Principal Renner,” I greet, giving him my most antagonistic grin. I like Renner, even if he does bust my balls about as much as Coach Long does. He’s a good guy. “Miss me, man?”