Raw Heat

  “What are you doing today?” she finally ventured when she didn’t think she could eat another bite. “You don’t look ready to go to work.”

  “I’m heading to the gym and the rec center for a couple hours. There are some kids there I coach.”

  If she’d been taking a bite or a sip, she might have choked. “You? What do you do, teach them poker?”

  He gave her a long-suffering look, then laughed. “No, Emma. It would seem I’m pretty good at basketball, too.”

  Her eyebrows raised. She’d love nothing more than to see this gorgeous, reserved specimen in action on a basketball court. “So, you . . . coach basketball. Did you play in high school?”

  “Yeah. Mike tried his damnedest to keep us in a sport, and that was my favorite.”

  “You must really love it to keep wanting to be involved.” She remembered what he’d said to her about kids in the system. That seemed like years ago. “Or is it that you like being around the kids?”

  “Both. I’ve been doing it for a couple years now.”

  “What made you decide to do something like that?”

  “Because growing up I always had someone on my ass, pushing me to do better, be better, and I think that was exactly what I needed.”

  “And here you are . . . running an illegal poker room.”

  Now the wicked grin resurfaced. “You like to focus on the bad, don’t you?”

  “Well, it’s hypocritical, Damien. If you get raided one day, those kids will see your name in all the papers, I’m sure. They’ll think everything you ever told them about life and doing better was bullshit. Don’t you ever feel guilty?”

  “Guilt is about the most useless emotion we’re subjected to. I learned that a long time ago. I’ll gladly pass along that piece of advice.”

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s pretty useful for keeping us accountable.”

  “To who?”

  “Ourselves,” she said, exasperated. “Guilt, conscience, whatever you call it . . . it keeps us from being horrible people.”

  He crossed his forearms on the tabletop and gave her the full power of his dark eyes, which seemed to devour the light in the sunny nook. “No, it’s only there to torment people who are already basically good. Horrible people don’t feel a fucking shred of guilt. Or else it’s inconsequential to them.”

  “But since you don’t feel guilt, are you saying you’re a horrible person?”

  “I didn’t say I don’t feel it. I just said it’s useless and I don’t let it dictate my decisions.”

  She wanted to smack him, but she rather enjoyed calling him on his bullshit. “So it’s inconsequential.”

  “There are worse things I could be doing, Emma. I assume this is about running an establishment that feeds addictions like your brother’s. Do you also hold me accountable for running a nightclub that serves alcohol to alcoholics?”

  “But that’s legal.”

  “So if the state laws changed, I’d be in the clear with you? Even though I’m doing the exact same thing I was before?”

  “I just don’t want you—or any of us—to get into trouble.”

  “Don’t worry about it. There are safeguards in place.”

  “Infallible?”

  “As I can make them.” She didn’t doubt that he had connections everywhere. Maybe it would be enough. She could only hope. “But let me ask you this,” he went on. “You work for me. You know what’s going on. Yet you stick around. You can always deny knowledge of the gambling, sure, but how’s guilt working out for you?”

  “I do my job and go home. I know that’s no explanation, but . . . I need this job.”

  “There are others.”

  “They don’t pay as well.”

  He sat back with a smugness that indicated to her she’d just proven his point, damn him. “Ah. Money. The root of all evil. You can sleep at night because I compensate you well enough for it.”

  She seethed, because he was right. He was absolutely fucking right. But she couldn’t let him know that. “The love of money is the root of all evil. The desperate need of money is different. Besides, we’re not talking about me.”

  “I’m talking about you.”

  “Fine. Then my resignation stands. Once this month is over, I’m out. I’ll go somewhere else.”

  “I don’t think you will,” he challenged.

  “I suppose you feel a bet coming on again, but I am not betting on anything.”

  “I just doubled your salary, Emma.”

  The breath left her lungs in a rush, her eyes dropping to her empty plate. It blurred in her vision. Even without looking at him, she felt his scrutiny. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “I can and I will.”

  The things she could do for her sweet parents with that kind of money . . . “Damien . . .”

  “Yes?”

  She glared at him. “I hate you.”

  The bastard laughed. “You didn’t hate me last night.”

  It was too much. She sprang from her chair and bolted for the arched doorway into the living room, unsure of even where she was going. But his hands caught her before she could make it halfway to wherever that was. Before she knew what was happening, she was pressed against his solid warmth, the blackness of his T-shirt filling her swimming vision, her tears soaking into the fabric. His arms were an unbreakable band around her, squeezing her tight to him.

  “Emma,” he said, as gently as she’d ever heard him speak. “I don’t mean to make you cry, or make you doubt that you’re one of the best people I know. If not the best.” His mouth dropped to the top of her head. Despite herself, she shuddered against him. “I just think at our core we’re all the same and need the same things, that’s all. Even you and I.”

  “I’m nothing like you,” she said miserably, but even as she said it, she didn’t want him to let her go. Because she needed this. His comfort. She’d needed it since last night, she’d needed it upon waking this morning to find him gone. That need confused and frightened her. It shouldn’t be. What in God’s name was wrong with her?

  Damien’s hands cupped her face and tilted it up for his kiss. She should have pushed him away, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Her mouth opened in wanton invitation when he quested for it; his tongue flickered inside, teasing, tasting, as his hands traveled down to her ass and squeezed hard enough to bruise the tender flesh. Emma’s blood seemed to thicken as her knees weakened. She leaned into him as the only solid thing in the rushing vortex of sensation he sparked in her.

  He lifted her against him and carried her over to the kitchen island, setting her on top of it. Her robe fell open below the belt, and he jerked it apart to lavish her taut nipples with his mouth’s devastating attention, leaving them wet and aching. “Lie back,” he said when he’d lifted his head to look her in the eyes. The hunger in his expression set her heart to jerking almost painfully in her chest.

  “But—”

  “Lie back, Emma, and let me make you come.”

  There in his kitchen, where the sun streamed in through the eastern windows and hid absolutely nothing, she spread her trembling thighs and let him drop his head between them, wanting his mouth there more than anything she’d ever wanted before. When his hot tongue slid over her flesh, she nearly arched off the countertop, but his hands held her fast to his ministrations. “Damien!”

  “Are you sore?” he asked against her, and even as embarrassment roared high in her face, she couldn’t not answer.

  “Yes.”

  With long, leisurely licks he soothed her, from her pussy to her clit and over again, until she writhed and mewled and finally grasped his silky hair. He lifted his head, his eyes burning a hole through her.

  “No,” he said, and the stern command made her release him immediately. “Play with your nipples.”

  Anything to get him to keep going. Emma cupped her breasts, caressing them, teasing him a bit before she finally did as he told her and let her fingers slide over her hardened nipples, st
ill damp from his kisses. She brought one finger to her lips and sucked it to taste him, then lowered it again, arching against her own touch. He seemed to like that. He lowered his head and swirled the stiffened tip of his tongue over her clit while she moaned his name, her thigh muscles tightening.

  He pulled her lips apart, first one and then the other, baring her mercilessly to his eyes, his mouth. Emma was beyond caring any longer, poised on the edge of something wonderful. When he slipped his tongue inside her, tasting her tender passage deeply, her hands clenched on her breasts and squeezed to the point of pain—anything to offset the almost unbearable pleasure. She pulsed and clenched under the mastery of his mouth. Her belly began to tighten.

  “Oh God!” Oh no . . . if he thought she was close he might stop . . . “Damien, please, let me come.”

  “Come, doll. Come in my mouth.” The roughly spoken words set her off and he devoured her as she rode his mouth, his sudden sucking at her clit only pitching her higher and higher as she wailed her release at the ceiling.

  “You’re fucking exquisite,” he murmured against her. She floated slowly back to him, panting with the exertions of pleasure. To her surprise, she found that their fingers had interlaced at some point, maybe the only thing anchoring her from shooting off into space. His free hand slowly stroked her thigh, moving to her stomach, her breast, soothing in that way he had that she thought was completely involuntary. It was simply his effect on her.

  And then reality seeped in: she was spread eagle on a kitchen island in broad, unforgiving daylight. Damien straightened from between her legs, reaching for her arm to help her to a sitting position. The world swam dizzily around her as he pulled her up, but it was he who pulled her robe closed and then took her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, still shaking, holding on to him tightly. This man could ruin her. He could crush her. He could take and take from her for this entire month, and at the end of it, he could laugh in her face and give her nothing in return.

  “I need you to do what you say you’re going to do,” she said, hating how small she sounded.

  She felt him turn his face toward her, felt his grip on her tighten. “I always do what I say I’m going to do.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fuck.

  He left her the keys to the Bentley to go out and do whatever her little heart desired, but at this point if she took it and skipped town forever, he wouldn’t have blamed her. The verbal sparring had been fun at first. Now it was getting to him. If she wanted him to straight-up admit he was a selfish asshole, fine, he would. In his mind, he had damn good reason to be, even though his reasoning and excuses would never be enough for her. He had only set himself up for a month of getting harped at in between bouts of spectacular sex. The last thing he needed was a little angel on his shoulder with Emma’s voice, chattering in his ear.

  At the gym and on the court, he pushed himself to exhaustion, until his muscles trembled on the verge of collapse, still tasting her sweetness on his tongue. The very animal in him that he tried to hide from her, she teased and tormented and poked at through the iron bars of his cage. If he ever busted out . . .

  Sweat dripping from his hair and soaking his clothes, he hit the showers and changed and drove to the club, finding Stacia at her desk on the phone. He could barely manage more than a scowl for her and, sensing his mood as she was so capable of doing, she ended her call and followed him into his office with her pad at the ready.

  She didn’t have to say “I told you so”; he could see it written all over her smug face. Hell, Emma herself had tried to warn him. “Shut up,” he said, dropping into his chair. At that, she burst out laughing.

  “I didn’t say a word.”

  “Your face did.”

  “Ah. Forgive me for not having your ability to hide pure satisfaction.”

  “I’m really starting to regret letting you know.”

  She waved a hand and sat in one of the chairs across from his desk, putting her fucking feet up like she always did. It drove him nuts, but he was used to her by now. “You know you had to. Who else could cover for you guys like me?”

  Yeah. She was one of the best, most elaborate liars he knew. He stood in awe at times. “So what’s your end game in all this? Emma doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl you can fuck at will and send on her way. You’ve probably chased away the best accountant we’ve had, and I’m gonna be the one to have to find a new one once the temp leaves. Way to fuck up, Damien.”

  “I’m so goddamn glad that I have you and Emma both reaming my ass all the time. I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Now tell me everything I need to know about her dumbass brother.”

  Stacia shrugged. “There isn’t much to know. I called all over town. The guy’s just a small-time addict. Some petty-theft charges, nothing major. Got in a bad way with some loan sharks, but managed to get out of it.”

  Damien digested that in silence. Emma hadn’t mentioned theft charges, so he wondered if she even knew. Small-time with big debts. “Because Emma or her parents always get him out of it.”

  “That’s not your problem, Damien. I just don’t want this guy to become a big problem for us.”

  He looked at her sharply. “What are you hearing?”

  “Nothing. I get bad vibes off him.”

  Yeah, so did he. Weasel vibes. Petty, spiteful vibes. “Tell me exactly what he said when he showed up last night.”

  “He came to my window and asked if you were here. I said, ‘Not tonight.’ Then he asked for your fucking address and I laughed. ‘Well, at least give me a number,’ he said. ‘My sister is with the asshole.’ I said, ‘Dude, then call your sister.’ He said she wasn’t answering. I said I couldn’t help him. He kind of banged his fist on the counter and walked out.”

  She wasn’t answering because she’d been full of Damien’s cock right about then, and that gave him a rush of smirking satisfaction. Damn. I took all the guy’s money and fucked his sister. No wonder Benjamin was on the verge of eruption. It would be hilarious if only Damien didn’t suspect Benjamin might resort to chicken-shit vindictive means to bring this little empire down.

  Safeguards were in place, yes. But all it would take was a phone call to the right person, and getting that person to listen . . . and Damien might have to activate those safeguards.

  “Forgive me for saying so—or don’t—but none of this seems very smart.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “That’s what thinking with your dick gets you, Damien. If you wanted to fuck the girl, all you would’ve had to do was shove her over your desk and do it. She would’ve been accommodating.”

  “You think so, huh?”

  “Please. She lit up like a fucking Christmas tree every time she laid eyes on you. You didn’t have to let her move in to your fucking house, or buy her a closet full of clothes, and if you want to buy someone fucking Louboutins, buy them for me. I think I deserve them.”

  He laughed. At least when Stacia rode his ass for something, she was on his level. “You have one of my credit cards. Knock yourself out.”

  “Seriously?”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Best boss ever. Hey, I was in the Galleria the other day and there was this Louis Vuitton—”

  “Don’t push it.”

  * * *

  The Bentley smelled of warm leather and new car, and the engine purred like a kitten. Emma ran her hand over the buttery-soft seats, the steering wheel with its winged B in the middle, breathing the scent deeply. The only other car she’d ever been in that was as nice as this was Damien’s Jaguar. She was scared shitless to drive it, but she needed to get out.

  Liz’s apartment was on this side of the city, so she didn’t have to brave the late-morning traffic for very far. Apparently, some kind of anguish registered all over her face, because her best friend’s expression fell as soon as she opened her front door. Liz ushered Emma straight inside and shut the door
behind her. “Do I need to kill him?” she asked, taking her shoulders and surveying her face with concern.

  Thank God for friends like Liz. “No, but I might.”

  “What happened?”

  “The best sex of my life.”

  Liz’s smooth forehead furrowed. “Then what the hell are you so morose for?”

  “Because he’s . . . fucking insufferable.”

  “Most of the big-dicked sexual-dynamite men are, Emma. You should have known this going in. That’s why I said you weren’t ready for something like this.”

  “Can you please stop? Ready or not, I’m there. I’m with him. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m all . . .”

  “Twitterpated?”

  Emma laughed. “Yeah, something like that.”

  Liz shook her blond head in sympathy, then led the way to the kitchen. “I knew this, I knew it,” she muttered as she headed to the cabinet where she kept the tea.

  Emma sat at her little bistro table. “I know you knew it, now tell me what to do about it. I feel like I’ve always been pretty tough, you know? Like I could hold my own. But he makes me feel . . .”

  “Weak,” Liz said knowingly.

  “I honestly don’t know how anyone will ever follow up last night. Hell, I don’t know how he can follow up last night.”

  “This is only the beginning. I’m sure he will. This is a disaster waiting to happen. You’re gonna fall, Em, and you’re gonna fall hard, and you can’t.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “That’s what you’re here to say, and also to ask for my advice, but I don’t have any for you that you don’t already know. Run.”

  “That isn’t an option.”

  “Why? Because of Benjamin? Oh my God, Emma. Fuck. Him. Listen to me. Get out of this thing with Damien while you still have your heart intact. It’s all fun and games until he makes you come.”

  Emma blushed hard. Liz always talked openly like that about sex, and she would eventually begin pumping for explicit details, so she steered the conversation away. “You should see the closet full of clothes he gave me. You might change your mind.”