Page 88 of Merciless Heir
My brother does call me the next day, saying he wants her information. Said Sadie would put him in touch with someone for his buildings. I’m betting her ex. It leaves a sour taste when it shouldn’t even touch me at all.
Mother? She’s evasive. I call and when she manages to call back two days later—like she leads the kind of life I do where sabbatical means a shit ton of work which I’m plowing through—she needs to, apparently, keep it brief.
I let her. What am I going to do? Hold the woman captive? She’ll talk when she wants and right now, she doesn’t. Apart from reminding me what rides on all this.
Sadie I talk to, too. There’s nothing on the horizon there, but she tells me to keep faith. Those are words she actually uses, like we’re nothing at all and she’s giving me her little professional pep talk and it pisses me off.
Actually, I’m so annoyed I leave the deal I’m working on in the hands of one of my most trusted. It takes a brief email to set the ball rolling there, and then I’m up out of my home office and heading across town to see Sadie.
It’s a warmer day, no sign at all of that light snow we got, and the sky is bright and blue with fluffy clouds that don’t fit in with my mood at all.
If it did, I’m sure it would be a wild and dark storm.
This time, I ring her doorbell and wait for her to let me in, while two tattooed and pierced people sitting on the stoop watch with interest. I ignore them.
“Yes?”
“Buzz me in if you know what’s good for you.”
She doesn’t say anything for a moment and then she sighs and the door buzzes open and I’m at her front door in record time.
It’s open and she’s leaning against the doorjamb in black jeans and boots and an old, fitted The Birthday Party T-shirt that’s fraying at the edges and slightly gray from way too many years of washes.
“I was going to call you,” she says, moving away and leaving me to follow.
I do just that and slam the door shut behind me, my anger around me like a cloak.
“Yet you didn’t.”
“Why are you so pissy, Kingston? I’m not saying you can’t rock the vibe, but I don’t get why.”
“You.”
She turns, holding a folder in her hands. Her gaze is hot on me as she looks at me. “This might lighten your mood.”
I take the folder. I want to tell her it’s her in so many ways. I want to put my hands on her. I want her mouth. Her pussy. I want…fuck, that’s why I’m so pissy as she puts it. I want her and she’s been acting like nothing ever happened between us. Like she doesn’t want me, too.
I’ve wanted women who haven’t wanted me. I’ve wanted round two when they only ever wanted round one. It’s happened. Not often, but it’s happened. And if that were the truth here, I’d live with it. Move on emotionally—not that my emotions beyond want and lust and need are involved—and be fine.
But that’s not the case.
The air between us sings and crackles. It hums. And she looks at me with hunger. She can’t hide that anymore than I can.
That’s why I’m so fucking pissy. She pretends in the worst way possible and then fucks me with her eyes. And yeah, I want all the rounds with her. I want her moaning and shaking apart. I want to pound her. I want to kiss her everywhere. I want to worship and possess. I want her in every way possible.
And I think she wants the same from me.
“Kingston,” she whispers. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that. You know we’re a bad idea.”
“We’re the absolute worst,” I say and go to her.
I don’t touch her, just open the folder.
We look at each other and she hands me something else, wrapped in cloth. I take it, too, and open it.