Page 22 of Desperate Measures
“Take us home.”
Home.
The word flashed inside my brain, blinking in time with the steady drum of my heartbeat.
“I think we need to talk,” I started, but he dropped his heavy hand on my thigh and squeezed.
He wasn’t looking at me. But the way his hand felt on my thigh, squeezing me tightly but still gently, he almost had me panting.
“At home,” he said, in a tone that brooked no arguments.
At home, indeed, I thought and pressed my lips together.
Chapter 7-Liam
My head was spinning.
The scent of lilacs in my nostrils, making me dizzy as we rode to the penthouse of the building that I was now a majority shareholder in.
The fragrance was almost making me desperate to press my nose against her neck and breathe it right from the source.
It was a subtle distraction in the midst of the whirlwind that had been my life lately.
She smells so fucking fresh and sweet.
The hum of the engine felt oddly out of place with the racing thoughts in my mind. This wasn’t the kind of life I’d ever imagined, but here I was—on the verge of something big.
Something that, despite my best efforts, I could hardly keep from feeling a little giddy about.
ODI was about to explode onto the market with my new nano battery and with it I was going to have the monopoly on that kind of tech. It was the future and there was no stopping it.
But that part of the world where I got my supplies was fraught with corruption, gangs, politicians who were no more than criminals, and the constant threat of war.
Maggie was right to suggest this marriage, but as I stood beside Michaela, I couldn’t help but wish I had something more to offer than a cold merger.
A plan began to shape. One where I started to imagine keeping my princess bride for more than decoration or to be used as a pawn.
I inhaled and took stock of the two of us. How different we were and what I could possibly use to entice her to make this marriage more than was proposed.
I was not an unattractive man.
I had money, which was moot because she probably had more.
But I did just buy this place, and it should appeal to her sensibilities, having been decorated by a professional and with the same level of security as she was accustomed to.
The part of Tribeca I lived in was well known for its celebrity residents, but I liked it for the privacy it afforded.
The kind of quiet luxury that lets you blend in, disappear, or simply be left alone to do the things that mattered.
No paparazzi lurking on every corner, no flashing cameras when you leave your door.
Just space.
And soon, the whole building would be mine. O’Doyle Industries, or ODI as it was better known, was taking off, and this penthouse—this whole damn building—was a symbol of everything I’d worked for.
The money.
The power.