Page 54 of Diamond In The Rough

It’s possible she was the one and only woman he ever loved.

Or at the very least, tolerated enough not to murder.

“You’ll eat.” She places my hand beneath the plate before taking hers away, forcing me to hold it or let it clatter to the floor. “Then you’ll take a day off to relax. I don’t recall the last time you just… sat still.”

“I sit still at least once a day.” I look down at the sandwich she prepared for me, potato chips crushed between the slices, and bologna holding everything together.

“Hardly a nutritious meal,” she titters. “But it’s a start. And the bread is whole grain.”

“Thank you.” I lean in and press a kiss to her cheek, her skin softer than tissue, but the muscle making it puff as she smiles.

“I’m heading to the gym in a bit to work through some energy. Then I have meetings back-to-back until dinner. This might be the only meal I have time for.”

Her jaw firms, when I know she’d rather loosen it and spit some nasty words my way. “I’ll pack you a lunch to take with you. If you want to act like a child, then I’ll send you to work with a lunchbox… just like a child.”

“I’ll be sure to grab something.” Chuckling, I fist my sandwich and keep walking. “No need to threaten a man. Hey, Felix,” I call out. “We heading to Harlem today?”

“Yeah,” he shouts back. “I’ll be ready within the hour.”

He steps into the kitchen, grinning when I hit the stairs and glance his way. “We’ll be kinda near Colby’s, huh? Wanna stop in and spend more money on shit we could build in the back shed?”

“Uncultured.” Shaking my head, I jog upstairs to make fast work of my carb-loaded breakfast. It won’t help me when I hit the gym later, but it’s good enough to hold me over for now. It’s also the tastiest trashy food I’ve ever known.

I climb four flights of stairs, passing men whose sole job is to stand guard and protect the house in case of a breach, then I stalk into my bedroom, casting a glance to the Mongolian warrior’s chest, sitting elegantly atop the Queen’s desk.

Folks could buy an entire house with the money I’ve spent on those two items alone. Families go hungry, and people lose their homes to foreclosure, but here I am, spending oodles of cash, purely because I want to be near a woman whose eyes hold secrets.

So many of them.

So much intrigue.

I set my plate on the end of my bed—not on the desk, which I’m too afraid to fuck up—and choke down the last of my sandwich before ducking into the bathroom and stripping off my jeans.

It’s time to shower. Change. Try to think of anything, anyone, other than the beautiful woman whose existence hounds me. She turns up in the clubs I manage. The stores I shop in. She haunts my dreams. And when I toss my boxer shorts aside and step into the cool sluice of shower water, she’s the reason my cock is hard.

Fuck me. She’s under my skin. And if her background check pops in any way other than she’d have me believe, then under my skin is exactly where she wants to be.

Men like Wilkes come at their enemy head-on: noisy, violent, and with obvious intentions.

But women… they sneak in with sex. Siren’s eyes, and lips of sin. They dance their way closer instead of stomp, and whisper sweet nothings while they fuck a man, until he’s willing to give her his soul.

Over the spray of the shower, I hear my phone beep with incoming texts. I consider digging it out from where it’s buried, deep in the pockets of my jeans on the tile floor, to scan the contents. Could be information I need. Or someone unhappy with the current world order. Could be Harrison, already bringing me intel.

But I pump soap into my palm instead, then wrap it around my cock and groan.

I want five minutes without New York sitting on my shoulders.

Five minutes to think of Tiia Hale, and have the risk simply… not exist.

Outside these walls, she’s a potential threat to me and my family. Because, fuck, my intuition rarely steers me wrong. But inside this shower stall—when I’m all alone, and Felix is safe, and Tiia has no clue I think of her—I can visualize sinking my cock deep inside her pussy and taking her body the way I want.

In the safety of my own home, I can think whatever the fuck I want, and let my imagination sprint wild. I can picture slamming her to the wall and knocking a little sense into her, the way I’ve wanted to since our first run-in. I can shake her until she tells me her truths, but I can also have her.

Body. Heart. Soul.

Because in my imagination, no one I love will be hurt because of the choices I make.

Five minutes.

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