Page 8 of Brutal Power

“Oh my god, youare.” I move closer to him, beaming. “I kind of like it, honestly.” My stomach’s doing little cartwheels again and I like this feeling. Even though he’s a big prick, he’s a big, handsome prick, and he went out of his way to hunt me down. I’m actually kind of flattered.

“I asked your brother where I could find you so we might talk.” He glares at me as we’re forced to stand close together. La Colombe is always crowded and it’s not exactly a big space. The line moves and his hand bumps against mine, and I suck in a sharp breath, surprised at the way my body reacts to the sudden slight touch. My heart rate doubles and beads of sweat break out along my spine. I’m actually kind of nervous, which has to be a first.

“And what do you want to talk about, hubby?”

His mouth twitches. “Hubby? God, please don’t.”

“Since you’re calling me wifey, I thought you should get a nickname too. Don’t you love it?”

“I’m really regretting this right now.”

“We could go with love nugget, or snuggle bunny, or sugar lips, or?—”

“If you stop, I’ll buy your coffee.”

I grin and jab a finger into his chest. “And a pastry.”

He sighs and nods. “Whatever you want.”

“Wonderful.” I leave my finger where it is because I like the feeling of his firm, muscular pecs, and he doesn’t seem to mind. “Now, what can I do for you, cuddle monster?”

He looks like he wishes he could float up through the ceiling and I find his exasperation shockingly attractive.

“I need a favor,” he says through his teeth.

“A favor?” I loop my hand through his arm and let him escort me toward the barista. “Ilovedoing favors. You’ve come to the right person.”

“Somehow, I think you’re just going to torture me instead.”

I swat at him playfully and I realize I’m actually having fun with this big, grumpy man. I order a flat white and a blueberry muffin, and he just asks for a black coffee to go, which I guess means this is going to be a quick conversation. We grab a small table in the back corner, and he practically has to jam himself into the tiny chair. He’s much too large for a small place like this, and he practically swallows the room with his presence.

“There’s a charity golf tournament this weekend,” he says as I break my muffin into little pieces and start eating. “It’s put on by a member of the committee on zoning, a guy that hates my fucking guts.”

“Someone hates you? Big shock there. What’s his name?”

He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Omar Ali.”

I sit back and cross my legs, trying not to show him how delighted I am right now. “God, you’re such a lucky bastard.”

“I’m pretty sure I just said Omar hates me. That’s not lucky.”

“No, but I’m friendly with his wife, Layla.” I look at my nails, trying not to play this up too much, but god, the look on his face is hilarious. Both hopeful and supremely pissed off, as if this isn’t exactly what he hoped for, but now he’s annoyed that I’m being so smug. “We play tennis in the same league.”

He lets out a long breath as if he’s suffering from some hidden pain. “I need you to come and help Omar realize that I’m charming and friendly.”

“I can’t work miracles, hubs. But Layla does like me so that will probably help.”

“Can you come then?” He pushes his chair back as if he’s about to leave. “It starts at eight on Saturday morning. I’ll send my driver.”

I hold up a hand, halting him. “If I do a favor for you, then you have to do a favor for me.” I look up along his muscular thighs and my gaze lingers on the tight crotch of his pants before quickly meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure what yet though, but you’ll owe me.”

“I could pay you back right now,” he says, leaning closer, pitching his voice low. “My office is nearby if you’d like a private tour.”

My eyebrows shoot up and my heart skips a beat. “Is that an innuendo, Mr. Quinn?”

“It could be.”

I bark a laugh right in his face. “I mean, you’re hot and all, but my favor is definitelynotgoing to be of the sexual variety.”

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