Page 50 of Sinful Blaze

And I swing.

Not today, fucker!

17

PASHA

I duck just in time to avoid getting clocked in the head by a decorative lamp. Son of a bitch still clips my shoulder, though.

“Fuck!”

I have a good feeling I know who’s responsible.

My un-assaulted arm reaches out to flip on the lights, and my guess is correct: Daphne is standing in front of me, wide-eyed and clutching the lamp from the nightstand like a battle ax.

“Give me that,” I growl, snatching the lamp from her hands before she manages to give me a concussion.

“You!” Daphne sighs in something almost like relief. Then she freezes, straightens her back, and glares at me. “I mean, you! What the hell?! What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

I wait for the news to process. As I do, I have to be honest—I’m not hating the vision standing before me. Her hair is a sexy tangle of silk, her tank top barely covers her breasts, and she’s definitely not wearing any pants.

The pain in my shoulder fades away pretty quickly. The blood flow has better places to be.

“The hell you do!” Daphne gestures to the room. “This is my place. I just got it today after the last guy moved…”

Her voice wobbles and falls away as she looks at me and it all comes together for her.

“You’re him. You’re the neighbor.”

I nod.

“But why?—”

“Because you’re carrying my child.”

“No, I mean, why would Marquette…” She pauses again. Then, “Wait, what? The fuck did you just say to me?”

I sigh and shrug my jacket off my shoulders. It’s been a long day and I have a feeling the night is about to get a lot longer. “I own the building. I paid Marquette to take care of you and make sure you’re in the best we have to offer.”

“Your place. Your penthouse.”

“Now, you’re getting it.”

Daphne folds her arms across her chest. She’s grown at least a cup size since our first rendezvous. Her brave little stance only manages to deepen her cleavage and now, I’m way more distracted than intimidated.

“You can’t do this. You can’t be in here.” She waves a hand in the air, then pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re stressing me out. It’s not good for the baby.”

“Neither is being away from her father.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Then, with more vitriol in her voice: “I’ll leave. Right now.”

“Go ahead.” I even step aside to clear the doorway for her. “I’ll just follow you.”

“That was not an invitation.”

“I know.” I calmly start unbuttoning my shirt as if this is just another conversation between husband and wife. “I don’t need one.”

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