Page 30 of Break the Ice
I’m thrown for half a second. “Kidnapping gloves?”
“They’ve got good grip on them and they’re sweat resistant. It makes it easier to grab things… or people.”
“Forget the fucking kidnapping gloves!” I rumble out, irritated. “She knew her ultimatum tonight. Keep me up to date, then I’ll decide what to do next.”
I hang up on Mitch and release a roar into the crisp evening air. It echoes across the downtown cityscape and then trails off into nothing.
For half an hour, I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself. Frustration builds inside me ’til I feel like I’ve got to exert some of the angry pent up energy. I need the opportunity to beat some asshole up like I did Morasca earlier. Better yet, whatever dickweed loser Marisse is spending the night with—and there has to be some other man. Who else would send a luxury town car to pick her up?
So she really is like the other women in the sports world. She’s for hire with no real loyalty other than to the money deposited in her account.
What makes it even worse is that it bothers me. On some level, I had actually wondered if she could be different.
I’m on the brink of skipping Mitch’s update altogether and heading out for my own hunt when he finally rings me again.
“You’ll never guess where she was headed,” he says, just before I hear him flicking a lighter to a cigarette. “She’s at the Onyx.”
“Here? Then why the hell would she take a different car?—”
“She’s on a date… or some kinda meeting,” interrupts Mitch. He pauses to suck on his cigarette and blow smoke. “The town car dropped her off and she was escorted inside. Now she’s seated inside the Onyx’s restaurant at a table for two. You want us to come up with our kidnap plan? We can wait ’til she walks off to the restroom, Alpha.”
My knuckles are white as I clench my phone to my ear and stride for the door. “Standby. I don’t need you to do anything. This is for me to handle.”
I make it down to the third floor where the gourmet hotel restaurant resides. The maître d’ recognizes me even from afar and rushes to meet me at the entrance to the restaurant.
“Mr. Golding, sir… we had no idea you’d be joining us for the evening. We are fully booked, but perhaps I can see what I can do.”
I’m about to answer when I notice what’s happening behind him in the background. Some tall geezer in an expensive suit has waltzed up to the table where Marisse is seated. Her face lights up with a smile at the sight of him.
She’s zipped into a tight cocktail dress that teases cleavage and damn sure hugs her ass and hips. Her thick, dark-red curls have been slicked down into a simple bun that’s both elegant and puts even more focus on her gorgeous face and slender throat and shoulders.
Fuck, she looks so good. Easily the most beautiful woman in the room. It’s not even close.
My adrenaline surges in my veins. So does an almost unbearable need to be in her presence. To overtake her and make her mine in every way possible.
It comes on so strong, I forget where I am.
“Mr…. Mr. Golding,” stutters out the maître d’, frowning. “Did you hear me? I can get you a table in our dining room on the eastern side. It overlooks the bay. Very beautiful at night with the city lights. Would this work for you?”
“No. Never mind.” I spend a moment glaring beyond him, taking in Marisse and the man—who I’ve realized is Quigley Blackman, the owner of the whole fucking hotel—and then I get the hell out of there.
I don’t know what’s made me do it. I can’t explain what went through my mind as I strode over to the front desk with a wad of hundred dollar bills tucked inside my hand. I’m not thinking straight as I slide the keycard into the hotel room Quigley Blackman’s reserved for Marisse for the night.
I stalk the room in the dark. As I move through the space, I shine the flashlight from my phone, picking out the personal touches that Marisse has added. Things like her overnight bag deposited on the bed and the quick change of clothes lying beside it. She must’ve rushed up to the room to swap out her work attire for a dinner dress.
My jaw aches from tension as thoughts pollute my head. Imaginings of what she must’ve looked like busting through the door in a breathless hurry. Her burnt-red curls must’ve been wilder and less tamed than usual. What I imagine they’d look like after I’ve fucked that little uptight pussy of hers.
I see visions of the clothes she’s changing out of being tossed away. She’d reach for the dinner dress in nothing but her bra and panties…
I lick my lips in the dark at the impure thoughts that follow. My pulse has spiked, and I’ve started heating up from the inside. In the span of a few seconds, I’ve become hard as fuck. The urges I have for her intensify to new heights.
It makes me feel like I’ll erupt if I don’t get it out of my system. I’ll spiral out of control worse than ever if I don’t find relief.
How the fuck is it possible to want a woman this bad?
I snatch her discarded blouse up off the bed and bring it up to my nose for a whiff. Gentle notes of her sweet vanilla perfume still live on the satiny fabric. I take in a deep inhale and feel a rush of pleasure hit me.
For a second or two, I’m fucking lightheaded. My cock’s harder, more painfully erect.
