Page 5 of Romeo

“I’ll have plenty of time to learn it.” It takes every ounce of willpower I have to turn away. Not that looking into her eyes is any easier than up her dress. They’re too innocent for a mean bastard like me. “That said, it might be hard when you’re screaming my name instead of your own.”

I’m laying it on thick, but I can’t stop myself. Every part of me screams that this is the one chance I’m going to get with someone this pure. I will not waste it, not even if it means putting my position with the Lion’s Den in jeopardy.

“Enough of this bullshit,” Mr. Tweed announces from his side of the table. “Jess, let’s get out of here.”

“And now I know your name.” I wink.

“So you do. The real question is, what are you going to do with it?” Jess doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to run away with Mr. Tweed. In fact, his attempt to get her to follow has only firmed her round ass in her chair.

“Can’t do much with just a name. Might need a number to go with it.” Better. Suave charm instead of cocky.

“Oh, I don’t think that would be wise, Mr. Whitaker. Martin might have an aneurysm.” Jess turns to him.

I do the same. Like her, various shades of crimson burn over his cheeks. Funny how fury and desire have such a similar reaction in people.

“Looks to me like he’s already having one.”

She giggles again, and this one hurls Mr. Tweed over the edge.

“Fine, stay with him then, but I will tell your father about this,” he roars, slamming double fists onto the table. It rattles beneath the impact, knocking over the empty glasses strewn atop it.

I grab the only one with any content left before it spills over Jess as Mr. Tweed storms off.

“Well now, looks like I saved you from having soaked thighs,” I say, setting the glass back down. I cut myself off before throwing another terrible one-liner about how she’d have to take the dress off because of it, so why not do it anyway?

“Who says they aren’t soaked already?” Jess says.

And with it, my fate is sealed.

Forever chasing this damned angel.

4

JESS

“So, what’s this business about Mr. Tweed running to Daddy?” The beast takes a seat where Martin was a moment ago. I’m surprised it hasn’t crumbled under the sheer size of him.

“Your first time seeing the other side of this politically driven coin?” I ease back in my chair, scanning his face. “It’s a woman’s lot, sad as it is to admit. While you titans of industry run the world, we’re shadowed by obscurity and tasked with ensuring the deal goes through.”

“Don’t lump me in with them.” He flexes his massive arm as his hand waves over the crowd. “I’d take it as a massive insult.”

There’s something different about this one. He isn’t speaking just to impress me. Almost as if he truly believes he’s different from them.

“Then tell me, Mr. Whitaker, if you’re not with them, then who?” I raise a brow but lean in close as his fake appall vanishes with a charming smile.

“Myself,” he answers. “And please, call me Romeo.”

“Does that make me your Juliet, then?” I cross my arms over my chest, and his eyes instinctively follow them.

They linger a lot longer than my motion. Glued between my breasts with a lustful intensity that spikes hairs on the back of my neck, and a tantalizing shiver rolls down my spine. My body jerks at the chill, almost as if on purpose, to make my tits bounce for his viewing pleasure.

Romeo meets my eyes again. “Could be, but it means you’ll have to take a leap of faith with me.”

“By drinking the poison?” I raise a brow.

“Woah.” Romeo leans back in his chair, raising his hands as if mortified at what I just said. “Spoiler warning. I haven’t reached the end of the book.”

“Play,” I correct. “And it’s three-hundred-and-fifty years old. You had your chance, pal.” He chuckles, and I giggle, but curiosity gets the best of me. “Why should I call you Romeo, then?”

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