Page 27 of Dirty Deal

When we finally pull up outside the Merritt, I fling my door open before the driver can even move an inch.

“Thank you!”

My heels clatter against the sidewalk, then I’m gasping out a hello to the doorman. The lobby is a blur around me, and so is the first casino floor, the back corridors, the stairwell. I fly along my usual route, static fizzing in my brain, and the whole way I can only think one thing:Weston. Weston. Weston.

When I lectured myself last night, trying to protect some dignity, I told myself to play it cool when I reached his office. To knock, and wait, and stroll inside like I haven’t a care in theworld. Like I don’t care either way whether Weston James fucks me tonight or not.

Whether helovesme.

Instead I fling the door open without warning, barging inside the office at full speed. Weston turns from where he’s brooding by the windows, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his expression darkens when he sees me.

I gain speed.

He moves too.

And we collide in the center of the office, hands tearing at clothes, mouths slamming together in the world’s fiercest first kiss.

“Mmph.”

Can’t speak with our lips sealed together, so I let out a strangled noise instead, yanking at his suit jacket, his shoulders, his collar. This man is so freakingbigcompared to me, so much taller and broader, and I want to shimmy up all his sculpted perfection like a monkey climbing a tree.

Weston tears his mouth away, breathing hard. His gaze snags on something over my shoulder: the wide-open office door, exposing us to any nosy assistants who might pass by.

Weston growls. Then he slides a forearm beneath my ass and lifts me into the air, carrying me as easily as a stack of files over to the door.

“Fuck that,” Weston declares, as though I just suggested we should let that Ariq guy watch us lose our minds. The door slams shut, and the lock spins with a thud. “No one sees you like this but me, Lena.”

My fingernails dig harder into his shoulders. I’m plastered against Weston’s chest, our bodies melded so close that I can feel the hard planes and ridged abs through his shirt, and I’d love to come up with a snappy reply, but my brain has turned to soup.

“Please,” is all I can say, tugging roughly at his shirt. My fingers are clumsy, fumbling his buttons undone before I slide my hands beneath the fabric, stroking over heated bare skin. Dark chest hairs tickle my palms, and oh god, if this was all a test, I’ve definitely failed it.

Don’t care anymore about dignity.

Don’t care about my pride.

All I want, all Ineed,is for Weston to kiss me again, and to use his tongue this time.

The casino owner’s laugh is breathless. He carries me back toward the desk, letting me pet his bare chest and squirm against his front, those icy blue eyes fixed on me in wonder.

Does he feel this too? Does hewantme too, for more than five nights?

“Please,” I beg again, finding his nipple beneath his shirt and scraping it with my fingernail. Weston’s low grunt makes my thighs tremble. “Please, I’ve been… all last night and all today, I’ve been…”

He waits, seemingly fascinated to hear what I’vebeen, but I cut myself off, scowling.

It’s bad enough that I’m whining for him like this, literally begging for his touch. Weston doesn’t need to know how badly he’s knocked me off center. That I’m ruined for him, a full-blown addict, when there’s every chance he still hates my guts. This could all be part of his master plan to break my spirit.

My shoulders go firm. I raise my chin and give Weston my coldest glare, though my frosty demeanor wobbles when I notice the smudge of red lipstick on the corner of his mouth. Where else can I mark him before the night is up? His throat? His stomach? His cock?

“Get on with it, then,” I snap. Weston’s mouth twitches with amusement, and god, that just makes me want to beat his chestand howl. How dare he be so composed right now? Level-headed and sane, when I’m bursting at the seams?

Such bullshit.

“You’re like a maelstrom,” Weston murmurs, carrying me behind the desk and finally setting me down on the hard surface. Are there normally papers here, or a laptop? My fevered brain can’t remember for sure, but the idea of Weston clearing this space so he can spread me out on it is pleasing.

Yeah, screw his work!I’mhere now. I could purr.

“This coat,” Weston says, taking each end of the belt in one hand. He pauses, like he’s relishing the moment. “This fucking coat.”

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