Page 162 of Rage

“Hmm,” I hummed, “Two years is a long time to only get off on your fingers.”

She choked, spitting coffee back into her mug.

“Oh, hell,” I said, leaning forward with my napkin to wipe away a drop of coffee on her chin. “Did I read you wrong? Are you more… battery operated?”

Hmm, that would be a delight. To tie her to the bed, spread open, with a toy in her as I lazily watched…

She swatted my hand away, before dabbing it herself, looking at me like I was a turd at the bottom of her expensive heels.

I raised my hand, palm towards her in surrender. “Your reaction tells me I’m on target, Lovely.”

My eyes drifted down to the open button at her clavicle, down the sliver of skin visible to a humble cleavage that I knew would be a perfect handful. She was breathing hard, and deep. Probably trying to keep her cool.

I’d never been so fascinated with a person in my life.

“I’ll make you a deal,” I said when she still did not respond to me. “If you let me lick that pussy of yours, your family’s bid for the Ports on Dutch Street will be accepted. No caveats. No haggling.”

“Excuse me?” She was ready to lunge toward me, claws out. I could feel it.

God, it made me so hard, I wasn’t sure my brain would function if any more of my blood ran south.

“Just to sweeten the pot, Lovely,” I let my gaze trace down to where I was sure I’d find the most delightful honey pot. “I will confide that the Lauders just put in a bid for the same ports, at twenty million over your price.”

“Feldon,” her nose wrinkled in scorn as she said his name like a curse.

Her fists clenched, and I knew she was one step closer to accepting my indecent proposal.

“It seems he’s willing to put the last of his family resources into disappointing you, Lovely.” I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I was left by a woman like Jasmine Barkada, but it wouldn't bethat.“We got the call last night after you unceremoniously told him he didn’t need to get the check.”

She rolled her eyes. “He never gets the check. It was time he realized that I had noticed.”

“Oh, I agree, Lovely,” I said, the endearments coming so naturally off my lips as I made a mental note to pick up the check tonight, regardless of where she went afterwards. “So what are those ports worth to you?”

There was a flicker - it was minute, but it was there - that told me it meant a great deal either to her or to her family. Well, I was here to facilitate that.

“They’re not worth whoring myself over.”

My jaw tightened.

Whore was the last thing I’d call her. Siren? Yes. Femme Fatale? Absolutely.

“Then don’t,” I said as flatly as I could, even as alarm bells rang in my mind. “Consider this the start of a friendship between Barkada Industries, and Green Fields Enterprises. A friendship facilitated by our… blossoming romance.”

“Romance?” Her voice dripped with acerbic irritation, as if the very thought of it was ridiculous and undesirable.

What a curious creature.

“Or a friendship, if you like,” I shrugged. “A friendship with intimate benefits.”

However she defined it, I needed it. I would not be satisfied until I knew her better, and could unravel the reasons why I was so drawn to her stoic gaze.

“Here’s my advice, Lovely. Eoghan Green wants to sell these ports, but he’ll keep sinking money into holding them if he thinks our buyers are going to drag the city back into the old Mafia wars. That’s why your proposal, after seven months, hasn’t been accepted.”

Her shoulders snapped back even as her eyes remained as cool as black ice.

“We don’t know you, and we don’t want new crime to come in.”

“We are not criminals.” I was beginning to appreciate her pretty voice. The plosiveness of it. The very sounds of her Filipino accent gave the sense of authority and conviction.

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