Page 38 of The Opposite Effect

If that wasn’t bad enough, more times than I can count, when she advised me of my next appointment, she nibbled on the end of the pencil. I swear to God, I’ve jabbed my tattoo gun into my thigh at least a dozen times this week alone just to keep myself seated in the swivel chair. If I didn’t, her little teases would have forced her lips to become acquainted with the one part of my body she’s kept firm a minimum of ten hours a day for the past two weeks. Considering I’m endeavoring not to treat her as a bunny, I refuse to have her kneel in front of me, no matter how badly my cock wants to be surrounded by her lips.

I have no doubt Clara knows the effect she hason me. If the smug grin etched on her face isn’t enough proof, the glimmer of lust sparking in her eyes is a surefire indication. Thankfully, even with all the blood in my body rushing to the lower half, I can still tattoo. Don’t get me wrong, it is no easy feat, but the fact all my clients over the past two weeks have been male has been a lifesaver.

I adjust the crotch of my jeans as a faint cough sounds at the door. Glancing up from the sketch in front of me, I run my eyes over the enticing physique of Clara standing in my office doorframe. Because she’s driven herself to work the past two weeks, she’s reverted to wearing the body-hugging dresses she used to wear. Today’s dress is a fitted-to-every-single-mouthwatering-curve-of-her-body ensemble. I struggle to ignore my cock’s response to her most days, but today is by far the hardest day I’ve had. She doesn’t merely look downright gorgeous, she looks positively edible. And since I’ve tasted her lips, I know without a doubt her lips taste even better than the sexiness of her dress—one hundred percent.

I drag my eyes away from her cock-twitching body when she questions, “Hey, Brax, can I ask a favor?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Is it all right if I head home a few hours early today?” she asks, her voice hesitant. “I know it is Saturday night, but we’re not as busy as?—”

“It’s fine, Princess,” I interrupt, not requiring further explanation. “I have no problem with you leaving a few hours early.”

I won’t lie, even saying I have no concerns, a stabbing pain is hitting me right in the chest. Even though it should have never been turned on, I can’t flick off the possessive switch Diesel’s interest in Clara instigated. Believe me, I’ve tried. Nothing works. I just really fucking hope her reasoning for leaving early has nothing to with a member of the opposite sex.

“Is everything all right?” I strive to keep my tone neutral. My attempts are borderline.

Clara grins a soft smile while nodding. “Yeah, I’m just moving into a new apartment tomorrow. That’s the reason I need to leave early. I have some loose ends to tie up at my penthouse.”

My brows hit my hairline. The last I heard of Clara’s living situation was that she fought the eviction notice and was staying put in her luxury penthouse on Hyde, so to say I’m shocked by her revelation would be an understatement.

“My new apartment is close to work so it will save me the commute,” she blabbers out, saying anything to ease the staggered expression on my face.

I slouch deeper into my chair, battling the urge to force her to open up to me.

My fight doesn’t last long.

“Who’s helping you move into your new pad?” I ask, deciding to start my meddling with a less nosy question before I move on to the big hitters.

Clara’s throat works hard to swallow before she faintly murmurs. “Umm… me.”

I drop my pencil onto my sketching pad and arch my brow, silently demanding the attention of her fleeing eyes. “Princess,” I grumble, my word as grating as my jaw is clenched.

With a huff, she turns her hard-set eyes to mine. “I don’t have much stuff to move… I’ll be fine,” she assures me.

Her firm stance weakens the more I glare at her, but she maintains her calm approach. Not willing to holster our conversation, I push away from my desk and stand from my chair. The throb of the pulse in her neck speeds up when I stride around my desk to stand in front of her.

“What time is your moving truck arriving tomorrow?” I narrow my eyes into thin slits when a cloud ofdeceit filters over her eyes. “Only someone who is planning on lying takes time to contemplate a response,” I remark, quoting something she’s said to Johnny many times in the past four months.

“Ten o’clock,” she whispers, finally grasping she’s waging a battle she’ll never win.

“I’ll be at your penthouse at eight.”

Not giving her the chance to reply, I head back to my desk to work on a set of sketches I’ve been designing for the past six weeks.

A grin tugs my lips higher when the faint murmur of “Thanks, Brax,” sounds through my ears before my office door closes.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I murmur to myself.

After yanking my sunglasses off my face, I snag my cell phone out of my pocket and check the address Clara texted me earlier. The tick of my jaw increases when I discover the graffiti scrawled on the wall of the derelict apartment building matches the address Clara texted.

My fear that this rundown block of apartments is Clara’s new residence surges when her little beat-up Ford Focus pulls to the curb behind my bike. I grit my teeth together, barely swallowing the string of illicit cuss words dying to break free from my mouth. Not only is Clara’s new crash pad closer to Inked, but it is also in the seediest part of Ravenshoe.

Although Ravenshoe has seen a massive growth in the past three years, the money being pumped into the good half hasn’t spanned this far yet. Broken beer bottles line the gutter, tennis shoes dangle off the power lines, and the sounds of sirens wail in the distance. And don’t even get me started on the condition of the hideously ugly apartment building. If there wasn’t a steel grayAudi parked a few spots up, I would have said Clara was the only thing of value on this entire street.

Clara curls out of her car and saunters to stand next to me. Sheltering her face from the mid-afternoon sun with her hand, her eyes run over the rundown apartment building. Her lips quirk and the scent of fear plagues the air between us. She keeps her shoulders high, endeavoring to ensure me she isn’t rattled by the ghastly sight standing before us.

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