Page 3 of Faking It with the Enforcer

Mike owes me. Big time.

I grump silently all the way up to my penthouse, arms crossed over my chest, my jaw tight. The elevator doors slide open silently and I step into the small foyer that leads to my apartment. Unlocking the door with another tap of my card, I suck in a deep breath and then step inside, ready to plaster a smile on my face.

I don’t think she hears my steps as I move into the main living area. She’s too focused on drinking in the cityscape through the floor to ceiling windows.

Which is fine with me, because I’m focused entirely onher.

Two

Wolf

Emily David is tiny. Five foot nothing, with the most impeccable posture I’ve ever seen. Her hair is a fiery reddish-orange, and it’s piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s wearing black leggings a gray sweatshirt that’s slipped down over one shoulder to reveal pale, creamy skin covered in a galaxy’s worth of freckles.

“Emily?” I say, and she startles, turning around quickly with a hand pressed to her chest.

“Oh my god, you startled me!” she says, and as our eyes meet for the first time, my world tilts on its axis.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ. Emily David is beautiful. She’s ethereal. Like an angel. Like a fairy, or a goddess.

Huge green eyes the color of emeralds blink at me, and more of those freckles dot her face—her forehead, her nose, her cheeks. Her nose is small and upturned, her lips full and rosy. She sucks in a little breath and her cheeks turn the most delicious shade of pink.

I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning. My brain has shorted out, my nerve endings are going haywire, and I can’t move. I’m rooted to the spot, glued in place by the electricity crackling through my body.

I can’t stop staring. I want to drown in her eyes. I want to count her freckles with my mouth.

She takes another breath, her pretty pink lips parted slightly, her eyes locked on me.

My heart hammers in my chest as I sweep my gaze down her body. She’s so small and delicate. I could probably wrap my huge hands around her waist and have my fingers touch. She shifts slightly, making her sweatshirt droop down a little more, and my attention is pulled to that swath of freckled, creamy skin.

I want to taste that skin. I want to see if it’s as soft as it looks. I want to smell her. I bet she smells delicious.

I bet she smells delicious?What the actual fuck is happening right now? And what the hell is wrong with me? This is Mike’s little sister. She’s nineteen, for Christ’s sake.Nine-fucking-teen. She’s a kid. Barely out of high school.

But she doesn’t look like a kid. She looks like a goddamn fairy princess, all ethereal and glowing and too fucking beautiful to be real.

“Hi,” she says, her soft voice coming out all breathy, her cheeks turning that fantastic shade of pink again. She tucks a tendril of fiery hair that’s escaped from her bun behind her ear, and I track the movement, my eyes drawn to the graceful curve of her neck.

“Hey,” I manage, and my voice comes out like a growl. I sound like I’ve just run a marathon, like I’ve been at a concert and shouting for hours.

Her eyes widen slightly at my gruff tone and I go a little lightheaded at how quickly all of the blood in my body flows straight to my cock. It takes only seconds before I’m achingly,painfully hard. I shift my stance, trying to adjust myself discreetly, but her eyes flick down, and then back up, her blush deepening and spreading, all the way up to her hairline and down to her collarbone.

Fuck. I think she noticed.

“You…” she licks her lips and shakes her head, as though trying to think clearly. Maybe this fog of lust I’m feeling isn’t one sided.

A guy can hope, anyway.

“You must be Wolf,” she says, and fuck me, but her voice is soft and sweet. It rolls over me like honey dripping from a spoon.

I have the sudden, visceral urge to hear that voice moaning my name. Screaming it. Begging and whimpering as I make an absolute mess of her.

Christ, I’m going to hell. And I’ll probably arrive soon, given that Mike will strangle me with his bare hands if I lay a finger on his little sister.

“Yeah,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. I’m sweating. My palms are damp. My heart is racing. Am I about to have a heart attack? A stroke? Because I feel all kinds of fucked up right now. “And you must be Emily.” I love the feeling of her name on my tongue. The way saying it feels like coming home, somehow.

She nods, tucking that stray strand of hair behind her ear again. She’s nervous.

I make her nervous.

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