Page 41 of Arrogant Bastard

“So…”

His eyebrows waggle. “You stick with me and it’ll be green lights all the way, baby.”

What the fuck? “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”

His smile evaporates, and iron-willed Killian is back. “So is tampering with CCTV cameras, but I’m absolutely sure I want you off the streets pretty fucking damn quick. If the cost of that is a few hundred people being three minutes late to wherever they’re headed, I’m completely okay with that.”

We make it to Gramercy Park in less than twenty minutes. I’m thinking this is what heads of state must feel like when traffic stops for them as I get out and walk into my apartment building. It may have been illegal, but shit, I could get used to it very fast. I don’t tell Killian though. He’ll probably gift wrap the algorithm for me in ten seconds.

And what’s wrong that? a tiny, mildly exasperated voice asks.

A hundred different reasons. I’m reminding myself of what those reasons are when I approach the door to my apartment. Before I can insert my key, Killian’s arm slides around my waist and pulls me back into his body.

“Hang tight for a second,” he says. “Can I have your key?”

I want to refuse, but Mitch and Linc are standing in front of my door. And I get the feeling I won’t be let through it until Killian does whatever security check he intends to do. I hand over the key. When they disappear inside, I step away from Killian.

“I have my own security, you know.”

He nods, but his eyes remain in the doorway. The two bodyguards return a couple of minutes later. “All clear.”

I purse my lips and refrain from saying what’s on my mind as they position themselves on either side of my front door. We enter, and I’m shutting the door behind me when Killian inhales sharply.

“Jesus. What the fuck is that?”

Chapter Twelve

Killian

There’s a pole in the middle of her living room. One that looks uncannily like…Shit. I can’t get my mind around it. Raw, carnal images war with unwanted scenarios in my brain. I drag my gaze from the solid steel column to where she’s standing. Pink heat creeps into her face. But still she’s fierce as she replies, “Exactly what it looks like.”

A stripper pole. Fuck me. “Why?” I hear the gravel roughness of my voice, caused by arousal and suspicion, and I’m not even a little bit ashamed of either.

“Because I wanted one.” Her voice suggests that’s the end of the conversation.

Except it so isn’t. Unless she wants me to go apeshit. Which I’m half a second from unleashing. “Faith…”

Something in my tone must alert her to the paper-thin veneer I have over my control. Or it’s my use of her name. The name she seems to now detest.

Her gaze meets mine for a second before it slides away. “I was trying a few things after I moved in to keep me from going stir-crazy. I couldn’t go running or join a gym. The sounds of a treadmill drove my elderly neighbor nuts, so I had to come up with something else. The pole seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s grown on me.”

The red haze recedes, and impure thoughts rush to the fore. I turn back around and stare at the pole, picture her sliding against it. My cock responds eagerly.

“Don’t get any ideas, Knight,” she snaps.

“Too fucking late, baby,” I reply, but I still can’t look away from the pole. God, I’d kill to have her dance for me right now.

I glance over at her. She shakes her head definitively, muttering under her breath before heading for a short hallway. A moment later, a door slams. My very turned-on attention returns to the pole, and my imagination runs wild with what I could do to her against it. Hell, what she could do to me. Her super-toned body is perfect for it. My hand sneaks over my crotch, and I touch myself with all the finesse of a virgin nerd. I pinch the head of my cock in the vain hope of stopping this killer hard-on that feels like it’s going to slay me, but all I can think of is Faith with her legs wrapped around the steel pole or hanging upside down from the top while taking me into her mouth and sucking me off.

Sweet Christ.

I whirl away before I do something really uncool, like come in my pants. I take a deep breath and properly take in the rest of her apartment. My raging erection throttles back as I look at her things, as I stare at the space she’s lived in for four years without me.

I still don’t really know why she fled from me after the nightmare in Cairo. But in the light of our immediate problem, I have to let things lie for now. But that conversation is coming. Soon.

Besides a very comfortable-looking set of sofas and a stylish rug, there’s the usual TV and entertainment center, a couple of potted plants, scented candles, a wool throw, and a bookcase filled from top to bottom with spy novels. Wait, not all. I spot a book of erotica, and my eyebrows spike. I shouldn’t really touch it. I shouldn’t…

I’m flicking through the book for the third time when I hear the click of heels behind me. I place a finger in the well-thumbed page on multiple orgasms and turn around.

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