Page 36 of Savage Promises

Christ, my clit throbs at the idea of Shane lifting my skirt and slapping my ass. I have to stop thinking of him doing things like that to me.

On shaky legs, I walk over to one of the stools the architect set up earlier to review the financial paperwork. I sit back and cross my legs, catching Shane’s eyes following the skirt riding up my thigh.

I swear, it’s the best thrill I’ve had in a year. “I’m sitting.”

Shane’s jaw jumps. “Good girl.”

From a thick brown paper bag with twine handles, he removes a Styrofoam container. The name on the bag makes my heart pound.

“Yuli’s?” I ask, going breathless.

“It’s your favorite, isn’t it?”

I rack my brain, trying to figure out if I ever mentioned it. Yuli’s corned beef is legendary.

“It’s everyone’s favorite. InEdison, New Jersey!” I touch the container and get a thrill at the warmth. “Did they open a deli here in the city?”

“No.” Shane takes out napkins and makes up place settings.

When I see two containers, I say, “Oh, were you doing business in Edison, stopped there, and...what? They gave you an extra sandwich?”

Shane stares at me while he keeps setting up lunch for us. “No. No. And no. I went there specifically to get this for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, even though the heavenly smell is making my mouth water.

Pursing his lips, Shane takes out his phone. “This is yours, right?”

My eyes bulge out of my head seeing my fitness app. Onhisphone. “You hacked my fitness app?”

“Aye. You’ve dropped three pounds in five days.” Something most men would celebrate on a curvy girl. Shane takes offense to it.

“That is an insane invasion of privacy.” I reach for his phone but he holds it above his head like we’re kids again playing keep away.

I’m tempted to tackle him, but what if he lets me?

When I retreat, he sticks the phone inside his suit jacket’s inner pocket. “It’s quite proper.”

“I’m not above frisking you, Quinlan.” I just want to run my hands down those planes of abs I see shadowed under his tight dress shirt.

A spark flickers in his eyes. His jaw trembles, dying to take the bait.

“You’re my fiancée’s sister, and you’re unmarried.” He throws the ugly reality at me. “That makes you my responsibility.”

“In eighteenth century, England,Anthony Bridgerton.”

His eyebrows pinch together as he removes his suit jacket. “Who?”

I roll my eyes. “Ye old London?”

“I don’t think that’s an official time period.” He pushes the sandwich toward me. “Eat, or I hold you down and feed you.”

My hands stop midway to the sandwich, my eyes floating to his. I’d like him to feed me, but instead, I just smirk and say, “You’re impossible.”

“Just you wait,” he whispers, folding his arms. “If you don’t eat, I don’t eat.”

“You win.” I bite into the sandwich and mumble, “I’m so glad this place is in another state.”

“Not a problem when you take a helicopter.”

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