Page 20 of Ghost of a Chance
As for Hector and Morty,shit, they probably already know.Lionel glanced at his phone. There weren’t any messages, so clearly, they were celebrating with Brad, forgetting the other half of the mating equation.
Lionel stopped swinging his chair, his eyes widening.What if Brad didn’t tell them?He looked from one side to the other of his office. There were no answers written on the wall.How would I even know if he did or not?It’s not like he could actually hear Brad’s thoughts when there was a big distance between them. Even so, the thought made Lionel feel a bit edgy.
I could go in and see him for lunch, he considered. Except then he realized that would be weird too. Lionel only had an excuse to go into the bakery—a source of food. Morty would surely jump on him, demanding to know about the ghost hunting disaster, and Hector wouldn’t even be there. With the renovations going on and being so noisy, Hector had to work at his own house.
Lionel glanced at the computer screen, seeing it was just after ten.I could go and see Hector.But then again, there wasn’t a lotof point in doing that, either.It’s not like I need claiming advice. I’ve done that bit.
Swinging his chair again, Lionel mentally ticked off the events he’d done since they’d woken up to that damn alarm clock.
Yes, he had bitten Brad again. He wanted everybody to know that Brad had mated when he went to work.
Brad had bitten him. Lionel reached up and touched the scar.Such cute little teeth.He smiled just thinking about it. There were no obvious reasons for him to be on edge. And it was him feeling that way, not his lion. If there were an issue with Brad, then his lion would shake its mane, roaring loud enough to rattle the ceilings and head for the bakery, knocking over anyone who got in its way.
So, it wasn’t that. Lionel tried some deep-breathing exercises. In through the nose, hold for a three count, out through the mouth. He did it twice more. The agitated jumble in his head and gut was still there.
Is this a sex thing?Lionel wasn’t sure it was the best idea to be thinking about sex while he was still in the office, especially when his receptionist, Jasmine, was sitting at her desk just outside his door. She would be horrified if she knew he was thinking about inappropriate-for-work topics, and Lionel had already filled his laughingstock quota for the week.
There was absolutely nothing wrong with the sex they’d shared. It was amazing. Awesome. The éclair business had thrown him for all of two seconds, simply because it was unexpected, but Lionel wasn’t unhappy about it—quite the opposite. He’d lost track of how many times he’d orgasmed, and he’d made sure that Brad did too, every single time.
They hadn’t donethat. And thinking about it in the cold light of day, Lionel wondered why—not that he worried much either way. It was just that was what most couples did when they claimed each other.
He glanced over at his distorted glass office door. Jasmine was busy typing something.
I don’t know if he’s a bottomor, at the very least, versatile. I don’t even know if he enjoys anal sex. Not all men do. He seemed perfectly happy with everything we did together. Do we even have to do that to be mated?
Reaching up, Lionel touched the side of his temple. No, the buzzing in the back of his head was still there. They were mated. Lionel remembered he’d heard Brad talking to his poodle that morning about him being brazen.That’s kind of cute, too. It’s nothing to worry about,he decided. Absolutely nothing.
Hector and Morty didn’t have sex at all for the first couple of times they went out—the night of the dance event and then the dinner date Hector took Morty on the following night. It wasn’t until the third night, when Hector had turned up at the bakery in a hired limo, that they ended up getting hot and sweaty between the sheets.
Whereas we were in bed within hours of Brad turning up with éclairs and pies.Lionel’s cock twitched and then twinged. He stopped the swinging and rolled his chair back under his desk again.Stop thinking about it. Brad’s got work to do, and so have I. I’ll see him after work, I’m sure.
Lionel already knew that Hector and Morty both adored Brad and really respected what he was getting done.Me bumbling in there, stepping among the dust and wood shavings in my suit is going to look really out of place, and I’ll probably embarrass the hell out of Brad when he’s got to work with his crews. I’ll focus on work. Focus. On. Work.
He'd barely looked at his pile of papers when there was a light tap on the door. Jasmine opened it, sticking her head through it.
“Hi, Mr. Lionel, your ten-thirty appointment is here.”
“I didn’t realize I had any appointments today.” Lionel reached over and clicked on his calendar, seeing it empty.
“It was meant to be for yesterday,” Jasmine said with a wide smile, “but if you remember, you asked me to reschedule those appointments, and one of them could come in today. I couldn’t access your calendar, but I left you a note among your papers this morning.”
Lionel looked down at the neglected pile in front of him. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful. If you could show in…” he trailed off, hoping Jasmine would fill in the blanks.
“Mr. and Miss Pennington.” Jasmine turned back to the outer office. “Mr. Lionel will see you both now. Did you want me to make a refreshments tray, sir?”
“No need.” Lionel winced as Pennington’s booming voice got closer. “I’m sure we’ll all adjourn somewhere more suitable for lunch shortly. Lionel, you young cub. We haven’t seen you in far too long.” Hugh Pennington and his daughter Cassandra strode into the office, and suddenly all the air in the room disappeared.
“Please, take a seat.” Lionel couldn’t stand, his legs had turned to jelly, so he just waved at the empty chairs. His belly had morphed into a lump of lead, and his agitation suddenly made sense. As his lion stirred, wary and watching through Lionel’s eyes, all he could think was,this is not going to be good.
Chapter Twelve
Brad
Brad collected all the paperwork he’d put into different folders to take to his family home for the monthly meeting with the accountant, aka his mom. Since Dad had stepped down—in essence, just not in reality—he continued to keep his finger on the pulse. These monthly meetings were a part of that, where Brad brought with him the accounts and all work schedules that were ongoing.
Dad trusted him, Brad knew this, except it appeared tough for his old man to let go fully, though the meetings at least wereno longer weekly. Brad was working up to suggesting they go quarterly today. Except his mind had been more on what Lionel was up to.
Mid-morning he’d got a sense of unease, so he’d rung the mobile number Lionel had given him to see if things were okay, only for it to go to voicemail. Brad hated talking to a machine, so he’d not left a message, his intention was to ring back. Only that hadn’t happened when one of their subcontractors for the electrical wiring of the basement had not checked the circuit board to determine maximum voltage capacity and had blown the electrics in the entire building.
