Page 17 of Forbidden Eyes

“Might as well start talking to her now. She's into chemistry. Ivy League shit. Clever. Never know, you might learn something. It's a long journey if you don’t speak, so get moving and keep it clean.”

Fuck.

I spin out of the room and head to the pool house, part annoyed with myself for not telling him to go screw himself. Stupid damn plan. And now what? I’ve got to talk to her about life and all that comes with it? Business is one thing. I can manage that, but babysitting Logan through life is bad enough. Doing it for a woman who happens to be sexy as fuck was not on my agenda for today. Still, it’s not like I’m gonna act on the thoughts my dick is having. For a start, stupid. And secondly, if Vico ever found out he’d kill me, probably after Quinn cut my dick clean off.

My fingers snatch a croissant from the kitchen as I go through it, and I chomp on it until I hit the back access to the pool. Jesus. Of all the stupid ass ideas. This has to be the dumbest goddamned plan I have ever heard of.

The heat of the room hits me the second I step through the door, chlorine filtering into my nose. I look down through the changing space, searching for her without looking too hard.

“Sofia?” I call. Nothing.

She’s nowhere to be seen so I turn back around and walk towards the actual pool. The light blue water offers me nothing but a few ripples either. The hell is she? Perhaps she’s already left. I go to leave, walking back into the changing space, then hear a small splash. My feet halt, and I hover in the shadows to look back.

Fuck.

That is not fair on a man’s dick at all.

I creep back further into the dark as her head and shoulders break through the surface of the water, watching her hands slicking back her hair as she begins to climb the wide, white steps out of the pool. It’s fucking obscene. Tight everything, including the thighs I refuse to look at. My eyes drift over her top half, tongue running over my lips because of the dark blue scrap of material masquerading as a bikini. Droplets cascade down her bronzed skin, rivulets of water running to places I shouldn’t damn well be looking at.

My dick wakes up at the same time as my heart rate, making me look straight at firm, pert breasts and nipples on display beneath the thin material. The vision forces my gaze lower, too low, watching the water as it grazes across her toned stomach. Bikini line. Hips. It's cover model territory. Damn near pornographic. And my mind starts running a million ideas that consume any rational thoughts I should be hanging onto.

I hitch my dick and back the hell away to leave before I do anything more stupid than I already am doing, shaking my head at myself, and then I remember that I’ve got to speak to her about Miami.

Shit.

What did Quinn say about fortitude? I need some of that. I knock my head with my hand, attempting to rid my thoughts of the corruption I’m imagining. Vico’s daughter. Twenty at the most. Too young. Still, my dick likes the thought. I look at it, a small chuckle leaving me. I’m a sick man.

And a dead one if I keep thinking like this.

Although, I’m only thinking. Can’t stop a guy thinking when someone that appealing is right in front of him. She is fine as fuck. Her face was hard enough to avoid looking at in the office. Having all her skin on display for me, wet and making me think of heated nights and sweat is unreasonable for any sensible thought.

“Hey?”

Jesus, was that her?

I turn in the shadows and reach for a robe, hoping she’ll put it on, so I don’t have to try to keep my eyes on her face. “Robe,” I state, holding it out for her.

She looks at the ground and hovers, her fingers reaching for it. “Thank you.”

I nod and emerge into the light, looking out into the garden rather than chancing looking at her again.

“Quinn wants you to come to Miami with me. You need to pack.”

“He does? Why?”

“Business.”

That’s all I’ve got. I don’t want a discussion at the moment. My dick’s still being difficult. She smells like a treat I can’t refuse. And the thought of ripping that robe from her skin and devouring every inch of her is too tempting to contend with. I start to walk off through the pool house into the garden, then remember she needs to know when we leave. “Be ready at ten in the morning. I’ll drive us to the plane. We’ll be gone a couple of days at most.”

Done. No other conversation necessary. I’ll go back to my place. Probably jack off. And then wrap my hands because I need to beat the crap out of something to stop my thoughts from running away.

Good plan.

Easy.

“Carter?” Fuck me that sounded good. Crystal clear, sweet as fuck the way she draws out the C at the start.

I don’t stop, though. Not even when I hear her squealing for some reason. I keep moving until I hit the gravel over to my house, sweeping the jacket from my shoulders and tugging at my tie. I’m hot. Fucking summer heat. And I’m dizzy. Perhaps I just need food. When did I last inject? This morning. Food? Croissant. Ten minutes ago.

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