Page 94 of Her Filthy Reverse Harem Romance Collection

I wrap my arms around Stefan’s neck and hold him. Together he and Maksym feed the fire inside me with their slowing pumps.

Beside us, Tomas frees my vision. He turns my head in his direction. “My nikogda tebya ne otpustim,” he whispers to me before stealing my breath with a kiss.

I only wish I knew what he meant.

India

Three blistering weeks later I toe my heels off and lean into the plush leather of my father’s office chair.

Since kindergarten and my color-by-number days, I always considered this spot magical, and right now I can use all the mojo, juju, woo woo—whatever—I can get. Anything to help me finish this damn code and get on with my life.

I rub at the throbbing pulse in my temples, knowing another migraine is on the way. I think I’m going on three hours straight staring at this damn screen.

I tap at a couple of keys and my eyes unfocus. All I can do is just sit here.

Growing up, my father would pass hours in this very chair, fingers steepled in front of him as he searched and worked to resolve one issue or another. Come to think of it, I’m certain I am the cause behind a lot of time he spends here to this day. Raising a daughter while building and operating a multi-million-dollar security company couldn’t have been easy.

For years I was convinced this chair gave him magical powers to see into the future, but right now I wish it would heal a broken heart. I change from rubbing my temples to pressing a palm over my chest.

I would do close to anything right this minute for that childhood fantasy to be true. Three weeks without them feels like an eternity in hell. I huff. Well, I totally understand that freaking cliched saying now. Not that it is worth anything. After a light dinner in my tiny kitchen, we returned to my bedroom for the sweetest lovemaking and I fell asleep pressed between all three. Sometime later I woke to find the bed empty and a text message on my phone asking for a date that night.

Ending our relationship over text isn’t exactly how I wanted it to end, but a modern version of a Dear John letter ended my connection with the three mafia men. If I had allowed us one more night I wouldn’t have had the strength to walk.

And I’ve regretted it ever since. There was no reply, just pure undisturbed radio silence. Like a total blackout.

I let out a sigh. Could I have been any bigger of an ass?

I got what I wanted, though, right? A complete severing of ties so no one found out my deep, dark secret?

“Focus, India. Get your head together al-fucking-ready.” I eyeball my laptop’s screen, which is filled with the source code for the security software I created.

I waffle on that idea. Better statedwill havecreated if I can ever finish.

Hence the need for some additional brainpower.

The final layer of heuristics should have been finished long before now and I’m starting to believe I’ll never resolve the issues. Which can’t happen.

I measure out a hearty handful of Tic Tacs and toss back the tiny mints all at once and consider my next steps.

Once I lock down the coding the simulations tests across multiple mobile devices can happen and that’s just the beginning. I only hope I’ve been able to code the operating system in a language that can be understood across the sphere of devices it’s meant for in the end.

A problem for another day.

“What’s the point of security software if it’s hackable?” I mumble to myself and scribble a new line of coding on a sheet of paper. I don’t want to make any changes before I can test my last changes, so I take notes.

If I manage what I set out to do with the original idea my brother created before he died, this software will be the next big thing in the tech world. Everyone from banks to automotive companies to the freaking Pentagon will want it as part of their arsenal as an impenetrable shield of protection against every shade of hacker looking to create havoc.

This software is capable of generating millions for the right people and, in turn, me. Then I’ll no longer be under the scrutiny of my father’s judgment. Then maybe when that day comes, I can break off and create my own company and no longer be controlled by the Cambridge name and have an endless source of funds to open a foundation in my brother’s name.

When all that comes about, I will have kept my promise.

Before the usual unbidden thoughts of my brother can take over my mind a small window pops up on my screen blocking my work, and the familiar smiling face of my best friend beams back at me.

“Holy shit, India, you look hot.”

Piper presses her face close to the screen and gives a low wolf whistle in appreciation of the way my dress hugs the contours of my full bust.

“You mean I look like a hooker. An expensive one but still…a hooker. Like Julia Roberts inPretty Womanif she had her dad’s black credit card from the beginning.”

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