Page 34 of Enticing My Off Limits Billionaire

I want him more than I've ever wanted anyone else.

"Quinn," I rasp. "Fuck me. Please."

And I guess that's a bridge too far.

Because he's suddenly pushing me away from him, standing up, taking me in his arms just to place me on my feet.

"You need to go," he says. "I can't...Madison, I can't do this."

"I don't understand," I whisper.

"You're too young...and you're too important."

"What?"

"I can't just...I can't be that guy," he says. "The guy who screws his friend's daughter. I won't be that guy."

I frown, sitting back in the chair. I put a hand to my forehead. "You're not," I say. "I mean, yes—I'm younger than you. But I'm an adult, and I want you. I'm fully sober, and I am telling you that I want you."

He doesn't look at me.

"I'll call you a cab," he says. "And I'll see you at my office for our team meeting on Monday."

He pours himself a new cup of coffee, keeping his back to me. My purse is on the table, and I snatch it up and sling it over my shoulder, reaching for my cell phone. It's only got a sliver of battery—but I don't care.

"I'll call my own fucking cab," I hiss. "See you on Monday."

Then I storm out of his apartment, slamming the door behind me.

Quinn won't screw his friend's daughter...but my dad was all too happy to screw his daughter's friend. And that really, really hurts.

But I think what hurts most of all is that Quinn believes this is all a revenge plot when I actually think I'm falling in love.

Chapter eleven

Quinn

OurmeetingisonMonday evening...which doesn't give me nearly enough time to forget about what happened with Madison.

The whole weekend, all I could think about was the way her lips felt against mine—the way she moved her hips, the way she touched me, the way she talked. I can't sit at my fucking dining table without falling into a borderline pornographic daydream, and the star is my best friend's kid.

It's wrong, I know that.

And I want more.

I'm just as frustrated when I head to my office on Monday afternoon, having reserved the conference room at the collective for me, Madison, Delia, and Ryan. It's an ample space in the middle of the collective's warehouse, with windows for walls, but at least soundproof. There's art plastered all over the windows, a big table at the center, and mismatched chairs all around the table.

Delia is the first to arrive, as I should have known—she's always been punctual. I'm sitting at the head of the table with all of our contracts drawn up and prepared for signing, a few other pieces of necessary paperwork with copies for everyone. I wordlessly give her a stack of papers as she sits down at my left, regarding me with narrowed eyes.

I finally look up at her with a sigh. "Can I help you?"

She huffs out a laugh. "Called it."

I groan and roll my eyes. "Called what, Delia?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

I open my mouth to argue with her, but Ryan comes through the door a second later, raising a hand in greeting. "Sorry I'm late," he says. "Something came up."

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