Pissed or not, I can’t help worrying.
When I brake at the red light just a block away from the Cypress, I think I spy a G-Wagen in my rearview mirror.
Relief washes over me.
Good. His nose is still attached to that pretty chiseled face.
That’s something.
When the light turns green, I gun it.
I’m not prepared to face Kellin yet. I shiver when I realize he’s okay but chalk that reaction up to my raging hormones.
My heart’s in tatters at the discovery of him going behind my back.
I can’t predict when I’ll heal from that betrayal. Or if.
I park and head straight for the lobby.
His Mercedes screeches to a halt behind me.
A door slams. “Maeve?—”
I dart into the lobby, turn right, and beeline down the hall, hustling to prevent him from trapping me outside the elevators.
He’s hot on my heels.
“Maeve, talk to me. Please.”
While I’m a fast walker, I’m in stilettos, so one of his strides equals two of mine. Bastard.
As I hurry past the chair room—debating on whether to kick off my shoes and sprint—my emotions shift.
I spin and plow straight into him.
Grabbing his hand, I yank him inside the room.
“Maeve, what are we doing?”
It’s dark and cold in here.
Screw it.
I shove him against a wall, and he raises his palms. “Please, Maeve, I don’t want to?—”
I toss my purse, release my ponytail, drop to my knees, and unzip his pants.
My phone rings, or at least I think it does, but I ignore the distraction in favor of hooking my hands inside his briefs.
His pupils dilate. “What are you?—”
I glare up at him. “Want me to change my mind? If so, keep talking.”
His mouth snaps shut as I slide his briefs down to release his cock.
He’s already hard.
Of course he is.
