MADDOX
Me: Get your sexy ass out here before I take you over my knee for being late.
I’ve been escorting Tessa to and from work for more than a week, and she has pretty much resigned herself to giving me the silent treatment. But texting? She can’t seem to resist dishing out snark behind the safety of her phone.
Tessa: Is this a drill? Put me in, Sarge. I’m ready to use my gorgeous Karambit knife.
Me: Oh, for that recreational use you mentioned? You’ve got a one-track mind, Lockhart. If you’re trying to get me to come into your apartment and take you roughly on the balcony, I’m sorry. I’m just not that kind of guy.
Tessa: Aww. Poor misjudged and over-sexualized Dracula, who avoids sunlightand threatens to spank his employees with pure intentions.
Me: Employee.
Tessa: You lost me, and you’re making me take longer with this incessant texting.
Me: You are the only employee I have ever threatened to spank.
Tessa: Oh, wow. Why didn’t you say so before? To be owned by you is truly a dream come true. Please, boss, hang that in the break room so everyone is aware of my achievement. I’m so honored.
My laugh slips out louder than I’d like. I can hear her sarcasm, see her turquoise eyes narrowing, and feel the heat she tries to cool, all through the screen. She might think she’s keeping me from getting to know her, but I’m learning more every day. It’s addictive.
Me: You should be. And I’ll tell you exactly what kind of guy I am. If you aren’t out here in thirty seconds, I won’t come in there and take you roughly on the balcony. I’ll drag you down to the lobby, bend you over Harold’s desk, and make you shake and scream until the entire fucking building knows who you belong to.
Baiting her is officially my favorite pastime.
Instead of texting back, she opens her door two minutes later and rolls her beautiful eyes as soon as they land on me. Her twodelicate facial jewels glint with a taunt we both sense. Her chest heaves, but she doesn’t utter a word, depriving me of that sultry rasp she has.
That’s all right. Her face says it all—she hates me, but she wants me. A goddamn fantasy. This is absolutely playing with fire for so many reasons, but consider me a fucking phoenix. Tessa can burn me to ash, and I’ll soar within the sting of the flames.
She’s dressed to kill me. Her long-sleeved black mesh top is veiling a maroon tank and the seductive swell of her breasts. And her high-heeled ankle boots and sheer black tights highlight every curve of her long legs beneath her tiny black leather shorts.
Dear fuck.
The thought of other men ogling her has a murderous ire coursing through my veins. I’ll be glued to the security cameras all day, keeping tabs on her. Ready to maim anyone who gets too close.
The more she shuts me out, the more my stalkerish tendencies come to life. I might want to talk to someone about that. My first choice is Ryker. He’d back me up.
She locks her door and struts down the hall, affording me a perfect view of that sexy ass I offered to spank, her piña colada scent wafting behind her.
When we step into the elevator, I hand her the chai latte I got for her. I’ve brought her one every time I picked her up. She’s ruffled that I know her morning beverage of choice, but she can’t deny herself. And every sip she takes makes me want to pump my fist in triumph.
As we plod through the lobby, I wave to my second favorite security guard. “Hey, Mike, if I ever need your desk—”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Noire. For anything you need.”
I chuckle when Tessa’s jaw locks before dipping my chin to Mike. “You’re a good man. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
As I hold the door open for her, I lean in close enough that she’ll feel my words flow over her skin. “Looks like we’re covered, even if Harold isn’t on duty.”
She wants to snap at me, but opts for another swill of her chai latte, to which I smile. Sweet victory.
This girl isn’t as locked down as she portrays. It just requires a little finesse to get her to open up. No idea why I fucking care. I’m sure it’s simply my tendency to celebrate the small stuff. And I’m fed up with her silent treatment.
“Over here.” I point to my cherry-red Maserati GranTurismo when she sashays past it. And that’s what finally breaks her.
“Is there a reason you pick me up in a different vehicle each day?”
Jesus, that voice. It’s a bit more youthful than you’d expect from someone who avoids giggling like it’s a one-way ticket to a clown museum, but it’s still filled with strength. And the more she makes me work for it, the more I crave every sound she utters. Maybe that’s her game.
