Kenji wasn’t hearing a damn word from him.
His attention was pinned on me.
Those dark eyes roamed my body. From the sheer white blouse, to the skirt that hugged my curves, down my legs, to the red heels—and thenback up, slow as sin.
I was still far away but I could feel hot lust pouring off him in earth-shattering waves.
My skin prickled under the weight of it.
Kenji shifted, like he was about to move. Like the weight of staying still was too much. But then he stopped himself. Muscles coiled. Desire caged. The Dragon didn’t move—but I knew he wanted to. Every inch of him burned with it.
And then I saw the man to his left.
Oh. That’s Lollipop guy.
I remembered him from when I first met Kenji. Lollipop guy had watched me as I raced away after kneeing Kenji in the balls. Tonight, Lollipop guy leaned against the desk, watching me with a lazy, unreadable expression. His mouth was curled around the stick of a blood-red lollipop.
And when our eyes met?
He slid the candy from his mouth in one slow pull, smirked at me, then leaned toward Kenji with a low whisper I didn’t catch—but it made Kenji loudly growl, triggering some of the other men around him to look his way.
Welcome to the war room, Nyomi. The rules just changed. And every man in this chamber knows it. But. . .can you make it worth it?
Chapter twenty-four
An Erotic Tennis Match
Nyomi
As I continued forward, noise erupted from the back of the war room.
What the fuck?!
I glanced behind me. The door was still open with Reo in the center, now blocking the maybe-baby mama and her court from coming in.
Oh shit. That’s still happening?
Reo’s voice tore through the air in sharp, rapid-fire Japanese. Low at first—controlled, clipped—but with that undercurrent of danger I’d heard before in Kenji.
A warning wrapped in restraint.
Then the maybe-baby mama shrieked something back. Her voice pitched like broken glass, and her royal court leapt into thefray, tossing words here and there and pointing fingers in my direction.
Oh this is getting out of hand.
It was a swirl of high voices, dramatic gasps, and offended huffs.
Messy.
Operatic.
And loud enough that many of the men inside the war room actually looked up from their work.
One man near the far corner—tall, scarred, with a gun resting across his thigh—let out an audible sigh and shook his head like he couldn’t believe the drama that was happening.
Another muttered under his breath in Japanese, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it with more attitude than need.
They must be talking some major hot shit about my being in here. Good. That’s what they get fucking with me. She started it. I had planned to keep it classy.
