Nik would have loved it.
I swallow hard and grit my jaw into a vise. I stand by what I said. I don’t want the kid racing. If he can flip cars like that, he doesn’t need race money to do okay. None of them need to do anything to be okay. Because, between the way Amara is slowly weaving her way into every aspect of my world and the obvious threat my life has on their family, I don’t plan on them ever needing to take care of themselves by their own means again.
I meant what I said when I told Amara she belongs to me. It wasn’t just bedroom talk. And if she belongs to me, so do they. Just in a different way. They are my responsibility now, and as far as I am concerned, if anyone tries to mess with them, they’re dead.
No exceptions.
42
AMARA
“Mr. Rozanov, I’m not sure this is appropriate workplace behavior,” I tell Ransome. His hand is up the back of my skirt, firmly gripping my ass, which is mostly bare thanks to the cheeky panties underneath. Luckily, we are standing in his office, though the door isn’t closed. Anyone could walk in on us.
He would love that.
“Really?” he asks, his voice low and gritty. “Are you going to report me?”
“I could,” I tease and lean my body into him. “Or you could convince me to keep it a secret.”
“Oh? And what kind of gag order would that take?” he asks, and the very idea of what he’s insinuating makes my pussy throb with the fantasy of what it can’t have.
“Let’s start with you not saying the wordgagat work.”
“Is that all?” His hand travels down my ass as his fingers find their way under the lace elastic, until there is nothing between his finger and my opening.
“Perhaps you should get creative in convincing me,” I whisper.
“Well, the way I see it, you can’t tell on me if you’re too busy moaning my name.”
With that, he slips his finger inside me. I gasp, then bite his shoulder to make sure no one else can hear our agreement.
“You’re getting my shirt wet,” he says.
“You’re getting the floor wet,” I tell him, and he chuckles before pulling his finger out and letting go of me, jarring my balance and ability to think straight.
Ransome makes his way over to his schedule and his coffee. So much for our normal morning salutations. “So what’s on the docket today, Miss Parker?” he asks after a sip of his coffee.
“You have a meeting with Saad Khalid at nine, a call with Goodyear at ten-fifteen, a pre-lunch meeting with?—”
“I meant for you,” he cuts me off, and I stop.
“What about me?”
“Well, I don’t expect you to stay here all night. What are your plans after work?”
“You mean I get to clock out today?” I joke, and he shoots me a look. But it’s a slightly, almost undetectably amused look, and I love it. Two weeks ago, those looks were unheard of.
“Do I not treat you well, Miss Parker?”
“You treat me just fine,” I say.
“Do I need to remind you just how well I treat you, Miss Parker? In the closet, perhaps?”
“Do I need to remind you that you have extra sets of clothes here and I do not? And while people talking about us is part of the fulfillment of our contract, having people talk about me looking disheveled at the workplace is probably not what is being described in the fine print.”
A small snort escapes his throat. I decide to answer the original question before either of us get into trouble.
“I am going to go see my siblings,” I say. “I’ve been making a point of spending more time with them recently.”
