“I don’t share. My girl or myself. I’m a really selfish man, Yellow Crayon. There’s only one woman I want.”
She smirks and points at her chest. “Me, right?”
Kissing her, I chuckle. “Only you. Most of our guys are on a run, so there’s only a handful of us left back. I made sure I’m one of them because this is my mess, and it’s my girl being threatened.”
“So why do you have to go to the brothel?”
“Because I know Ryan and my father. They won’t hesitate to target our businesses once I’ve stopped them getting to you. The tattoo parlor, pawn shop, and gym have people who can take care of themselves, but I cannot let our girls get hurt because of my family.”
Frowning, she nods. “I can’t really argue with that.”
“It’s not their fault I come from pure fucking evil.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“As long as I have to be, but I’ll make it as quick as possible. Then I plan to come back here and sit my ass in this store until you close up.”
“You don’t have to do that—”
“And then, when you’re done and Sarah’s gone, I plan to make that idea of eating my favorite dessert right here on this table a reality.”
A flush spreads across her cheeks and down her neck, and she bites her lower lip. Nodding, she smiles.
“Only you, Yellow Crayon,” I whisper after kissing her.
“Only me,” she says with a happy little sigh.
“Keep this door locked, okay? No risks.”
“So bossy.”
Winking, I open the door. “You have no idea.”
“I think I might.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And don’t think you’re getting out of what I have planned.”
“Can’t wait.”
Me neither, baby. Me neither.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Phoebe
Tucker never made it back to the bakery, and I have to admit, my curiosity about what he’s doing at a brothel borders on jealousy. I want to see the woman who had him before I did.
And I need to hear her tell me she understands that whatever it is they had before is over. That she’s not in love with him like I am. Because I’m not certain I can compete with a professional lover.
I walk into Velvet Desire, and it’s nothing like I expect. For some reason, I imagined it as some type of seedy motel where grungy looking guys walk in, their white wifebeaters stained from sweat and beer, reeking of body odor as they take scantily clad women into rooms with sticky floors. This is nothing like that.
In fact, it’s elegant. Red velvet draperies and couches with deep mahogany leather chairs adorn the lobby where a desk and a busty redhead stand. The lights are dimmed with an overall essence of sensuality. And the air smells citrusy. Not cleaning-product citrus, but seductive.
I’m not sure if it makes me feel better or worse.
“Sorry, Sunshine, we’re not hiring right now, but I do know of a biker in the office who would give his left arm to devour you,” the woman says.
My eyes follow her as she walks around the desk, and I have to remind myself not to gape. She wears a strapless dress that ends barely below her butt—a very large, luscious butt—and it has to be made of some sort of spandex considering how tight it is. She has large breasts, a small waist, wide hips, and shapely legs as she walks in heels I would break my neck in.
