Forbidden Fix (Executive Toy Book 6) Read online

  I spritz perfume into the air and step into it.

  Now I’m ready to face whatever additional shit the day wants to throw at me.

  My movements are confident as I exit the bathroom. I slip my feet into stilettos and drop my phone into my purse.

  When I open the bedroom door, Bandit runs up to me. Balancing on his hind legs, he props his front paws on my knee.

  “What do you want, crazy animal?” I stare down into his yellow eyes. Little by little, the edges of my anger soften.

  “What?” I crouch beside him, and he drops to all fours. My buddy. “How do you exist?” I scratch his head. “It’s like you came out of nowhere and jumped into my life when I needed you most.”

  Of all the feral cats skulking along the edges of the parking lot at Sunrise Imports, Bandit was the one who approached me. Nothing but a scrawny kitten, he strutted over like he knew me.

  Like he’d been waiting for me.

  In return for the pleasure of his company, I fed him bits of my sandwich and gave him a lecture about Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and how wretched creatures such as ourselves were down on the bottom rungs.

  “Of course, you didn’t understand a word of it,” I say, and he meows loudly. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s expressing disagreement.

  He flops onto the floor.

  “Greedy,” I admonish, but I stroke his silky coat for a few minutes. My mind wanders back in time. When all the cats disappeared overnight, I thought it was better for him. His hardscrabble life would have been short and heartbreaking.

  But was I thinking it was better for him or for me? Did I secretly wish someone would save me, even if it meant living in a cage?

  Damn, I was so tired of running, of scraping by, of pulling up stakes every few months and constantly reinventing myself. I didn’t even know who I was; everything I did was a reaction to my circumstances.

  Bandit, unsatisfied with the quality of my attention, writhes on the floor.

  “I could have been anyone. You weren’t picky,” I tell him as I affectionately rub his stomach. He stretches long, then flips over, his eyes wide and legs splayed.

  He dashes off in pursuit of nothing, and I feel a genuine smile spread across my face.

  “Good morning.” The deep voice behind me is low and even.

  My smile fades. I stand and meet Hawthorne’s piercing eyes. His hair is still messy, and the top buttons of his shirt are open, giving me a glimpse of his hard chest.

  “Is there any update on the plan?” I ask, referring to the trap my bosses are setting for my grandfather.

  “We can talk about it tonight.”

  “So there is news?” I ask. They’ve been working hard on… something, but they’re keeping me out of the loop. Plausible deniability.

  I appreciate that, but I hate not knowing what’s going on. Whenever I bring it up, they promise they’ll let me know before they make any “huge moves.”

  The only thing I know for sure is that they backed out of their agreement to pay him a bribe to leave the country.

  “Did you find a way to frame him?” I persist when Hawthorne doesn’t answer. He looks conflicted, then walks past without saying anything further.

  Weird.

  After a moment, I turn to head back toward the main living room.

  I’m almost there when Hawthorne catches up with me. His hair has been smoothed down, and he’s holding a tie. This one is red with a smattering of navy dots.

  “If I were to look in your closet, would I see any cheerful ties?” I ask as he loops it around his neck and begins the fluid process of fastening a knot.

  “If you go poking around in my closet, you’ll see stars,” he says.

  We’ve stopped walking.

  Even though we’re standing several feet apart, the crackling sexual tension makes the distance between us feel unbearably close. I hate jerks, but apparently Hawthorne’s brand of arrogance turns me on.

  I wish it didn’t. I wish looking into his icy blue eyes didn’t make me dizzy.

  “Stars?” I ask, my mind fumbling to remember what we were talking about.

  He smirks. “My belt. Your ass. Stars.” Then he smirks again.

  “I’ve known mosquitoes that were less annoying than you.” I turn to walk away.

  I think I’m safe because his hands are busy with the tie, but he catches my arm and pulls me against his solid, muscular frame.

  The aftershave that’s usually muted later in the day is strong now, fresh and more complex. I catch a whiff of bergamot. Maybe sandalwood, too.

  I also notice the aroma of coffee—my coffee, most likely. “You drank it all, didn’t you?”

  His eyes drill into mine. “You disappeared.” His mouth moves closer, brushing against my lips, but the kiss never comes.

  “Not all of us have coffee machines at our desks,” I say, trying to cover up how badly I want his kiss. “Thanks a lot.”

  Hawthorne spins me around. His arm braces across my chest, and his hand smacks my ass.

  It doesn’t hurt, not through the fabric of my skirt.

  “Oh,” I say, wiggling for effect. “Anything but that.”

  Growling, he slides his hand down the front of my blouse. His fingers immediately home in on my nipple and squeeze my stiffened flesh.

  A gasp hisses out between my lips. My back arches, my breast thrusting into his palm. He tightens his pinch, and an aching heat shoots up and down my body.

  My instinct is to jerk away, but it’s a mistake because Hawthorne won’t yield. The pain makes my eyes water. I go very still, my body primed for him.

  “Pity I won’t be training you this morning,” he says in a low growl, and I’m inclined to agree with him for once. After how my day started, a few hours antagonizing Hawthorne and being punished for my insolence is exactly what I need.

  “That’s ok. I prefer Slade,” I say. If it’s not Hawthorne, it’ll be Slade; Romeo hasn’t taken me yet. He’s been too busy.

  Hawthorne’s lips graze my ear. “You know you crave me.” He waits for me to deny it.

  I don’t.

  “Be ready to leave in four minutes.”

  One more tweaking tug to make me gasp, then he’s gone, leaving me in a faint cloud of cologne or whatever it is that makes him smell so good, lust turning my vision hazy.

  For a long moment I sway on my feet, waiting for my pulse to slow, but when it does, the dread about the situation with my sister comes rushing back, sending my heart rate into the stratosphere.

  Chapter 3

  After a strangely quiet ride into the city, my bosses instruct me to wait while they go inside the office building.

  From behind the limousine’s tinted windows, I have a front row seat for the chaotic ballet of morning rush hour. More like my own private box, because unless Romeo’s briefcase counts, I’m alone.

  This is nothing like our normal routine.

  Usually we all go up together, and I spend the morning under the supervision of one of my bosses. Afternoons, I handle my own work.

  The routine was… comforting.

  Something is definitely going on. I can’t imagine that they’ve already trapped my grandfather. I hope something hasn’t gone wrong.

  For twenty minutes, I sit quietly. If I’d known it would be so long, maybe I would have written an email to Layla.

  My three bodyguards, who look so much alike that they might as well be clones—may in fact be clones, because from what I’ve seen, well-connected billionaires can have anything they want—roam the street and sidewalk, their dark suits ominous and their faces inscrutable behind opaque sunglasses.

  Romeo walks out of the building, and I sit straighter.

  I’m not the only one who notices him. A few passing women slow down, a surprised hitch in their steps, a twist in their torsos, their eyes hungrily devouring him.

  I wonder what they’re thinking.

  Do they want to drag him into a doorway and strip off his expensive suit?
Do they crave flowers and chocolate and promises of forever? Or do they just see dollar signs?

  Maybe all of the above.

  Though if their fantasies involve dragging him anywhere by his tie, they’re off target. Romeo likes assertive women, but not in the bedroom.

  In the bedroom, he’s dominant. Demanding. Bossy. But he’s also got more self-control than any man I’ve ever met. Good thing, given how… gifted… he is.

  I watch him buy a newspaper from a vendor. His cufflinks flash in the sunlight as he discards all the sections but one. He flips to a page in the back.

  As he skims it, his handsome face turns contemplative.

  Then he discards the rest of the paper and heads toward the limo.

  Toward me.

  Even though there’s no way he can see me through the tinted windows, his dark eyes seem fixed on mine, and my breath catches in my chest.

  Romeo’s beauty is hypnotic. There’s power in being that attractive, but unlike the artifice I create with salon visits and careful makeup, Romeo is naturally mesmerizing. It hardly seems fair that he gets to be so rich and also so attractive.

  One of the bodyguards opens the door, and Romeo slides into the limo.

  I scoot back, giving him space.

  After the doors have locked, the bodyguards disappear into the crowd. They’re probably heading for another vehicle. It’s creepy the way they seem to move as a single unit.

  “Apologies for the wait,” Romeo says.

  The sound of his deep voice is soothing, but my pulse rate quadruples. It’s not just that his voice is so masculine. Power and confidence infuse his every syllable.

  He takes out his phone—of course he does.

  I settle against the seat as the limo moves away from the curb. Wherever we’re going, he’ll be on the phone the entire time. Sometimes I wonder if he slid out of the womb and immediately called his stockbroker.

  “You’re too far away, Lindsay.” He stows his phone and pulls me into his lap.

  For a moment I freeze in surprise, then my body melts into his.

  His touch… I’ve missed it.

  It’s been two weeks since the day my bosses and I returned to Milford Crossing to confront my grandfather at his office.

  I reminded my grandfather that I had proof he was involved with my parents’ deaths, and that if he left town, I wouldn’t go to the police.

  Grandfather didn’t fold.

  Instead, he threatened to tell Layla the truth about her role in the car accident—which killed six people and left two more with devastating injuries.

  It would destroy Layla to find out that if she hadn’t played with the SUV’s seat adjustments that morning, all those people would still be alive. We’d still have our parents.

  Grandfather’s threat was a move I hadn’t seen coming, and it all but obliterated me. He hates me, but he and I aren’t related by blood. He’s always treated Layla better.

  Would he actually drop that burden of guilt on her? I don’t know, but I can’t chance it.

  That he would even think about it speaks volumes about how warped his mind is.

  To survive, I did things I’m not proud of.

  Grandfather, on the other hand, has decades of experience in being sneaky, manipulative, and cruel, and nothing so pesky as a conscience has ever slowed him down.

  Since then, my bosses and I have been on edge.

  Especially Romeo.

  The four of us have spent most nights together… well, in the same place. While Slade and Hawthorne often slip into my bed, or order me into one of theirs, Romeo has held himself apart.

  His soft touch feels all the better because I’ve craved it so much, and even though I’m burning with questions about the progress of the trap, they can wait; I don’t want this moment to end.

  “Where are we going?” I murmur.

  “I’m working from home today,” he says, “and you’ll be my assistant.” His voice vibrates in his chest.

  I inhale the spicy, masculine scent of him. “I stumbled across an article on you the other day,” I say.

  “Did you?” He sounds amused. His arms come around me, wrapping me in the expensive silk of his suit. But underneath his fine clothing is the hard body of an athlete.

  My bosses want me to feel safe, and in their arms, I do. No one is more surprised than I am. And every time the magic happens again, it catches me off guard. It shouldn’t, not at this point, but I guess my past manages to cling to me.

  “Was it an interview or an article?” Romeo asks.

  I struggle up a bit so I can see his face, his square jaw and full lips. I wonder if Leona, their ex, ever kissed him without permission.

  He raises a brow.

  “Interview,” I say quickly. “You were talking about your philosophy for entrepreneurs, about how important it is to leave the world better than it was when you found it. It was touching.”

  He smiles.

  “What?” I ask.

  “It’s one of my revised talking points. I want the company’s focus to be clear.”

  “Oh.” I think. “I don’t remember the name of the magazine. How often do you give interviews?”

  “Lately? Often.”

  I wonder if that’s because of my grandfather, if Romeo’s proving that we’re not intimidated.

  Maybe he isn’t, but I am. I’m terrified. It’s the same sort of respect that I have for rattlesnakes and other deadly creatures.

  Chapter 4

  Romeo opens the front door of his mansion just as the bodyguards jump out of their vehicles and come toward us at a brisk clip.

  “I won’t require your assistance until noon,” he informs them.

  They don’t even slow. “We need to check the premises,” one of them says. His voice is clipped, efficient. “We’ll be fast.”

  When Romeo doesn’t move his considerable bulk from the doorway, another clone says, “There’s a reason our record is unblemished, sir. Your security is top-notch, but you hired us to be paranoid.”

  With a little shrug, Romeo steps outside. The men rush in.

  A few minutes later, they’re back. “We’ll be down by the gate if you need us,” the first man says.

  Romeo and I enter, and he closes the door behind us.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “About what?” he asks.

  I gesture at the door. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have had to hire them, and they wouldn’t be tramping all over your immaculate mansion. By the way… How’s the trap progressing? Are there any updates?”

  Romeo takes a long look at me, but he doesn’t react to what I said. His stillness makes me start to fidget.

  “Strip completely,” he says.

  “Here?”

  But he’s already walking away.

  Ok, so I didn’t get an answer, but I can’t help grinning. Finally, I’ll get my session with Romeo… I know it’s going to be good. My fingers fly over the buttons as I remove my blouse and skirt, then bra and panties. Each item drops softly to the floor.

  I step out of my stilettos.

  Under the soles of my feet, the rug in front of the doorway is slightly lumpy. I move off it, onto the polished wood floor, which is rather cool. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs, and my nipples pebble.

  Because of my “training” sessions with Hawthorne and Slade, I know one thing for sure: don’t do anything I’m not given permission to. I don’t even dare fold my clothes.

  So I wait by the door and try not to think about all the things I’ll need to deal with in the afternoon.

  Eventually Romeo returns, carrying a folder, which he reads as he walks.

  Disappointing.

  When the other bosses take me for the morning, they never get too absorbed in their work. They sometimes have me do some minor task while they watch, but that’s it.

  But Romeo’s a workaholic; he might actually have me placing phone calls and summarizing reports. Maybe I really would have been better off wi
th Hawthorne. Not in general, of course, but just today, to help clear my mind.

  He looks up, and while his gaze skips down my nude body, it’s more of an unconscious reflex.

  “Come,” he says, his voice deep, and walks away.

  I follow.

  His strides are so long that I have to take two steps for each of his, and it makes me feel like a child trying to keep up with an adult.

  On my left, we’re passing the large living room area and the fireplace. This is the way toward Romeo’s sex dungeon, and excitement fills me.

  But Romeo stops, pushes open a door and enters the room.

  His office.

  My mouth dry, I step across the threshold and into the warm room. I’ve never been inside it before, though I’ve gotten peeks while passing by. I was never told not to come in, but something about the room feels private.

  Immediately, my gaze flies to the photo on the desk, but it’s facing away.

  No matter. I’m sure I’ll see it at some point.

  I turn my attention to the rest of the office.

  The drapes are drawn over the tall windows across from me, but above the drapes, light pours in through the transom windows, which are leaded glass and quietly elegant.

  The furniture in the office is almost all wood, solid and heavy, built to accommodate a man of Romeo’s size. He is, by disposition, neat, and that’s evident here, too, but the tiger oak bookcases that line the walls are crammed with paperbacks, some stacked in double rows.

  His apparent fondness for books is an unexpected detail about Romeo that I find charming. I feel like I’m getting a glimpse of who he really is.

  It also makes me realize that at some point in the past, he made time for things in his life other than work.

  The spines on some of the books are worn, cracked with white. I catch a few titles and realize they’re science fiction.

  Of course they are. I smile as a puzzle piece slides into place. Romeo’s a man who believes that technology can improve the world. It’s why so many of the company’s potential acquisitions are tech startups.

  Now I can start to imagine him at the boarding school that he attended alongside Slade and Hawthorne. Did he have space opera movie posters on the walls? No… but I can imagine him with diagrams of patent law, and no one would be insane enough to tease him about it. I smile.