“Rhiannon, come on.” I swear this girl will be the death of me. After the performance at the art gallery last week, I’m not letting this girl out of my damn sight. And that’s fine. I like the sight of her. She has one of those faces, you know? The kind you can’t turn away from no matter how hard you try. And I tried that night, when she looked at me as if I’d given her the moon. She's clawing her way in under my skin and fuck if I haven't thought twice about things. But then, I see my mother’s corpse and remember why I'm doing this. “Let’s go, Rhi,” I yell again to her closed door.

She finally opens it, wearing jeans and a flowery top that slides off the slope of one creamy shoulder. “I’m ready,” she says, brushing past me with a stubborn tilt to her chin.

“Took you long enough.”

She’s infuriating, but cute as hell. “And let’s not have a repeat of the last time I took you out,” I grumble.

She crosses her finger over her heart as a swear that's no doubt a lie, and we head off to my waiting car.

Once we arrive downtown, I lead her into the skyrise which houses my offices.

“Why are we here?” she asks with eyes so big I could get lost and never find myself.

“Business,” I answer, ushering her into my private elevator.

She lets out a sigh and leans her shoulder against the wall. I push the button and step away from her sweet scent.

“Just a little bit longer, and then you’re home free,” I tell her, letting my eyes linger on her petite frame.

From the moment we stepped foot in this building, I can’t stop staring at her. In the car, I worked through emails and made a few calls to distract myself. Otherwise, I might've shoved her back on the leather seat and threw her legs over my shoulders.

I run a hand through my hair just to keep it from touching her. Being alone with her, here in this tiny fucking elevator, has my body on high-alert.

I know I shouldn’t be enjoying the view of her cleavage swelling against her blouse. Or the way her throat moves every time she swallows. And I sure as fuck shouldn't be thinking about her swallowing me after I come in her mouth while she takes me between those pouty lips on her knees in this elevator.

But I am.

I’m imagining her dropping before me and palming my cock. The contact would have me groaning louder than I ever have before.

I’ve never wanted anyone this much.

She’d unzip my pants and push them down along with my briefs. My cock would jut out, and if she licked her lips, well fuck me. Heaven.

I’d ask, “You want a taste?”

She’d meet my gaze, nodding her head as I leaned back to give her better access.

She’d wrap her soft hand around the base.

I squeeze my eyes shut and let out a low hiss.

Nothing would prepare me for when her lips first make contact with the tip of my dick. I know it would be the best feeling. No doubt in my mind.

Nothing else would compare. Her lips would work magic, her tongue like a damn voodoo priestess. And when she put me in her mouth, I would grab hold of her silky hair, and she would suck, and I would pray to the heavens above to never let this end. Suspend time, please, someone, anyone. I’d beg for the moment to last forever and ever.

But God stopped listening to me a long time ago.

“Yeah, suck me,” I’d say.

My words of encouragement would have her lapping at my skin at a quicker pace.

She’d run her tongue along my balls, and I’d groan louder.

Fuck, it would be the best damn blow job in the history of forever.

She’d swirl her tongue around the tip, driving me insane, and then she’d take me completely in her mouth, going down as far as she could, and my dick would hit the back of her throat.

My cock is steel, straining on the other side of my zipper. But, my mind keeps going.

I would thrust into her hot mouth—hard—and I’d fucking love it.

“Oh, fuck, Rhi. I’m going to come,” I’d grit out.

She wouldn’t stop, and I’d get off deep inside her and she’d swallow it all down. She’d glance up, and I’d peer into the pools of brown, imagining a different outcome to my life. To a life of her and me ending up together.

A life that is never going to happen. I shake the thoughts as soon as the ding on the elevator sounds.

“Are you okay?” she asks, as I quickly step out, leaving my fantasy behind.

“This way.” We walk the short distance to my offices, and I hold the door for her.

She steps inside, and her eyes dart around the large waiting area.

“You’ll sit here.” I point to a padded leather chair, and she drops down into it, crossing her legs. I narrow my eyes at her sudden demureness. “I’ll be in there,” I jab a thumb over my shoulder. “No funny business.”

She raises a brow.

“I can see you through the glass.”

She nods, remaining quiet.

“I'll be done shortly.”

James Marsh and Todd Halsom, private investigators, are both waiting for me when I step inside.

“Let’s get started,” I say, taking a seat at the conference table.

“So, these are Mr. DeLaurio’s accounts that we know of,” Todd says, pushing a paper closer to me.

“And we’re sure he’s involved with this gambling ring?”

“Yes, and look here,” he points to a name on the paper, “this is a shell corporation, which is also a big contributor to Ian Bingham’s campaign fund.”

“And that same company is holding the DeLaurio’s...”

“Bookie’s funds,” Todd finishes off for me.

Interesting. “And this proves it?”

“Yes,” James says.

I glance to Rhiannon sitting quietly with her arms folded in her lap. She chews her bottom lip, and I divert my attention to the next file James grabs from his briefcase to set on the table.

He slides the papers in my direction. “Here’s that file you asked for. And I think there’s enough here to prove everything.”

I grab it and pull it closer. “Ok, I’ll read this tonight.”

I glance up and Rhiannon is gone.

Fuck.