Chapter Twenty-Two

Beau

We’re waiting for the bill when Annabel finally breaks.

“Beau,” she says urgently, her hands hooked on the edge of the table. “I don’t understand it.”

“They’re slow at bringing the bill.”

“No,” she says, her lips curving up in a smile. “Why are we here and not in my suite? Or at the gorgeous penthouse I’m assuming you own?”

“It’s true. I do live in a penthouse.”

She grits her teeth. “You are holding out on me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. I mean—” Annabel blow a breath out through her rounded lips. “I know you’ve had important . . . business things to take care of. From the way you kiss me, I know you can’t possibly want to leave.” She narrows her eyes. “Is that it? Are you looking for reasons to be elsewhere?” She keeps her tone light, but I can hear the seriousness in her words.

My heart thumps in a wild rhythm, once and then twice. She doesn’t see it that way, does she? Work has always been the highest priority. There is no other choice when your success is based on such critical projects. The latest development from Edgar Sykes certainly fits that bill. I’m reaching for my phone before I realize what I’m doing. I stop and fold my hands on the surface of the table.

“No. Not at all.”

Her eyes go even wider. “You’re not—”

“No.” I don’t risk even the slightest glance away. “That’s not it, either.” This is not easy for me to say. It’s not easy to be this way with anyone, but in Annabel’s case, it’s too much of a risk not to be truthful with her. “You’re too important for a quick fuck.”

She stops breathing.

“I—” I sit up straight and reach across the table for her hand. “That was crossing the line.”

“It was not,” she breathes, her cheeks going pink. I can see the color even in the candlelight. “I don’t know where you think the line is, Mystery Man, but you haven’t even approached it yet. You’re not even close.”

Jesus, I want her. I know what I said, but I want her. Still, there’s an element of truth to it. I want to spend hours with Annabel. I want her to know what it is to be worshipped. I want her to know what it is to be claimed.

The way she’s staring at me right now, eyes dark with heat, is the key that unlocks everything else. It’s pointless to worry that I’m moving too fast with her, that I’m going to ruin what little time she thinks she has with me. That’s the cowardly approach, and I’m done with it. For once I’m done moving slowly, considering every angle.

I’m going to take Annabel Forester.

I’m going to make her mine.

As soon as the waiter comes with the bill.

*****

As soon as Winston pulls the car away from the curb, I take Annabel’s face in my hands and look into her eyes. “You have a choice to make.”

“Your place,” she answers before I’ve even posed the question.

“Home, please, Winston,” I say, and then I stab at the button to raise the partition separating us from the front of the car.

The second it connects with the ceiling, she pounces.

She jumps on top of me with such force that it sends me rocking backward into the door. Annabel straddles me, her legs stretching wide over my hips. Her lips meet mine with a fiery intensity, and she wriggles her hips, working herself downward until her pussy is grinding against my cock.

There are too many layers of fabric between us.

I hook my thumbs into the waistband of her jeans and tug them down. We don’t have the kind of time I want to spend fucking her, but she’s ravenous, desperate, and kissing her isn’t enough. Not now. Not anymore.

Her jeans, stretchy and tight, are at their limit when I stop tugging them down. The waistband rests below the curve of her ass, and there is enough room—just enough—for me to glide my hand between us, between her legs.

I drag my fingertips through her wetness—Jesus, she’s already soaked—and she moans at the first touch, her hips rocking back and forth. Annabel pulls away and presses her lips into my neck. “Why?” she gasps. “Why did you wait so long?”

I find her clit with the pad of my thumb and circle it, slowly, evenly. “I don’t know.”

She pushes herself backward, meeting my eyes even as I stroke her slit. Her eyelids are fluttering. She keeps her gaze on mine. I hope this image of her, legs spread wide, holding on for dear life, is burned into my mind forever. “Please don’t wait anymore,” she groans.

“I’m not waiting.”

“Please don’t wait ever again.”

“I won’t.”

She takes my shirt in her hands, clenching fistfuls of the fabric. “Please.”

“I promise you,” I tell her, circling her clit again. Her body trembles against me. I lock one hand on her hips to keep her in place. It makes her shudder, makes her dance. “I will never torture you like this again.”

She sucks in a breath.

“Unless you want it.”

“I definitely want it,” she says through clenched teeth. “I want to be yours.” Her voice drops for the last words, and it strikes me like lightning that this is Annabel at her rawest, at her most vulnerable. I love it.

I love her.

I love her.

There’s no rational explanation.

I don’t need one.

“Come for me,” I growl into her ear. It’s enough to set her off. Her hips jerk again, again, and there’s another gush of sweetness flooding over my fingertips.

When she’s spent, she drops her head against my shoulder.

I let her stay like that for a long few minutes.

I don’t mention the fact that we’ve been parked since she told me she’d be mine.