The Boss (Chateau #3) - Penelope Sky Page 0,77
could get a competitor’s attention. Fender, we don’t make promises we can’t keep—”
“I made him no promise. Instead of sitting around finding all the reasons why something won’t work, find the reasons why it will work.” I tossed my jacket on an armchair in my bedroom as I paced.
“I’m being realistic, Fender. Maybe you should try it sometime—”
“Maybe you should grow some balls and stop being a little bitch.” I hung up and slammed the phone onto my nightstand. “Mauviette…” I yanked my shirt over my head then dragged my hands down my face as I approached the bed. When I heard her quiet footsteps and the creak of the door, I knew I wasn’t alone. I dropped my hands and turned my stare on her.
She flinched at my look, her hand still on the door like she intended to sneak away when she realized my foul mood.
My stare continued, eyeing the black satin nightgown that showed her soft thighs. She was barefoot, looking petite when she didn’t have those five-inch heels to compete with my height.
“Everything okay?”
I turned away and undid my jeans before I kicked off my shoes. “Get in bed.”
She hesitated before she entered my bedroom. She got on the bed then slid under the sheets as she watched me finish getting undressed.
When I was naked, I got into bed beside her. But my mood was too foul for sex, at least right now, so I lay beside her and stared at the fire Gilbert had prepared before I returned home.
She didn’t come close to me, giving me my space. After minutes of silence and separation, she moved closer to me and wrapped her body around mine, giving a slight shiver when her body thawed at my heat.
My arm wrapped around her as I cradled her to me, loving her body up against mine even if I wasn’t inside her. Her skin was so soft, her smell so fragrant, her hair like gentle fingertips against my skin.
Time passed with our eyes on the fire, watching it dance beautifully, slowly dying down as it cannibalized itself, eating the fuel that sustained it. My thoughts were on business, but particularly, my uncooperative brother. He claimed to be the voice of reason, but he felt like the voice of sabotage.
Melanie propped herself on her elbow and faced me, some of her hair falling forward onto my chest. Her hair had grown longer over the months, becoming more beautiful with its increased length. It was extra rope to wrap around my fingers when I held on to her, like reins to the most beautiful mare.
And I was her stallion.
“Where did you go?” Her fingers moved farther up my stomach to my chest, lightly pressing into me like she wanted to feel my hard muscle push back.
“Met a business associate.”
“That didn’t go well?”
“That was fine. But I spoke to one of my men when I came home…and I didn’t appreciate the conversation.”
“What did he do?”
I turned to look at her, questioning her with my eyes.
“I just…want to know more about you.” Her voice trailed away in its timidity, as if she were afraid she would provoke the hurricane again. “You don’t talk about anything personal, so…” Her hand continued to rub my chest.
“You know everything about me, chérie.” She knew me better than anyone—besides Magnus—without realizing it.
“Really?” she asked. “Because I don’t even know your last name.”
“A surname tells you nothing about who I am.”
“Then what does?” she whispered.
My hand slipped underneath her hair and cupped her cheek, her skin cold to my touch, like the fire and my warm body still hadn’t thawed her entirely. My thumb brushed against the corner of her mouth as I stared at those full lips, dark with lipstick, with a gentle shine of gloss. When I looked in the mirror, sometimes I saw the imprint of her lips on my neck. When I looked at my dick after she sucked me off, I could see it around the base of my length. It stained the sheets, stained the pillowcase when I shoved her face down to get her ass higher into the air. “This.” My eyes lifted to her eyes again. “The way a man treats his woman…tells you everything that matters.”
Nineteen
Je t’aime
Melanie
He sat in the center of the couch in his office, his bottoms snug around his ankles with his bare feet planted to the floor. My panties were somewhere on the rug. His thumbs were pressed against my hips, and his fingers kneaded