glance to where my dick is rising over that thought combined with claiming her as my own. I quickly lower my hands to cover up the evidence that proves she’s right about more than one thing.
“You like this woman, Bradford,” she mumbles under her breath as she transfers the device to scan the coat.
“It’s impossible fucking not to,” I quietly mutter back. “She’s just…so fucking smart. And when she talks, she just talks. It isn’t a ploy to get you to reveal shit about yourself like how much money you make or what your ethnicity is or who you work for or if you’re marriage material or if you’re secretly already married so then this encounter is the start of an affair. She doesn’t talk to make you feel inferior on purpose or make it apparent that her educational levels far surpass those of yours. She just…tells you shit she knows. And when she does that, she gets this glint in her eyes. This fucking…sparkle that’s brought on by knowledge instead of money or power.” A small shrug mindlessly escapes. “It’s different. She’s different. And I don’t exactly get a lot of that in my life.”
“Different can be dangerous, Bradford,” Cheyenne cryptically reminds mere seconds before there’s a high-pitched beeping. The ear-splitting sound alerts us of what it is I feared. “She was marked.”
In spite of knowing that was likely the case, I grumble, “Fuck…”
“Scrambler starts at the end of the block,” she informs on a heavy sigh, “but if they’re professionals, which I imagine they are if they managed to get this shit on her, it won’t take long for them to find you. Go get dry.”
Quickly, I head towards the bathroom, only to be abruptly stopped by the door flying open and Blake asking, “Why do I feel like I’m wearing a sexy ninja Halloween costume?”
Finding it impossible to deny the invitation to look her outfit over, I allow my anxious eyes the opportunity to drink in the hooded sleeveless black shirt that dips just low enough between her tits to make my already hard dick harder. The fact that the black leggings are skintight and possess red ribbon details to match the thick fabric belt around her waist only amplify the increasing need to pin her underneath me for a few hours.
She pulls her long, thick hair to one side of her face exposing a sexual hot spot I would bet this contract’s pay out that she doesn’t even know she has.
Fuck a few hours.
I need her underneath me moaning and groaning and crying out my name for a few days.
Blake’s head slightly tips to the side as if awaiting a response.
Fuck a few days.
I want forever.
“Bradford,” Cheyenne hisses, yanking me back to reality and away from adding mental images to my personal spank bank. “Get dry.”
My client’s eyes cut a quick glance to where I’m doing my best to contain my exposed cock. “Did you make a mess?”
Fuck, I wanna make a mess with her.
On her.
In her.
“Bradford!”
“Dry means changed,” my mouth moves despite the fact my body doesn’t. “Technically, you’re dry now.”
She steals another glimpse of my nakedness prior to quietly confessing as she passes by me, “I wouldn’t say that…”
Grumbles of frustration and desperation rattle my frame, yet I force myself to focus on the task at hand, which is protecting her, not fucking her.
God, I wish it were that one.
After changing into a pair of dark jeans, a black long sleeve t-shirt, and a thin bullet-resistant vest, I grab an empty duffle bag and slip into the kitchen to retrieve supplies. Blake follows me while Cheyenne shifts to scrubbing my SUV that’s parked in the driveway. Our time in the large, walk-in pantry where weapons are cleverly hidden behind walls made to look like shelves and cash, IDs, and credit cards are stashed inside cracker and cereal boxes mainly consists of an etymology lesson revolving around the word itself. Her ability to linguistically break something down as well as track it through the ages is one that’s remarkable.
And admittedly intimidating.
I still have trouble properly pronouncing certain words, yet she has no fucking issues telling you their origin, their age, and their growth through society.
God, I wouldn’t be this woman’s type even if we met under better circumstances.
She’d probably want to discuss the financial impact tequila has had on the liquor business while the most I could bring to the conversation is offering her the best chaser for it.
Our arrival in the open living room