The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,70
weren’t industry reporters. And by the predatory looks on their faces, they were out for blood.
“I’d say they aren’t here for you, but they’re obviously here for you,” he said.
“I should have worn sassier shoes.”
“We can go,” Jude said.
I took a casual sip of my champagne, pretending I hadn’t noticed them. “They’ll follow us out.”
“I’ll have Joe meet us out back.”
“Yeah, but they’ll still follow us. And I really don’t want to talk to them tonight.”
“They won’t follow.”
“Why?”
He took my drink and set it on the bar, then grabbed my hand. “Because we’re going to lose them.”
How he could appear so casual and still hurry us toward the hotel ballroom entrance, I had no idea. He was slick like ice, people’s gazes sliding right over him. He led me toward the lobby and sure enough, the three reporters followed.
“See?” I whispered.
“Just don’t trip.”
“I wear heels almost every day, I won’t trip.”
He squeezed my hand and we took a sharp turn down an adjacent hallway.
“Excuse me, Ms. Whitbury?”
“You can’t hear them,” Jude whispered.
I kept walking, eyes straight ahead.
“Ms. Whitbury, is it true you essentially staged a hostile takeover of Spencer Aeronautics?” she asked, raising her voice.
“She’s getting closer,” I hissed. “And where are the others?”
“Trust me,” he said.
The hallway came to a T up ahead. Jude turned us left, but one of the other journalists was closing in from that direction.
“Shit,” he muttered.
We spun around and quick-walked in the other direction, passing a bank of elevators. Without warning, he pushed open the door to a stairwell.
Thankful for every leg day I’d endured with Inda, I charged up the stairs with Jude’s huge hand still engulfing mine. He pushed open the door to the second floor, took one quick look up and down the hallway, and chose a direction.
The hall was lined with room doors and for a second I wondered if he knew how to hack an electronic lock. My heart raced—both from the trip up the stairs and the odd excitement of fleeing—and I almost laughed out loud. At least no one was trying to run over me. They just wanted to ask awkward questions and possibly take anything I said out of context. Running from them was so silly, and yet Jude hadn’t hesitated to get me out of there.
My heart went from racing to fluttering.
I was afraid to look back. One of the reporters had to be about to burst onto the second floor. The elevator dinged behind us. Had one of them taken it? And where had the third gone?
“In here,” Jude said, pulling open a door.
He went first and, in the same movement, wrapped his arm around my waist and hauled me in with him. The sliver of light from the hallway disappeared as he silently shut the door, shrouding us in darkness.
Jude stood so close behind me that my body pressed against him. I blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness.
“Where—”
“Shh.”
He kept his arm around me, and I wondered why he wasn’t moving us away from the door. Dim shapes came into focus. Shelves. Cleaning supplies. I glanced down and made out what was probably a bucket near my feet.
We were in a supply closet.
I almost started laughing again. I could just see the headlines.
Billionaire CEO Cameron Whitbury attempts to escape press by hiding in mop closet.
Jude loosened his hold on me and slid his arm so his hand rested on my hip. That subtle movement made me keenly aware of his muscular body behind me. My back against his chest. The soft sound of his breath near my ear. And was that his…
Oh god, yes. Yes, it most certainly was.
I moved just enough to press against his hard-on. “Is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to—”
He clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Shh,” he whispered next to my ear. It wasn’t an urgent plea to be quiet. It was a soft command, delivered with a slight thrust of his hips.
He was about to melt my La Perla thong right off me.
The hallway outside was silent. No footsteps. Nothing.
With his hand still covering my mouth, he pressed his lips to my neck. My back arched and I rubbed against his erection. His low growl was almost silent—just enough to send the vibration down my spine.
His hand slid from my hip down to the hem of my dress and he pulled it up. He traced across the front of my thigh. My eyes fluttered as his fingers brushed my