Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,1

cold.”

“Then find some manners, and you can get in.”

“Manners.” She practically choked on her indignation. “Are you fucking serious? I’m paying you. Open the door, or I’ll have your job.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. I gave zero fucks about the money or if Luna fired me. This was a bullshit assignment, and I was doing him a favor. He knew damn well this bitch had run roughshod over half his employees already, and he knew I wouldn’t put up with it.

“Open the door!” she yelled.

“Manners,” I repeated. She had ten more seconds before I put the window up and drove around the block to teach her a lesson before coming back to see if she’d had an attitude adjustment.

It didn’t take ten seconds.

It didn’t even take five.

Three seconds later, the richest trust fund brat in Florida threw her hands up. “Fine. Whatever. Gee, Mr. Shade, can I please have a ride home to Miami in your warm and comfy SUV while I keep my mouth shut, my attitude in check, and your name branded on my forehead?”

I hit the unlock button.

WHAT AN ASSHOLE.

I should’ve known dear old Dad wouldn’t come pick me up himself, let alone my stepmom, but I’d stupidly held out hope that my dad would’ve at least sent his driver. Except that’d mean he’d be without, and God forbid Leo Amherst, owner of the music industry’s biggest record label, ever went without.

No wonder my stepmom divorced him.

I didn’t even know why I was thinking about any of this shit. Yay for being clean and having uncensored thoughts.

Yanking the door open, I got in the Escalade and was immediately hit with the scent of bodyguard—testosterone, musk, and something spicy I refused to admit smelled like heaven after six months of sterile rehab laced with overcooked food.

The asshole bodyguard with his oversized biceps threw the SUV into Drive.

“Hey!” I barked. “You forgot my luggage.”

“I didn’t forget shit.” He put the vehicle back in Park and hit the button to open the back lift gate.

Cold northern Florida chill swept into the SUV as I buckled my seat belt. “Make sure you get both suitcases.”

Slow and calculating, he turned in his seat and gave me the full weight of his dark-eyed stare. For three whole heartbeats, he didn’t say a damn word. He just stared.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, and a pulse between my legs, which I would’ve sworn was dead two seconds ago, chose that exact moment to come roaring back to life. I didn’t think I could get any more uncomfortable, but then he opened his mouth and bled dominance.

The deep, controlled timbre of his voice was quiet and so damn sexual as it crossed his full lips. “Get your suitcases.”

My heart stopped, my pulse threaded, and I suddenly wanted to climb onto his lap. To hit him or grind against him, I wasn’t sure which. He was just so… visceral, I wanted to taste him. Or smell the inked skin just below the collar of his shirt.

And I’d never wanted to taste a man.

Ever.

Not like this.

Drugs? Sure. I liked drugs. Shit, I loved them. Ever since my first taste. But men? Sex? They paled in comparison. They were just a means to an end to get that high I so desperately craved when nothing else in the world felt real.

But this tree of a crude man with his shitty, dominant attitude and whispered commands?

Damn.

I couldn’t even name a single rock star who radiated the kind of sexual presence this guy was giving off, and I’d met a fuck ton of rockers over the years.

As if sensing he’d thrown me completely off balance, his voice dropped even lower, and the calculating bastard raised one eyebrow. “You hear me or you too busy thinking about a walk on the wild side?”

Wow.

What an arrogant fuck, but wow.

I forced a mocking tone into my unsteady voice. “If you think that’s going to work on me, you seriously need to try harder.” No guy had ever given me an orgasm. He and his wild side could fuck off.

His eyes darkened, and a muscle in his jaw moved. “You don’t want to see me try hard, princess.”

“Princess?” This time, I didn’t have to force the disdain. “You can go fuck right off with your—”

His hand shot out and grabbed my jaw.

Huge, strong and forceful, his fingers, his grip, they tightened in warning, but his tone went lethally, provocatively quiet. “What are the rules?”

Heat shot from his