Shameless - Sybil Bartel Page 0,2
touch and raced through my veins like fire. Before I could stop them, two words flew through my shocked brain and popped out of my mouth like my body was his to control. “Obey Shade.”
The entire right half of his mouth slid into a devastatingly sexy half smile. “That’s it,” he murmured sexually, drawing the words out like he was easing himself into my body inch by inch. “Obey Shade,” he repeated in the same sexually charged tone.
Oh my God.
Winking, he released me.
Sinking back in my seat, I was a damn puddle of want, and I hated him for it.
“Good luck with that.” I tried to snap the words at him in defiance, except I was out of breath, and all I managed to sound like was a desperate, pathetic Shade groupie.
As if knowing the exact reaction his dominance had on me, he chuckled. “Suitcases, princess.”
A shiver I couldn’t hide ran up my spine and feathered across my skin like pinpricks. Attempting to play it off, I glared at him. “What kind of useless bodyguard are you?”
That one, sexy eyebrow of his rose again, and I didn’t wait for whatever stupid excuse he was going to shovel out. I pushed my door open and hefted my own damn luggage into the SUV. Then I got back in and pulled the heavy door shut.
“What the hell is that door made of, lead?” Every inch of my traitorous body thrumming with need, I yanked my seat belt out and shoved it home like abusing a piece of plastic and metal would make anything about this fucked-up day better.
All of his sexual innuendo from a minute ago gone, his deep, rough voice cut through the heated interior as he scanned the street and the rearview and side mirrors. “It’s armored.”
“Let me guess, my father paid extra for that.”
“No.” His arms flexed as he turned the SUV around. “André Luna did.”
Popped out of the Mr. Bodyguard-Sexual bubble and hit with a dose of reality, I sighed.
Of course my father wouldn’t think of putting me in a bulletproof vehicle. He’d never even seen the scars I sported from being shot twice.
Feeling like an idiot, I didn’t say anything more as Shade pulled away from the overpriced rehab facility I’d called home for the past six months. I’d bounced between three other rehab places before this one, with a month’s stay at a five-star resort in between where I’d snorted my weight in coke before finally breaking down and admitting I had a problem. I didn’t count any of those other rehab stints because I didn’t finish any of their programs.
For some reason this place had stuck, or maybe I’d just stuck to it. Whatever. Despite staying twice as long as I technically needed to, and my shrink saying I was ready to reacclimate to society, my stomach was churning at the idea of leaving, let alone going back to my penthouse by myself.
Which, if my dad had his way, I probably wasn’t.
“Where did dear old Dad tell you to take me?” I stupidly asked. “His house or my stepmom’s?”
“Your place.”
“Awesome,” I deadpanned. Even more proof that Leo Amherst had washed his hands of his only daughter.
Without comment, the over-inked, overmuscled bodyguard who should’ve been called Tree because he was the size of one, reached over and turned the stereo on. Heavy bass and guitar filled the SUV, making my head instantly pound.
Left without sexual gratification in the wake of his dominating suggestive bullshit, I lasted all of about half a minute.
Reaching over, I turned it off.
“What’s wrong?” Shade smirked. “Can’t handle Tool?”
“You’re a tool,” I muttered.
SHE SMELLED LIKE TROUBLE.
Hell, she walked, talked and looked like trouble.
Jailbait trouble.
I wanted to fuck her.
Once.
Maybe twice.
Thinking about her deep-throating my cock, I glanced at her and wondered if her mouth would open in shock when she came like it did when I’d grabbed her.
“What?” she challenged, the rasp in her bedroom voice heavier than before.
I glanced at her again. Fine features, but rougher around the edges than any woman with money I’d ever met. Yeah, she’d be a silent screamer. “Nothing.”
“You’re staring,” she accused.
Fuck, her voice was sexy. “You a smoker?”
“Do you see any cigarettes?”
“Watch that attitude,” I warned, wanting to dominate the fuck out of her. “Vape?”
She rolled her eyes. “Gross.”
Jesus, I needed to find a woman, not a goddamn teenager, to pound. Maybe one with a head full of dark brown hair and an attitude like a spoiled little rich princess. Fuck the shit out of her