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It doesn’t come.
The bed dips and I open my eyes to see him standing. He straightens his cufflinks and strides towards the door, stopping to turn back to me, just as he’s about to turn the key in the lock. “Eat,” he growls, pushing through the door. “I already told you, I discard things that aren’t any use to me. And a weak, pathetic woman is no use to me.”
And with that, he disappears, locking me in this room with my treacherous thoughts.
Lorcan
I can’t get to my study quick enough.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I growl, taking a leaf out of Antoin’s books by pacing up and down the tiles.
I need a drink, and I need a wank. Not in that order.
The lust is burning through my body. It’s all-consuming.
Poppy is all-consuming.
I was always the impulsive one of the family. I’m known to act now, think later. One of the many reasons why I was never destined to take the throne. But that impulsiveness goes beyond popping a cap in a traitor’s ass before I can torture them to find out what they know. It bleeds into my personal life. If I see it, I want it. And if I want it, I have to have it.
I see Poppy. I want Poppy. And I have to have Poppy.
I knew the second I touched her it was game over. But I’m trying to change, goddammit. Trying to think with my head instead of my trigger finger, or in this case, my cock. Trying to be less impulsive.
I’m not going to take her virginity on a whim. I’m going to savor every fucking second of it.
But I can’t wait much longer.
Orna stomps in without knocking as I’m pouring a whiskey. “Learn to knock,” I growl, flashing her a menacing stare.
“Oops,” she retorts dryly, dragging the vacuum in behind her. Without another word, she plugs it in and starts furiously pushing it back and forth over the tiles.
I pick up the letter opener off my desk and slice the cord in one, swift motion.
“You’re one sassy word away from being demoted to pot washer.”
My threat falls on deaf ears. “What the hell are you doing with that poor girl, Lorc? What has she ever done to you?”
“Clearly you’re quite charmed by her,” I snarl, “but the girl isn’t as innocent as she’ll have you believe.”
Orna crosses her arms over her chest, her scowl unwavering. “If you’re talking about the cut on your face, then you deserve it.”
No, I’m not talking about her smart mouth and adequate aim.
But it’s none of Orna’s business. “Quinn women clean,” I sneer over my tumbler, “leave the business to the men of the family.”
If I had even half a heart, I’d regret the words that just came tumbling from my lips. Orna, as much as I hate to admit it, is as close as I have to a sister. But my heart turned to stone long ago, so I ignore her wide eyes and slacked jaw, busying myself with the stack of papers on my desk. She picks up the vacuum, and its broken cord, and stomps out of my office without another word.
The door is shut for less than a second before there’s a timid knock. I have to force myself not to hurl my whiskey glass at whoever’s about to walk through the threshold.
“What?” I snap.
It creaks open and Eileen appears. My father’s old secretary. She’s older than Jesus himself but even I wasn’t cruel enough to put her out on her ass when I took over. Instead, she sits in a dark corner of the Quinn Ventures building, trying to make all of our investments look legit. She always picks up on the second ring, and I’m sure she has my schedule tattooed on the inside of her wrinkly eyelids.
Like everyone who walks into my study, she runs a judgmental eye over the half-full whiskey bottle on my desk.
“Whatever you’re about to tell or ask me, couldn’t it have been done on a phone call?”
Eileen pats her gray bob, her stern mouth tightening. “I tried calling your cell a dozen times,” she nods towards the phone on my desk. “That one doesn’t seem to work, either.”
