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“We’ll figure it out,” I grumble. There’s nothing I hate more than being compared to her father, who’s out of control. Before either of us can say another word, the sheet falls to her waist, exposing her gorgeous tits, and I’m done talking. Soreness be damned.
I nudge Lexie onto her back and climb between her legs. “Sexy perk time, Angel.”
“Don’t think you’re going to get me to relent by wooing me with orgasms.”
I would never think that. I’m more concerned that her orgasms will change my mind, and I’ll agree to whatever she wants, just to feel her tremble in my arms.
After I’m sure she’s ready for me, I push her knees to her chest and make the long, vicious slide home—as her gasps and whimpers flood my soul.
If I needed any more reason to make the trip to London, this is it.
33
RAFAEL
I arrive at Clarke Enterprises shortly after nine. The building is heavily fortified, but you wouldn’t know it by the sleek, modern lines that grace the high-rise. All sorts of things happen here—legal, illegal, and morally gray—but it all hides in plain sight, just outside central London.
After clearing security, I take the elevator to the top floor. Shortly after I sent Will the text Sunday evening, his assistant called to arrange a meeting time. I’m not surprised he agreed. I have his daughter.
I don’t know exactly what to expect from him, or if he’ll be amenable to my help. The one thing I’m sure about is that he won’t be welcoming me with open arms. Although, in the end, it won’t matter whether or not I persuade him to let me manage Lexie’s security. When I leave London, if I’m still breathing, I’ll be taking over her protection. But it’ll be easier if he agrees.
“Good morning,” a young, much-too-eager receptionist chirps. The redhead is so perky she practically bounces while she talks.
“Rafael Huntsman. Mr. Clarke is expecting me.”
“Please have a seat. I’ll let his assistant know you’re here.”
I nod.
“Can I get you something while you wait?”
“No, thank you.”
Before I find a seat, an impeccably dressed man, about forty, appears at the door.
“Mr. Huntsman, right this way, please.”
It’s a long, lonely path to the executive suite, which is flanked with guards for my benefit, I’m sure. Much to Zé’s horror, I came alone, as a sign of trust and a show of strength. For someone like Will, the latter is as important as the former. Maybe more.
The man who hasn’t said a damn word to me since the reception area knocks on the door, opens it, and steps aside so I can enter.
Will is perched at the front of his desk, arms crossed. Even on a good day, he’s a scary motherfucker. Not his appearance—he looks like any other top executive. But unlike most CEOs, he wouldn’t hesitate to slit a throat even if it meant getting blood on his custom Tom Ford suit.
“Can I get either of you gentlemen something?” the assistant asks, as though his boss is not glowering at me like I’m not long for this world.
“No,” Will replies tersely.
I’m tempted to say, I’ll take an espresso, black, please. But he’s pissed, and I don’t think it’s wise to poke the bear more than necessary.
The office is spacious and airy, comfortable, with a long conference table piled with folders. It looks like someone does actual work here.
Will doesn’t invite me to sit, and I don’t. I want to be at eye level with him or at least have a running start when he pulls a gun, because I’m unarmed. It’s not how I normally roll, but I wouldn’t have gotten through security otherwise.
“Nice to see you, Will. How’s Samantha?”
“Cut the bullshit. You have some fucking nerve demanding an audience with me. How’s my daughter?”
So much for the pleasantries.
