Luca (I Love the Way You Lie #1) (17 page)

Beyond irked, I could barely concentrate on the contracts I was signing. Archer took his time flirting with my new secretary. My annoyance caused me to snap my pen in half. I refused to fire another girl because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. My instructions were clear. I wanted a verbal confirmation that the envelope was delivered. Was that too much to ask for?
Always thinking with his dick
, I thought. The sound of his footsteps furthered the tension instead of relieving it.

“Done.” He languidly strolled over, helping himself to a scotch. I already knew it was delivered. I called the courier four times to make sure it was hand delivered to Allison’s friend, Melissa. He ignored my glare, choosing to stare at Manhattan’s illustrious skyline.

“No thanks to you. I fucking called myself.”

He wasn’t at all disturbed by my tone. “Of course you did.” He smirked knowingly, tossing back his scotch. “What now?” He sat on the ledge of the window.

Fuck, that scotch looked good right about now. However, I had a stack of paperwork to go through before my day ended. Tonight, I’d be partaking in some libations for fuck-sure. “She’ll call to make an appointment and you’ll take said appointment,” I said, turning to the next document needing my signature.

“You want her to come here?” he drawled, slouching deeper.

“I want
her
to feel secure. If coming here accomplishes that then I will be somewhere else at that date and time.” My business was acquisitions. She was the most important acquisition. It took some time getting out from under my father’s grasp. That accomplishment was no small feat. To which I’m sure will bite me in the ass in the future. Alastair Capital was now international—a leading resource for middle-market dealmakers. A few months ago, we were announced the winner of the eighth annual M&A Mid-Market Awards. The awards recognize the most notable dealmakers and deals that set the standard for transactions valued at more than one billion dollars.

I finally found my niche…buying and selling companies. It was a dirty, cutthroat business. I didn’t have many friends. Of those friends, less than a handful I considered close. Archer was the
only
one I trusted. We both enjoyed the money and the women that came with it. I was a bit more reserved than Archer was. He chose to live his life in public. Women were like flies around him. The smell of money had that effect on them. I was more reclusive and considered the broodier of the two. I stayed out of the public eye, gossip columns, and off Page Six, whereas, he thrived on all media attention. Much to the dismay of my old man, my uninhibited proclivities were reserved for the privacy of a bedroom.

My corporate office was on the fifty-fourth floor of One World Trade Center across from Liberty Street—had been there ever since the building’s completion. It was an honor to be in the building that gave the middle finger to the terrorists. My loft just down the street in lofty Tribeca; the financial district at my back. Nolita, Little Italy, and Soho triangulated me in a prestigious trifecta.

“It’s your funeral.” He shrugged.

Fuck, he was a ball of negativity at times. I knew full well the uphill climb that was before me. It was fucking daunting. However, it was a climb I needed to take. She would be mine again.

“Oh, before I leave…Sven will be in town next week. He sent her flowers this morning,” he said, taking his leave. “Yeah, that’s me doing my job,” he offered, closing my door with a little too much effort.

Under my desk, my fingers were curled into fists
. Fucking
Sven. That poser motherfucker was still hanging on,
I thought. He was gum on my fucking shoe. My hired contacts told me that their relationship was platonic. Fuck that platonic shit. No man hangs on that fucking long without an end goal. He was in it for the long haul. That much was pretty fucking clear.

With need firing through my system, I grabbed my lighter from my drawer. Flick. Flick. Flick. My thumb on the wheel. The butane instantly filling my nose. I let the vapors calm me. And they did. My tastes for fire abated—mostly—while my need for pussy
was
my new torment. One in particular that could bring me to my knees—Allison. My rationalization: this was one big timeout for me. It sounded arrogant. And I was. My tastes were now honed—unique. My balls ached while thinking about her pretty little thighs across my face, my hand reddening her voluptuous bottom while my cock emptied and filled her pussy over and over.

“Mr. Deluca, are the contracts ready for the courier?” my secretary’s voice carried.

I adjusted my rock hard cock mid-answer. “I’ll leave them on your desk, Ms. Garcia. You may leave for the evening,” I answered swiftly. I never made it a habit of socializing with the staff. That was a lesson learned a few years back. After firing several incompetent secretaries, a buxom blonde twenty-something came in. Sure, she was skilled—on her knees. However, she didn’t know Excel from Lotus. Archer and I shared the skills she was versed in until she became a liability. Said liability reared its ugly face at a business dinner. Nearly costing me the deal. She was dismissed discreetly and compensated to disappear. I couldn’t afford any sexual harassment lawsuits. That’s what happens when you’re careless. That will not be happening in my lifetime again.

The flesh of my cock was hard. I needed release. My newest pastime would take some of the edge off. However, not enough to keep me thinking straight. I was never a runner. Now, it’s part of my routine. Fresh sprinting clothes were kept in the armoire in my office bathroom—a quick change from suit to sweats and a dark hoody. This was the favorite part of my day. As soon as
she
moved to Chelsea, it became less about endurance and more about distance. It all cumulated to seeing
her
again. She made
this
all the sweeter—the long, grueling hours, missed meals, and proper socializing lacking was all worth every bit of heartache that gripped me. She shook me hard. Her grasp tight…never letting me go. Many times, after seeing her and Sven together, I told myself I didn’t need her. Hardest fucking 2,555 days of my life. I didn’t
need
her, but I
wanted
her. I wanted to pin her and mark her again as mine

Christ, I had a hard-on just thinking about her beneath me. And I was jogging! Fuck. My cock smacked uncomfortably against my abs. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it. I pulled my hoody over my eyes. I hoped like hell the pedestrians on the street didn’t notice as I ran by. My body was streamlined and powerful. I finessed my way through downtown traffic across Canal Street. My watch said 6:16. I was just passing NYU, heading into the West Village. Fuck, I was making good time. A personal best. I smiled. The illustrious Gansevoort Hotel in the Meat Packing District was on my left. Fuck, I needed a water. My hoody was still firmly over my eyes as I stepped into the packed bar of the hotel lobby.

The who’s who of Wall Street mostly occupied this hotel bar. Their mission was to provide a lifestyle hospitality brand that strives to provide guests with an energetic social experience, seamlessly coupled with modern luxurious service. I had to hand it to them; they did a fine job of it, too. Archer lived in this place most weekends. So much so, he kept a room.

He was dying to get into the hotel business. Then again, he was a self-serving bastard. The bar’s chic modern aesthetics, world-class restaurants, infamously vibrant nightlife, stunning custom photography, and rooms comfortable enough to serve as a second home, I could see why Archer played here. It was definitely him. The alcohol infused crowd swayed to the latest hip-hop beats.

It wasn’t one of the usual joints I frequented. However, I knew every hotel owner in the area. As well as the staff they employed. I wasn’t worried in the least about being recognized in the clothes I was wearing.

I slapped down a single one hundred dollar bill on the far corner of the bar.

“Sir,” the bartender greeted, placing a white G-embossed napkin down.

“Just a bottled water to go,” I murmured, checking my watch again.

The crowd was swelling by the minute. I needed to get the fuck out of there. The bartender placed an Evian water bottle on the napkin in front of me. I quickly unscrewed the cap, taking a healthy few gulps to quench my thirst. Fuck, that was good. I checked the time again while waiting for my change. I was still good on time. I had enough time to see her walk the few blocks to her apartment. She walked the same route every day. When it rained, she took a cab. Those were the days I fucking hated most. I didn’t get to see much of her as she jumped from the cab. I was a twisted motherfucker that hid in the shadows, biding my time.

The barkeep returned my change, which I quickly pocketed.

“Excuse me…can I get in here…please,” a feminine voice called out.

“Sure.” I rotated quickly to oblige her.

“It’s my girl’s birthday and we need some major alcohol.” Her voice was full of enthusiasm. She tapped her friend’s shoulder rhythmically to get her attention over the load music.

“Allison, I told you I’d score a spot at the bar,” she called out, delighted at her coup.

I sucked in a breath, holding it. I couldn’t breathe if I wanted to. And I didn’t. Her scent taunted me in the worst possible way. Her typical vanilla scent was spicy with a touch of musk. My Allison—all grown up. I backed up against the wall, giving them space while pulling my hoody deep over my face. Fuck, I looked like a delinquent. Not the way I was going to reintroduce myself. Not today. It wasn’t time. My eyes narrowed, my dick hardened, and my motherfucking blood boiled all in five seconds.

I stepped a few feet away from the bar. What the fuck was she doing here?
It’s her birthday, asshole
, I thought. No fucking way am I leaving her here…looking like…looking like
that
! She was wearing…what the fuck was she wearing? She was outfitted in a short, strapless dress that hugged her in all the right places; a pair of killer shoes completed this vixen’s look. Her hair swept in a loose side bun, showing the slight curve of her neck. This dress was meant to draw attention. And it did. To her fucking tits. They were overflowing and begged to be kissed—pinched. Men and women were staring. I could hardly blame them. So was I. She wore a delicate diamond bracelet on her left wrist that she played with. My hands balled at my sides.
Did Sven give that to her
? I pondered. She smiled as her gaze swept the room. Her friend whispered something into her ear that made her giggle. Sweet redness pinked her cheeks all the way down her chest. Fuck me. I watched the predatory glances from the hotshot Wall Street newbies. She was pulling her dress up while her friend was pulling her top down to show off her breasts. Yeah, she wasn’t good company for Allison. No. Fucking. Way. She was on the prowl, and my girl was along for the ride. Not. In. This. Fucking. Lifetime. She didn’t know it yet, but this was ending soon. I should be ashamed, guilty, and uncomfortable. However, she was as much of an addiction as pyromania. Incurable and dormant—for now.

~~~

After a quick 911 text to Archer, the driver drove him over to run interference from these cocksuckers. No fucking way was I leaving
her
here with Melissa. Melissa had that gleam in her eye that went straight to a guy’s balls. She was out to get laid. Odds were, she was trying to get my girl laid as well. Over my fucking dead and bleeding body. From a dark corner, I watched her. Now, on my fifth Johnny Walker Blue, my buzz was spiking, my cock painfully hard as I watched her move to the music.

Archer stepped around the table, finding me quickly. “You look like a felon.” He laughed.

“I am a fucking felon.”

His eyes furrowed until he comprehended. “Fuck, that’s right—you are,” he said, ordering a drink from the waitress. I had the perfect spot—across the dance floor in the far corner. It was dark and allowed me to move with ease in and out of the shadows.

“See that?” I pointed at Allison. “And that?” I pointed to the two trader-geeks scoping the girls out. “That’s not happening. You need to end it before I do.” I shook my head, shooting the rest of my scotch. The glass slammed with enough force that the waitress jumped. I offered it to her in exchange for another.

“Ease up on the scotch, bro.” Archer’s tone was cautious. He knew me well enough to know…I was barely tethered to reality.

“Go fuck yourself. I’m a match away from a five alarm. You want that shit here?” I didn’t even hear his murmured response, nor did I fucking care.

“Okay, what exactly do you want?” he asked reluctantly.

I explained slowly exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it to go down. My plan was going into hyper-drive fucking fast. He left, enacting into motion while I watched, hidden like the felon I was.

I knew what I wanted. And I waited long enough. Any reluctance I had evaporated immediately after seeing her in the flesh. Driven by power I rightly earned and, fuck, well deserved, I could offer her safety, luxury, and comfort instead of some hospital twin bed or grassy knoll on their property. I had built an empire.

My offering came with a price—she would be mine, even if it meant me burning in hell…