“Are you?”
“Would I be working for Malcolm if I wasn’t?”
“Good point.” His finger rubs along the tube and the side of his hand nearly brushes the inside of my thigh. I nearly fall over and have to grab him for balance. He grips my upper arm and steadies me. The heat of his palm burns through the lightweight fabric in a nanosecond. When I get home, there will probably be an imprint there. That might be wishful thinking. I force myself back on topic. “And what’s your excuse? Why are you working with Malcolm?”
“Malcolm has certain connections that I thought would be useful.”
“But it hasn’t worked out.”
“Not as well as I would have liked.”
“Are you sure I can’t help you?”
His fingers close around the frame and tip me toward him until I have no choice but to brace my hand against the hard wall of his chest. His hand leaves my arm and comes around me like a shackle.
“Let me be perfectly frank with you, Victoria. There are lots of things that I’d like you to do for me. Some of them involve you on your knees. Others require you bent over a table. All of them require me to be between your legs. But I don’t pay for that.”
“No, I wouldn’t think you would,” I say faintly. No one has ever spoken to me in such a graphic and frank manner and I don’t know how to respond—at least not verbally. My body is reacting by getting hot and tight.
He nods then in confirmation that I’ve heard him. “I don’t dip my pen in the company ink. Nothing good comes of that. So let me ask you again. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather let me take you out to dinner and then home, where I would make you come so hard that you wouldn’t be able to remember your own name let alone that you have money troubles?”
I’m finding it difficult to breathe normally and it’s hard to remember exactly why I’m resisting him so hard. His hand has moved from my waist to my hip and his fingers are curling around my ass and pulling me close as possible despite the bike frame between us. I can even feel his erection against my hip. “The money troubles will still be there, regardless of my memory,” I manage to choke out.
His eyes narrow because he doesn’t like my rejections. “You should know that when small prey runs away, it only whets the appetite of a predator. Someday, Victoria Corielli, I’m going to get you to say yes.”
He pushes the bike frame upright and my body reluctantly follows.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says and then turns and walks away. I stare after him like a dumbass for at least five minutes.
Chapter 6
WHEN I GET HOME THAT night, there’s a package waiting for me in the super’s apartment. It was too big for the mailbox slots in the first floor lobby.
“If you can afford this, then I don’t think you’ll need that extension on your late rent payment. It’s ten days past due,” the super says as he points to the box on the table behind him. It’s big and white and has a gold B embossed on the top of it. It looks expensive and exactly like the box that Ian had told the sales associate to deliver.
I stare at the box as if it contains deadly, hazardous materials because it does. If I open that box something is going to happen that could wreck me. Slowly I back away. “Yeah, sorry about the late rent.” I pull out a small wad of cash from the payment Malcolm had given me the other day and hand it off to the super. “Two months there.”
He grunts and counts it out slowly, not moving from the doorway. The box is calling to me, luring me in or at least holding me in place as if Ian is here with his warm finger pressed against my forehead.
“Any chance you have another place I could rent out? Somewhere with an elevator? Or a first floor apartment?”
The super draws back. “Think I’d be here in this shithole if I had some other place to live?” He counts out the money and when he’s satisfied I’ve paid him correctly, the box is shoved into my arms. Before I can ask another question¸ the door slams shut. There’s nothing to do but take the box upstairs with me.
The rest of the cash Malcolm paid me is in my bag. My thoughts flick back to the folded one hundred dollar bills that I stupidly turned down. When did my pride come before money? I should have grabbed those bills and ran.
“Did you pick up your box?” my mom calls from the bedroom. The apartment is filled with the smell of delicious baked pastry dough and my stomach growls appreciatively in response. “The super called.”
“Yeah. It’s from Malcolm," I lie. "A package he wants me to deliver." This second falsehood is told so she won’t open the package. I dump it on the other side of the pull out sofa that I have called a bed for the three years we’ve lived here.