Ruckus (Sinners of Saint #2)(15)

"Yes," I groaned, and as I said that, I realized that I wasn't just annoyed with the prospect of having Dean around.

I was also excited.

Just a tad, but enough to make my stomach do that flip.

That should have tipped me off. Been the first alarm bell. Because everyone knew one thing-after the flip, comes the boom.

 



"Fuck if I care, Colton. We're dropping that lawsuit on his ass faster than a load of shit after a visit to that all-you-can-eat restaurant on Broadway just to make sure he can't buy any more stocks until further investigation. Am I clear? Colton? Colton! Goddammit."

Oh, crap.

His voice rushed into my ears a second too late. I didn't have the time to jump out of the elevator before he sent his arm across the barrier-the one clutching his cell phone-to make the door slide back open.

Dean walked past the elevator's threshold wearing his navy blue, three-piece suit and cocky smile, pressing his phone to his ear as he loosened his silk maroon tie.

"LeBlanc," he hissed seductively, ending the call. I ignored him, staring at the numbers above my head.

His body pressed against mine from behind and his lips found my ear. "Do your nipples always pucker when someone enters the elevator with you, or do you save this reaction only for me?"

Double crap.

My eyes dropped down to my black top. Horrified, I remembered I wore a thin, barely-supportive bra under my Misfits shirt that morning.

"Just kidding, but good to know you have a reason to be worried." Dean let out a mocking snicker. Asshole.

"What do you want?" I groaned.

"You, in my bed, playing with my balls as I suck your tits until they bleed. Maybe jerk me off. Just as an appetizer, obviously. The main course will be better, but you'll have to see for yourself."

Triple crap. Now I was wet.

The elevator pinged. I darted out, jerked my door open, throwing the keys into a handmade bowl Mama made in pottery class that was supposed to be an Egyptian figure but looked more like a crying monkey, kicking my flip-flops against the wall with a thud. Padding barefoot to the kitchen, I opened my fridge and grabbed the orange juice, taking two big gulps straight from the carton. It wasn't until I wiped my mouth with my forearm that I realized Dean was in the kitchen with me, pinning me down with the most vivid green eyes I'd seen in my life.

"Rent reevaluation." He smacked his lips together. "Before you throw another hissy fit, hear me out. There's a good offer on the table."

"Just tell me the price. Your offers are sexual harassment suits waiting to happen."

Dean smirked when his phone buzzed again. Then he looked down and frowned, his nostrils flaring. Ignoring the buzz, he met my eyes again.

"It's not harassment when you're obviously game."

I walked to the sink, washing my hands to buy time, abstaining from answering him.

"It's time to pack a bag to Todos Santos, Rosie-bug."

Just hearing the name my daddy nicknamed me on his tongue made me shudder.

"Is it? I'm boarding a plane Saturday evening. That's what my plane ticket says."

"Not the one you're going to use." He leaned his waist against my sink, his eyes undressing me item by item. The call on his phone died, but another one started, making the screen flash. He ignored it, too. "Make that very early Friday morning, meaning tomorrow."

"I'm not coming with you."

He chuckled, shaking his head like I was an adorable, silly puppy. "Wanna bet?"

"Sure." I shrugged. "Why not? Preferably for money. You're not short in that department."

"Or any other, as we've already established." He pushed off the sink, stopping where I could smell but not touch him. Not too close, but close enough for that shiver to roll down my spine.

And it was true that even after all these years, he still had this effect on me. The unsolicited feeling that I wasn't entirely responsible or in control of what I might say to him. Or do with him. He stood behind me and brushed a lock of hair away from the back of my neck, making my flesh warm and prickly.



       
         
       
        

He then leaned down and murmured into my ear, "This kind of apartment goes at eight thousand dollars a month on the market. You're paying me a hundred bucks a month. Do I need to make you fall in line with the rest of New York, Miss LeBlanc?"

There was zero menace in his tone. Dean 'Ruckus' Cole was a different kind of asshole to Baron 'Vicious' Spencer. He fucked you over with a polite smile on his face. In that sense, he was the Joker. In his mix of confidence, cockiness, good looks, and money, there was a dash of insanity thrown in. Enough to let you know that he meant every word he said.