Saint (A Dark Mafia Romance)(90)

Except if he did know, he'd have already thrown me out this window.

“Alright, alright. Fine.”

“Atta boy.” Hudson checks his watch. “Alright boys, time to get up there and meet the rest of the family.”

I cringe. Fuck.





Chapter Six





Quinn




So much for ‘until at least Thanksgiving’ I think darkly to myself.

I’m sitting in some gorgeous, opulent conference room at the Archer Holdings building with jaw-dropping views of midtown Manhattan and Brooklyn out the big windows.

But it’s a view I can’t enjoy, because Logan Dempsey is sitting between me and that view, and he’s got that damned cocky grin on his face, and it’s making me squirm in my seat.

The meeting is Logan and I, which would be bad enough, except Bryce and Hudson are also here, which is making me feel like I'm under some sort of microscope. It’s a classic “Tell-tale Heart” scenario. I’m sure they can hear my pulse racing like an engine or can see the dirty, dark thoughts about Logan I’m desperately trying to shake from my head clearly across my face.

His lips are hot on mine, kissing me with a fierceness I’ve never felt as his hands explore my body. He’s pulling at my tank top, slipping it up the small of my back as his hands trace the skin there, sending shivers through me core.

There’s a fervency and a throbbing need here that I’ve never felt with any man before, and where I’d normally be put off with how quickly his hands are familiarizing themselves with my body, I find myself urging him on, wanting him to touch me.

Wanting him to know all of me.

He’s pushing his hands under my shorts and cupping my ass, grinding me against the hardness pushing in his pants that feels bigger and thicker than anything I’ve ever felt before. And my hands are reaching for him, finding a boldness in their need to touch that I’ve never seen from them before.

But he’s pushing my hands away and slipping my shorts and panties down and off my legs, and then he’s touching me, and I’m gasping as he finds me hot and wet and ready for him

When he pulls me up his body, pulling my sex towards his mouth, the shyness and the awkwardness I know would normally be there slips away, replaced instead with a heady, almost drug-like need to feel him.

I WANT this man. This total stranger.

His tongue slips into my folds, pushing deep against my opening and then curling up to tease at my clit. Hands grab my ass and coax my hips back and forth, back and forth across his magical tongue, urging me further, and higher, and harder until I’m almost screaming as I come and-

Oh, God, and now I’m fantasizing about Logan Dempsey in the middle of a business meeting at my job.

Something is severely wrong with me.

I glance around, suddenly self conscious about what is I’m sure a bright red blush across my face, but also the fact that my panties are hot and wet beneath the formal business skirt I wear.

I shoot a look across the table at the man responsible for these wicked and ill-timed thoughts, hoping to find some sort of counterpoint there. Hoping to find him as confused and ill-at-ease looking as I feel.

But, if he’s feeling any sort of uncomfortableness, he sure as hell isn’t showing it, that’s for damn sure. It’s just that same stupidly handsome, stupidly mesmerizingly cocky grin on his face. That cool, composed look staring right back at me and making my face burn despite my attempts to push him from my thoughts.

He’s also staggeringly good looking in a suit, which isn’t helping. I mean to be fair, all three of them are good looking guys and in amazing shape but Logan is just fucking criminally good looking - his broad shoulders and chest filling out the suit perfectly as he leans back in that big leather conference room chair and winks at me.

And of course, just to make matters worse, we’re joined in the meeting by Peyton, a young little blonde thing that looks all of twenty years old who also happens to be Logan’s chief affairs manager.

She’s also immediately a frosty bitch to me for no apparent reason that I can figure out, and on top of that, there’s something about the way she looks at Logan or the way her hand rests a little too long on his arm when she speaks to him that has my blood boiling.

Jesus, what am I, jealous?

Ugh. It’s a terrible thought, and one that I quickly try to push out of my head. God no. I am not jealous of flirty little bouncy-tits Peyton grinning away at Logan, just like I’m not going to get bothered by her cutting me off mid-sentence every three seconds throughout the whole stupid meeting either.

I’m just uncomfortable with this whole arrangement - the secrets upon secrets, and of course the fact that I’ve barely paid attention this whole first meeting because all I can think about is how the man across the table from me looks without that suit on.