Page 38

THIRTY-EIGHT

Kinsley

I don’t know what kind of game these guys are playing, but I’m not okay. Not at all. After they blue beaned me Monday night, they’ve been nothing but polite and professional. I know I’m the one who drew the line in the sand, but I take it back. I take it all back.

There’s only so many times a girl can play with herself and trust me, that new wellness toy has been working overtime.

But every night I go to sleep and dream about the three of them taking me, claiming me. I’m distracted at the office, forgetting things, and I hate it. I pride myself on doing a good job, and I feel like I’m fucking everything up.

After work is worse. They come over in their normal people clothes, bring my brother and I dinner, and act like everything is a-okay. But it’s not.

I’m not.

Sometimes I get a hug or a light kiss on the top of my head, but my grandfather used to do that before handing me a butterscotch candy or offering me some Chiclets. It’s not sexy and does nothing to stem these annoying urges. It only makes things worse.

“Dammit, Kinsley.” Brantley practically stomps into my office, his face a nice light shade of red. He stares down my colorful animal pictures, glaring at them one by one before shifting that look to me. “Did you submit all the paperwork to the court for Mr. Gray?”

He’s missing his jacket, his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his forearm porn, and as he plants his hands on the other side of my desk and leans over, I almost swallow my tongue. He’s still wearing his dark gray vest and the whole combo really does things to me.

At least I know what moment will fuel tonight’s fantasies.

It doesn’t even matter that his voice is raised. It might make the whole thing better.

“Kinsley, are you paying attention?”

I blink. Trail my gaze up to his face and blink again. “Yes, boss.”

He growls, legitimately growls, and I shouldn’t be so turned on, but I am. I fucking am. I’m a damn horny mess in my office chair because I want nothing more than my boss to crawl up my body and growl in my ear as he slides into me.

Jesus. I have problems.

Big ones.

Three to be exact.

You know, you have one night of super hot, sweaty sex, and it’s all downhill from there.

He’s still staring me down, his jaw working back and forth, and I want to trace it with my tongue. “Yes, you submitted the paperwork or yes, you are paying attention?”

“Both. I think.”

Another growl rumbles deep in his chest, and his eye twitches. “You think?”

I clear my throat and shift in my chair. Why isn’t my brain working? I’ve seen forearms before, and he wears one of those damn vests of his every day. So why the hell am I so affected? I blame the top of the head kisses. They’ve got me all out of sorts.

What was he saying? Paperwork? Mr. Gray? Oh, yes, that’s right. “I submitted everything for his case yesterday.”

“Then why does nothing show in their system? Why did this woman Julia who forced me into small talk say they hadn’t received anything.”

The look of disgust on his face is almost enough to make me laugh. Almost, but not quite. He’s pissed, and I probably shouldn’t actively try to make things worse. You know, like laugh in his face. Or ask him about his day and his favorite color.

Which, but the way, I’m sure is black like his soul.

“That can’t be right,” I say more to myself than him. While it’s true, I’ve been distracted, I remember doing this yesterday. It was right after lunch. There was a ham sandwich and a bag of Cheetos involved. I had to wash my hands twice before faxing everything over. “I’m positive it was done.”

His palm slaps against my desk, and I jump. “Well, it wasn’t and now everything is going to have to be pushed back. Two weeks, Kinsley, you cost us two weeks.”

I swallow. Hard. “I’m so sorry. I’ll send everything over right now so we won’t have to worry about any future delays.”

I’m already halfway out of my chair when he holds up a hand. “Don’t worry about it; I did your job for you.”

He doesn’t give me a chance to respond or really process what he said. He simply stomps out of my office, apparently just as pissed as when he came in. But as he disappears, my brain catches up.

He did my job for me?

Is he freaking kidding me?

I sent those papers yesterday; I know I did. I’m positive. And I have proof. I spin, pull Mr. Gray’s file from the cabinet behind my desk, and yep, there it is. The fax confirmation.

Take that, Mr. Ellis.

But my little internal victory isn’t going to work. He needs to know I can be competent at my job, and while yes, I did slack on a few things this week, this is not one of them.

Screw him.

He doesn’t get to berate me for something that was done, and he sure as hell doesn’t get to think I need help doing my job. I’ll shove this confirmation up his perfect ass if I have to.

So, I snatch up that piece of paper and head to Brantley’s office. I don’t bother knocking. He barges into my office, and it’s about time I return the favor. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. You get the idea.

He has his back to me, his arms crossed, and he’s staring out the window, his gaze sweeping over downtown Nashville. He doesn’t turn around as the door shuts behind me. “Did I forget something?”

Yeah, your personality.

“I think you should look at this.” My voice doesn’t waver, I don’t back down, and I’m sure as hell not going to beg for his attention. It doesn’t matter how good his arms look right now.

He hums, a smooth sound that rolls right through me. He turns around, but it’s slow, and he makes no attempt to walk closer. Instead, he takes a step back, leaning back against his desk. “Yeah?”

Does he expect me to come over there?

His head cocks to the side as he studies me, his jaw still clenched.

He does. He really freaking does. Well, I’ll show him.

I take that damn paper, wad it up into a tight ball, and chuck it right at his pompous ass face. Okay, to be fair, I was aiming for center mass, but it arches high in the air and hits him right in his square jaw.

Maybe that wasn’t the right move, but it’s too late. I can’t take it back now. What’s done is done, but at least this is something I can take responsibility for. I may even get high-fived on my way to the unemployment line.

He glances down at the paper and then back at me, his frown deepening, his eyes flashing with literal fire. Maybe not literal fire, but it’s close enough. “And what was that?”

“The fax confirmation from yesterday.”

He hums again, his tongue darting out to lick along his teeth. He looks like he’s about to devour me whole, and I’m not sure if I’ll like it.

In one swift movement, he pushes away from his desk and stalks toward me.

He’s pissed.

I probably shouldn’t have thrown something at his face if I didn’t want to provoke him.

Shit.

I’m in trouble.

After taking a deep breath, I step back and plaster myself against the door. Maybe if I make myself look small he’ll take mercy on me.

His footsteps are heavy, his dress shoes slapping violently against the floor. His eyes flash with something I can’t quite decipher, but there’s something wild in the way he looks at me. I’m more than in trouble. I’m probably fired.

He doesn’t stop a few feet away from me like I expected; he keeps walking, not stopping until he’s inches from me.

Instead of reading me the riot act or forcing me out of the office, his hand snakes around my neck and he pulls me against him, his lips crashing down on mine.

I’m frozen for a second before I grab handfuls of his vest and open up beneath him.

His tongue plunges into my mouth with a groan, my legs tremble, and I tighten my grip on his clothes to keep from crumpling to the floor.

His kiss is unyielding. Ruthless. Unforgiving.

So undeniably savage.

It’s so raw, so primal, so fucking Brantley. I knew he wouldn’t be gentle, wouldn’t treat me like I’m some delicate flower to be treasured, and I love it. I want more. I need it.

I don’t care if we’re in the office. I don’t care if this is unprofessional.

And I sure as hell don’t care if Wyatt and Maverick can hear us.