Page 9 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)

HARPER

O nce I’m free of the file room and don’t see Grant on my tail, I grab my things and book it to the elevator. I work to control my breathing on the way down. Grant had been so close, closer than we’ve ever been before.

At least when he wasn’t giving me a hug, which has only happened a few times in my entire life.

My god, the tension swelling between us, I ate it up. I almost gave in to my fantasies, only in them I’m not in charge. And if I know anything about Grant Remmington, I’m going to have to slowly break down those safeguards if I’m going to get what I want.

And after that little display in the file room, I’m more than sure that I can have it. I’ve already got my claws sunk in.

I moderate my pace on the way outside and am nearly assaulted by a guy in a suit two steps past the door. His big hand clamps above my elbow, and I unsuccessfully try to yank myself from his grip.

“Miss Blair. Please. I’ve been instructed not to allow you to take the train tonight. Please get in the car.”

“Excuse you? That means you get to handle my person, why?” I tug meaningfully at the arm he has in his grasp. He’s lucky my taser is in the bottom of my bag.

The man pulls in a long-suffering breath, but a different voice answers from behind me. “Because he’s been warned how slippery you can be.”

I peer back at Trent and his infamous frown. The stern lines of his face makes me think of a drill sergeant, even with the thick dusting of hair across his jaw and chin. Dark hair curls across his forehead.

“Get in the car, Harper.”

My mouth purses. It’s not a request, and the brat in me wants to fight him about it. I’m perfectly safe taking the train home as I have every single day of my adult life and half of my childhood.

But another other part of me—a deeper part—keeps me from pushing back this time. Instead, I turn back to the man still holding onto me. “Let go, or I’ll make you wish you did.”

When he glances back to Trent for confirmation, I slam my heel down on the top of his foot. And not the protected part. Not the bit with the steel toe or rubber.

No, the part where the shoe ties together.

My heels are sturdy. Pointy. Made from the same steel most work boots are lined with.

I don’t have many moves. But my dad taught me a few things. Most of them utilize the element of surprise with the worst damage possible.

I totally get it. I’m small. Smaller than the majority of men in this world.

It’s why I always try to make myself seem bigger with my personality. Call me a brat if you want. A bitch. I’ll take everything I’m owed.

Not being manhandled by some yes man is one of those things I’m owed. No one gets to touch me without my permission.

The string of swear words that falls out of this dude’s mouth is almost comical. His hand releases me, and I easily step out of his grasp.

Only to walk into Trent’s. He cups my waist, cinching tight, and I’m hoisted into the waiting car.

I squirm, but I can’t fight. Not really. It’s Trent. I stand no chance against him.

Besides, he would never hurt me. My body doesn’t respond that way to him.

Trent plops me down on the smooth leather and turns back to his man, murmuring low. I hate being talked about. Apologized for because I’m a woman with an attitude and how dare that interrupt the lives of men.

I cross my arms. “You’d better not be apologizing for me. I am not sorry .” I raise my voice to be sure the guy hears me, and Trent closes us into the back.

He’s too close, and I scoot over in my seat.

It’s dim inside, darker with the black out divider from the front seat and the heavily tinted windows. It screams prestige. Danger. Money.

The darkness makes this seem even more intimate. I lean away to give myself a better vantage point out of the corner of my eye. A better view of the man who just stashed me away in a car like it was nothing.

It’s hard not to be overwhelmed by his presence. Alone. Trapped in a small space.

The scent of him is all male—like grease and spice. The same way my dad smelled, but…better.

He’s so god damn big, especially when he crosses his arms and pegs me with a glance.

We stew in silence until the car starts and we’re on the road.

“Why were you in the file room?”

Busted. Damn it, I should have known. They’re colluding against me. “What file room?”

Trent lets out a breath through his nostrils. I swear he’s got some big predator DNA in his genetics somewhere. Lion. Tiger. Bear.

“Harper.” His voice is dangerously soft. It would have been easier to have him yell. Then, I could get angry and yell back. Misdirect. But he knows that. “Don’t play with me.”

I turn fully to peer up at him, so much taller than me even seated. Tattoos trail out of the rolled-up fabric around his elbows. His skin is bronze and tanned, dark hair thick on his forearms, but still, ink highlights every inch of skin up to his wrist.

All of it can be carefully hidden behind his shirt sleeve if he chooses.

Even with them covered up, every bit of him is intimidating.

Unfortunately for him, it’s sexy as hell. Unfortunately for me, that means I have a harder fight on my hands because I so badly want to submit to his authority. And I can’t.

Not when I know I can crawl under his skin and get to that gooey core. It’s the same one my dad had. The one that got me everything I ever wanted, what I ever asked for or hinted at.

When my gaze meets his, I feign innocence. Obviously. “If I were playing with you, not only would you know it, you’d relish in it.”

He nearly growls, his voice so gruff and infused with breath. “You need to learn when to behave.”

“Oh?” My elbows squeezes closer to push up the line of my exposed breasts. “And you plan to teach me?”

My body is warring with lust and fear, pumping blood through me in a rush that has me a little dizzy from just how bold I’m being.

I’ve played with plenty of men this way. I learned how to get the reactions I’m looking for. But this version of playing with fire is most certainly going to get me burned.

His hand snakes out to grab me by the hair and draw me close enough to taste his minty breath.

I’m shaking, but I don’t know which emotion it stems from. Am I afraid that he’s going to take advantage of me or that he’s not?

The longer we stay this way, the less composed I feel.

His thumb draws across my cheek and jaw, and I’m struggling to breathe. Struggling to tear my gaze from his mouth and the stern pout of his bowed lips. I want to sink my teeth into them.

“Why were you in the file room?”

I touch his throat, dragging my fingertip across to trace his Adam’s apple. The stubble there burns my skin and prods at my already molten core. “I wanted to find more on a file I had in my stack.”

“What file?” If he’s phased by my touching him, he doesn’t show it. He’s stoic. Serious. Sexy as fuck.

I let my touch traipse down to the open collar of his shirt. “One with a lot of missing information.”

Trent’s nose bumps mine, and I gasp. I need more contact. A kiss. Anything to quench the heat threatening to crumble me into ashes.

“What information?” Did his voice grow a shade darker than it was before?

“See. That’s the problem, so much of it was redacted, I don’t really know.” And no, I’m not mentioning my dad’s photo. They had their chance to figure it out.

It’s my turn.

We stay like this for a few more breaths, and my finger hooks into his shirt, getting just a hint of hair at his chest. I lift my gaze to his again instead of my exploration.

Instead of his strong chin and soft mouth.

And the darkness in those brown eyes, the dirty promises of pain and pleasure, keep me from leaning in for more.

That and his grip in my hair.

But we hover in this limbo so long that I’m trembling.

Then the car comes to a stop, and Trent swiftly releases me.

I have to brace myself for balance against the back of the seat as my door opens. I don’t hesitate to grab my things and charge out, past the yes man who stays out of range from my heels. My glare makes him flinch back an extra step.

“Behave, Harper,” Trent calls after me.

Half to my relief and half to my disappointment, he doesn’t follow me to the door. What would I do with him if he did?

Drool over all of that manliness I’m not allowed to have?

I stomp straight up to my room and start a new journal entry. One where Trent has my hair in a vice grip as he coaxes me slowly out of my clothes, as his free hand explores every inch of my body he can reach. One where his fingers bring me to climax but his mouth never clears that inch between us.