Page 9 of King of Desire (Kings of Las Vegas #2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Triston

I feel a twinge of regret. It’s not right to dangle money in front of Honeyeh, knowing how desperate she is for cash.

Then again, how else do I help her?

The very fact I want to help is problematic. Who pays someone eighty thousand dollars a year to dust? It’s why I’m creating this new position for her. It helps Mason, helps Honeyeh, and moves me closer to my professional goals.

It also means that I’m spending larger amounts of time with the woman I’m finding increasingly tempting. It’s like I’m tying my own noose, but I can’t make myself stop.

I know I’m losing control of this situation, but every day I spend in Honeyeh’s company, I want a little more of her.

When I watched her dust, bent over my bureau, I did all I could to not hike that dress up and bury myself deep inside of her.

I’ve spent the last two days in the company office instead of working from home, just to manage my raging hard-on. But that means that I’ve spent the last two days wishing I was here.

I’m sleeping like shit, and I can’t concentrate at work.

Part of the reason we’re having this particular party is to wine and dine Dimitri Ivanov’s board of trustees to complete the hostile takeover.

I need a soft-spoken beauty on my arm who will charm the board as I wave the contracts under their nose. For that, Honeyeh is perfect. I adjust my jacket to hide my stiffening cock.

She runs her hand over the silk of the gown, the gentle slide of her fingers making me so tense, I clench my fist against my thigh. I want her hands sliding over me like that.

“I wouldn’t know what to do at an event like that.”

“I already know you can walk in heels. And wear a dress.” I move closer, drawing in her sweet scent, like nectar and summer flowers.

She’s studying the dress as she flattens the fabric with her hands. “I mean, how to talk to all those rich people.”

“Easy. Just answer any question generically.”

“What do you mean by that?” She lifts her head, her gray eyes studying mine as she worries her lip. God, I want to nibble on it too, taste the plump flesh.

“Ask me a question. One a stranger might ask at a party.”

She looks to the side like she’s thinking, and then she turns back to me. “What do you do for a living?”

I chuckle, because that’s an easy one. But I can see why she might think it’s difficult. “Some of this and that. I’m still finding myself.”

Her eyes light up and she lets out this giggle that sounds like the tinkling of a bell. It makes me warm inside, which should be like a flashing red light of warning to abort. I don’t.

“It’s that easy, huh?”

“You should follow up with something like, what about you or tell me about yourself .”

She nods like this makes sense. “Right. I should always direct the conversation back at them.” Her eyes flit down to the dress again, her look growing pensive. “But also…” She pivots to face the desk, her chin dropping as she looks down at the dress.

Is she trying to put distance between us by turning away? Not happening.

I slide a touch closer until I’m almost touching her, and then I bring my hand to her hip. She tenses under my touch but doesn’t move. “What is it, Honeyeh?”

“I don’t know anything about dating either.”

That one stuns me for a second. “How’s that?”

“I don’t really…I mean, I’ve tried a few times, but I’ve never really…” She looks back at me over her shoulder, her cheeks pink.

I tighten my grip on her hip, fighting the urge to bring her ass back against my raging cock. “That’s fine. This isn’t a date, remember. It’s professional.”

“Right. It’s just, what if I don’t look natural? What if I’m awkward?”

Is that what she’s worried about? I’ve got a solution for that…. Bending down, I brush a light kiss across her temple, then wrap my other arm around her middle. “As long as you let me touch you like this, we’ll be completely convincing.”

“Oh,” she whispers, and I feel the shiver that runs down her body.

Glancing over her shoulder, I catch a glimpse of her stiff nipples pushing against the fabric of her uniform.

The sight of her nipples makes my whole body taut.

No one is going to think we’re faking. The attraction between us sizzles through the air and my hands itch to undress her.

I actually hate seeing her in this dress, as good as it looks on her. I can’t wait to get new clothes for her.

She should be draped in silk and lace and designer labels that hug every curve.

“Why don’t you try on the dress? See how it fits? There are shoes in the bag as well.”

“How would you even know my size?” she asks, sounding the slightest bit breathless. Am I making her flustered? The idea fills me with satisfaction.

“Try it on and then you can ask…” Reluctantly, I take a step back, pointing toward the door to the bathroom I have attached to the office.

She draws in an unsteady breath. “I don’t have on the proper…” her voice has dropped to a whisper, “bra.”

The idea of Honeyeh in underwear has my brain fritzing. Which makes me curse under my breath.

I’ve never had trouble finding women to share my bed. I’ve seen ladies in every shape and size, in every state of undress.

And yet, simple white cotton underwear on Honeyeh got my engine revving like it hasn’t in years. “There are undergarments in the bag as well.”

“You bought me underwear?” she gasps, but I smell it then. The light scent of her arousal. Fuck me.

“You can’t wear the dress without them.” I’m going to hell. It takes every ounce of my control to step back.

Slowly she picks up the bag and starts for the bathroom. She glances at me over her shoulder. “What if it doesn’t fit?”

“We’ll go dress shopping tomorrow.”

Her gaze is still filled with hesitation. “This is part of being your assistant? I’m not…not…”

Is she asking if I expect a happy ending? I have this vision of her on her knees before me, mouth open, nibbling at my cock. I nearly cum in my pants. I have to blink several times to speak. “You’re my assistant.”

She nods then turns and scurries toward the bathroom. Run little mouse, run. You’re about to be devoured by the cat.

But I catch myself. Even if she weren’t connected to Mason, the woman is toiling away to save the life of her brother. Underneath her soft and sweet, mild-mannered exterior, is the kind of woman who’s got real grit and loves with her whole heart.

Jesus. Listen to me…I’m like a ping pong ball, bouncing from one extreme to the next.

But I can’t deny that the words are true. The bathroom door softly closes and that’s when my phone rings.

I frown, pulling it from my pocket. I don’t want an interruption now, I just want to picture Honeyeh stripping off her work dress and pulling on the corseted strapless bra I’ve purchased for her.

But as I glance down, my brother Gris’s number flashes across the screen. Gris is my twin and of all my brothers, he’s the one I can least ignore. He has a sixth sense of when I’m out of sorts…

“What?” I bark into the phone. I’ve been surly with everyone this week. Maybe that’s why he’s calling.

“Hello, sunshine,” he rumbles back. “Nice to talk to you too.”

“Sunshine?” I spit into the phone. Since he got engaged to Arabella, he’s been annoyingly chipper. Or maybe I’m just that grumpy.

He laughs again. “How are plans for tomorrow night?”

“Peachy.”

“And Veronica?” he asks, keeping his voice neutral. I know he already knows we broke up. My brothers somehow manage to gossip, despite being the toughest men I know. “Don’t give me that.”

He full out laughs. “Was it ugly? Is that what’s wrong with you? Veronica seems like the type that would not go quietly into the night. She made a big scene, didn’t she?”

I don’t introduce a lot of the women I date to my family. But a few weeks ago, Gris and Arabella had a massive engagement party. A man can’t go to those things single, but I think it made the breakup with Veronica worse. She got ideas… “She did. It was ugly.”

“Have you considered extending the dating window?”

“Longer always makes things worse,” I answer, looking at the bathroom door. I shift my weight, hardly able to wait for Honeyeh to appear. I need to get my brother off the phone.

“Are you going to the benefit without a date? It’ll be like bees swarming to honey if you do.”

I pull the phone from my ear, looking down at the screen. Did he just mention honey ? “Killian mentioned Honeyeh, didn’t he?”

“Honey what?”

My frown deepens. “Never mind. I’ve got a plan. There won’t be any bees, just business.”

“Back up to the honey. I want—” I hang up. Not just because I’m short tempered today, because I don’t want to explain. I don’t even understand myself.

And then Honeyeh walks out of my bathroom and it’s completely clear.

Honeyeh is always beautiful. But like this, draped in red silk, she looks a million times better than any model I have ever seen. She looks like a Hollywood starlet from the 1950s, or a princess, or…

“It fits,” she murmurs, running her hands down her hips. Her hair is still in the low ponytail she wore for work and she’s not even wearing makeup, but holy fucking Christ…

“Honeyeh,” my voice is hoarse.

She points down to the shoes. “They’re a touch big but I’m sure they’ll be fine. If you just tell me how to style my hair, I’m sure I can borrow some makeup from my new friend Brittany.”

Borrow makeup? “There will be a styling team for you tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she cries, her eyes wide. “I’m sure I don’t need?—”

“Honeyeh.” We are not arguing this.

“Right,” she flushes again. “Great. I can just stay after work so that they can make me pretty.”

There is so much wrong with what she just said. Honeyeh is the kind of beautiful that a man fantasizes about. That he dreams… “You’re not reporting for work tomorrow. I don’t need you here until three or four.”

Her brow scrunches. “But if tomorrow night is overtime, then don’t I need to work regular time?”

She’s so stuck on working the actual hours and making the money by the rules. I’d admire her principles along with her heart if they weren’t keeping me from what I really wanted. Her.

“I need you to be your most rested and relaxed self tomorrow night. Besides, if you check the contract, you’ll see that any hours past five mean you get paid overtime.”

Her lips part in surprise before she dips her chin, running a hand over her belly.

Fuck. I want to put my palm over her stomach, spread my fingers wide as I pull her ass back into my constant erection.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” she says and then lifts her chin, those big gray eyes meeting mine. “I never imagined myself in something so lovely.”

I bite my tongue, wanting to tell her she makes the dress beautiful. I’m starting to act like a smitten asshole like Killian or Gris.

I’ve got to get myself under control.

I’ll work out. Maybe if I tire myself out enough, I’ll forget and I won’t even want to masturbate.

If I’m not careful, I’m going to tip over into obsession.