Page 26 of Promise of Destruction (Destruction & Vengeance Duet #1)

twenty-six

Declan

Misha smiles at us as she leaves with the notarized paperwork tucked back into the manilla envelope.

I appreciate that she never asks questions; she’s smart enough to recognize what is her business and what isn’t, it’s why I’ve kept her name in my contacts.

Soren stares after her until she disappears from view. That’s when she turns to me.

Resignation mingles with disbelief on her face. “What do you want from me?”

“I’ll settle for nothing but your best.” I lean against my desk and clasp my hands together in front of me, thoughtfully.

“I want you to be available when I need you. I expect you to prioritize a very lucrative job over whatever frivolous reality show you watch. I want you to show up even when you don’t feel like it, and I want you to be grateful for the opportunity you’ve been given. ”

“Grateful?” She chokes on a laugh.

Fire blooms in her eyes and I can feel the hint of a smirk betraying me.

It’s too easy to pull her strings to elicit the exact reactions I want. I wasn’t even trying to anger her that time.

“Yes, Miss Palmer. Grateful . I could have given this offer to Quinton.”

“Quinton?” She scoffs. “You fired him.”

“I did.” I nod.

“Because he asked me to show him a dance?”

Just the reminder sets me on edge, but I don’t want her to see that right now. “Not everything is about you.” I laugh.

Everything is very much about her—she’s consumed my every thought since that article ran.

Once I laid eyes upon her, my obsession only intensified.

I hate this fragile little woman who thinks she can run with the wolves, who believes herself capable of going toe-to-toe with the likes of darkness she can’t even fathom.

I despise everything about her, and yet I can’t get her out of my brain.

“Sure.” She laughs too, rising from her chair and inserting herself in the space before me.

Her irritation has emboldened her to stand up to me again.

I usually like it when people do what I demand and then scurry away intimidated, but it’s cute to see her ready to fight.

“That’s why you’re stalking me, right? Not everything is about me, so you’re just watching through my windows because you really like the art in my house, right? ”

“Yes,” I admit. “There was a Georgia O’Keefe in your bathroom that I found most… erotic.”

Confusion flits across her face for a moment. “I don’t have a—”

The rest of her sentence gets swallowed in a gasp of indignation when she realizes what I’m referring to.

She may have suspected that I saw her glorious pussy in agonizing detail as she drove herself to orgasm, but I just admitted to it in the most roundabout way.

Right after locking her into a contract with me.

“You’re sick .” Her voice quivers with indignation. She wraps her arms around herself, but it does nothing to cover what we both know to be true.

I take a step toward her. It’s slow, intentional.

An audience sits just on the other side of the glass windows, and though I could easily draw the blinds to offer us some privacy, I haven’t forgotten myself.

To anyone on the other side of the glass, it surely wouldn’t look like anything of note.

But the air in this office is charged—it always is when she’s near.

Our mutual disdain can’t be tamed. It emanates into the air, tangling with the also-mutual desire.

I’ve fucked plenty of woman that I don’t care anything at all for, but the idea of fucking Soren with all the hatred I feel for her and the way she loathes me, makes my cock harder than I can bear.

We will be fucking exquisite together.

“You can pretend that you’re not, Miss Palmer.”

“Soren!” Her own name slips out almost like a growl between clenched teeth.

“Soren.” I chuckle distantly. “Stupid fucking name.”

“And Declan isn’t?” She sneers. As close as I am to her, I can feel her breath when she does it. Her shoulders hitch a little, just like her breath when I press myself against her.

She’s a full foot shorter than me; her head comes to my chest, and it would be so easy to scoop her up in one motion and throw her over my desk. I don’t even think she would fight me if I tried, considering the way she’s looking at me right now.

I recognize hunger better than most. I recognize need and desperation and pain.

I bow my head to her so that our lips almost touch. No matter how badly I want to taste them, I won’t let mine fall on hers. I also won’t deprive myself of her entirely, this woman I suddenly need more than air.

I press my fingers lightly against the back of her neck, no threat or ulterior motive in the touch.

Her skin is soft under mine. For a moment I have to reconsider my rule against kissing her, because if her skin is this smooth, her lips will surely feel like heaven—particularly when they’re wrapped around my cock.

She draws in a sharp breath while she waits for whatever comes next.

When I do nothing, she releases it without moving.

Her eyes appraise me, wanting to know what I’m doing but too stubborn to demand an answer to the question she is also too stubborn to ask.

Maybe she doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

I suck in the breath she exhales, and her eyes go wide. I feel her skin break out into goosebumps against my touch on her neck.

“Why do you think I found you?”

My question takes her off guard. “What?”

“You wrote the article about me, and I sought you out. Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re crazy.” She says it simply, without the passion she used when she called me sick.

I shrug. “Maybe. But I came for you because I could feel it, even in your words. I could tell that you were just like me… sick and wrong. That first meeting in the bar confirmed as much. I mean,” I laugh and shake my head.

“One look and I could see it written all over you. It’s in the air around you.

It’s under your skin, changing everything about who you used to be, Soren Palmer. ”

Her eyes narrow with her confusion. “What is?”

“You’re sick, too, baby. You want to watch the world burn, whether you’ll admit it or not.”

She opens her mouth to object, but I move my fingers to her lips, instantly quelling whatever she may have tried to claim.

“Shh,” I tell her, rubbing the pad of my thumb over her bottom one, relishing the sensation. It does feel like satin, soft and smooth but warm. I bite back a groan. “Don’t fight it, Soren. You’re already dousing everything in gasoline. When you’re ready, I’ll give you a match.”