An all-new story in Skye Warren’s North Security series is out this week, and I have a little sneak peek for you.
The first time I ever saw Isabella Bradley was beneath the strobe lights of my club in Vegas. She looked gorgeous. No, that’s not the right word. She looked fuckable. Immensely fuckable, and I seriously contemplated taking the steps down to the floor. She had turned down every man who approached her, but I felt confident enough about getting her into bed. The problem was, I didn’t want a carbon copy of every beautiful girl. I didn’t want another bland night of vanilla sex. I wanted control, and this girl, with her high heels and fake eyelashes and glasses of Dom Perignon was in no position to give it to me.
What do you want? she asks. The same thing I wanted that night, only now I know that it’s possible. It’s within my grasp, and the anticipation makes me hard. Everything about her makes me hard. I want to own you. If I told her that she’d go running for the hills. “I have something deeper in mind than an infusion of cash.”
“You want a seat on the board?”
“God no. I want controlling interest.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s impossible. Bradley Hotels stay in the Bradley family.”
“That’s exactly what I’m proposing,” I say, drawing out the last word. Proposing. This isn’t how I imagined proposing marriage. “That I become part of the Bradley family.”
Her blue eyes are narrow. She’s suspicious. Good. She should be. “Meaning?”
“Marriage is the easiest way, I should think. And it’s about time I settled down. Produce an heir, as my aunt would say.”
Shock. Disbelief. Fury. They’re written across her face in rapid succession. “You’re an asshole.”
That makes me laugh. It’s a good laugh. A belly laugh. The kind that’s genuine. She’s perfect for me. Her brother was right when he said I liked new construction. The villas in Bali. The club in Vegas. The ice hotel in Sweden. I like to control every single aspect of a situation. I would never have considered taking on the Bradley hotels, no matter the return on investment. Not until I heard the whispers about her taking over the reins. Not until I put her together with the fuckable woman I saw in the club. The Bradley Hotel empire is a bonus. She’s my true acquisition.
This close, I can feel her body heat. I can smell her lavender scent. I breathe in deep. It’s going to make me hard now, anywhere I go. A lavender candle. An air freshener. My cock will turn to steel because it wants inside this woman.
“Is that a yes?” I ask.
Her blue eyes flash. “There’s no way in hell.”
“Not even for Chef Bautista?”
“Not for any chef in the world. I can’t even tell if you’re joking right now. Or just playing some kind of prank. This is a business transaction.”
“Our marriage would be a business transaction.”
She laughs, a wild sound. I want her to make that sound with my tongue on her clit. “Let’s assume I’m even contemplating this idea. Are you suggesting a marriage in name only?”
“Oh darling. We’re going to have sex.” I glance down at her. That sweet little black pantsuit that she uses as a shield, as if anything could cover her innate sensuality. Every man who meets with her in this conference room wants to spread her naked on the shining wood table. Myself included. “I suppose a test run is in order. A spreadsheet with numbers that add up.”
“What?” Her blue eyes are clouded. She’s affected by how close we are. She feels the attraction the same as I do. We’re both just animals beneath the pretty trappings, and her instincts warn her body to prepare itself.
Her pale skin turns pink. I want to see where else she’s pink. I settle for her mouth.
A light brush of my lips over hers.
And then again.
I knew we’d have chemistry, but I’m still surprised by the heat that streaks through me. The hunger. It demands satisfaction. Here. Now. More.
I press harder, showing her how it will be between us. I’m commanding in all areas of my life—business and personal. And definitely sex.
“Should I make a table of your lips? Should I draw a graph of your taste?” I murmur to her, probing deeper, questing with my tongue, searching for that feminine flavor. There she is. She holds herself very still as if she’s never been kissed.
Her soft cry sounds almost lost, and then she tentatively kisses me back.