Instigation

My eyes narrow. This is the first I’ve heard of Matthews. “What happened to Jericho?” I ask.

 

Adrian didn’t inform me of any changes. Then again, Adrian’s never bothered to keep me apprised of anything unless he’s deemed it necessary. All of my previous interactions regarding the new guesthouse he’s having built have been with Jericho & Sons.

 

“No idea, ma’am. All I know is my bid was accepted at the last minute and all plans were transferred to my office. We’re breaking ground today, and the boss directed me to report to Gabriella Latham. Can you tell her I’m here? My guys are ready to get to work.”

 

I bristle at his insinuation. What does he think? I’m just some whore Adrian screws around with? Is that what he sees when he looks at me? Good enough to fuck, but not enough to help when it comes to anything important? Not worthy of being a businesswoman? When I glance down at my disheveled appearance, my anger wanes. If that’s what he thinks, maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all I’ve been to Adrian.

 

“I’m Gabriella,” I inform him briskly, straightening my tank and sitting up just a little taller than before.

 

A flicker of surprise flashes in his eyes before he raises his brow in my direction. “Really? Well, then, Gabriella, I apologize yet again. I didn’t put two and two together. You know what they say about mixing business and pleasure,” he quips, his eyes shining with interest, as if he’d like to do just that. “I had no idea I’d be working so closely with the boss’s . . . uh . . . woman.”

 

I can tell he’s intrigued by the idea, and I wonder just how closely together he’d like to be working. As far as I know, I’m just here as a go-between for Adrian and the lead contractor, who I’m guessing is this Matthews man. All questions, as well as status updates and the like, are to go through me.

 

“I’m not,” I tell him, and he gives me a look of disbelief. “His woman,” I continue.

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, his eyes flashing to the shirt on the counter, the evidence of Adrian’s branding release.

 

My cheeks flush as I straighten up and push it away. Tears well up in my eyes at the memory, and suddenly, I have the urge to run to the bathroom and take a scalding shower to wash every bit of him away. Matthews just watches me as if the sight of another man’s dried come doesn’t bother him in the least. Just how long was he standing outside? He steels his gaze on mine as if he’s waiting for me to challenge him.

 

“Why are you here, exactly?” I ask, wiping away the tears that have fallen.

 

Right now, even though all I want is to be left alone, there’s something captivating about the way he’s watching me. It isn’t pity in his eyes. It’s almost as if I’m captivating him. It makes no sense.

 

His gaze doesn’t leave mine as his own eyes soften. “I think the more appropriate question, Brie, is why are you?”

 

The question hangs in the air between us.

 

Brie?

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask, unnerved that this stranger is seemingly calling me out. “And why are you calling me Brie?”

 

Before I know what’s happening, Matthews crosses the room until he’s standing directly in front of me, ignoring my question. “I don’t have many weaknesses, but I’m a goner for a beautiful woman crying. And you crying? It’s a damn shame.” Didn’t Adrian say something similar? He did, but somehow this feels different.

 

I should be embarrassed by my tears, yet something about this man makes me anything but. I don’t know why he makes me feel comfortable. Maybe it’s because he appears to be the complete opposite of Adrian. Maybe it’s because he’s anyone but Adrian. Still, even with his close proximity, I don’t want to push him away.

 

Sniffling, I look up at him. “Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Kiss and make it all better?”

 

Where the hell did that come from? It’s official. I’ve finally lost my mind. I’ve been teetering over the edge, and after the little incident with Adrian, I’ve tip-toed right off the edge.

 

His lips twitch, and my eyes inadvertently fall to them as I lick my own. He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh, and I wonder if he’s going to take my suggestion.

 

“If you’d allow me, then yes, I’ll kiss and make it better,” he says, watching me intently, just waiting for me to give him permission. “No man should ever make you cry unless it’s in pleasure.”

 

The heat in his gaze has me transfixed. When was the last time I cried out in pleasure that hadn’t come from my own hand? Less than an hour ago, Adrian withheld mine, and the memory is like a proverbial gallon of freezing ice water thrown over me and a simultaneous light bulb clicking on in my brain. That’s why I’m acting like this. Why I’m so drawn to this stranger. I’m dizzy with lust, the space between my thighs still emanating a dull ache. Adrian’s command that I not come until he returns flashes through my mind.

 

“I . . . I have a boyfriend,” I stammer, completely conflicted. Why did I just tell him that when I know it’s not true? To keep him at arm’s length when I’m not sure that it’s even what I want?

 

One part wants him to bend me over and have his way with me. To do what Adrian refused until I scream in pleasure, crying out just as he said I should. The other part, the rational one, knows I can’t do that to Adrian, especially not in his own home. No matter what he’s done to me, I’m not that person. Not to mention I don’t think I want to know what he would do if he ever found out. As he said, he has eyes and ears everywhere. Why the hell am I even considering this?

 

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