Dirty Rogue: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance(22)

That’s f*cking right.

I’m in control.

Thinking that doesn’t make my heart pound any less when there’s a soft knock at the front door of the apartment.

I make my way to the door with slow, measured steps. I won’t give myself away by rushing to open it.

The doorknob is cool and smooth under my hand as I twist it, pulling the heavy door open.

She came.

Quinn stands in the hallway wearing an all-black ensemble that emphasizes the lithe lines of her waist and hips. Her dark hair is pulled back into a gleaming twist at the back of her head.

She looks f*cking gorgeous.

Her breath is already coming hard in her chest, and for a long moment we both stand there, staring in to each other’s eyes. There’s pink color rising in her cheeks, coloring her creamy skin with a delicate blush.

The moment shatters, breaks, and then the pieces spin back together.

I reach for her hand.

I pull her inside.

I close the door behind her.

Then she’s on me like an animal, arms flung around my neck, grasping, her mouth crashing against my mouth, her teeth biting at my lip. Her shoes fall from her feet and onto the floor as I lift her up in my arms. She wraps her lithe legs tightly around my waist, and I flex my muscles, bringing her in closer even as I taste her so deeply that it makes the kiss we shared in the office seem like a peck on the cheek.

I’m drowning in her.

I love it.

I’m so f*cked.





Chapter 17

Quinn





I am silent on the ride from Midtown to the Upper East Side, but my mind buzzes and hums with thoughts of him. My lips still burn with yesterday’s kiss. The space between my legs has been soaked with my desire since he left me.

He could be my downfall, but my body can’t resist him.

The moment I got into the car, it was all over.

Once the decision was made, my mind went into a kind of sexual overdrive, and as Louis steers the car through the New York City traffic, I look out the window but see nothing. Not the buildings, not the people hustling by, not an ounce of the life that teems here in the concrete jungle. I am consumed with imagining Christian and his touch, his kiss, his body.

Maybe he’s already dismissed what happened earlier and intends to show me, right now, that it was a one-time mistake that won’t be repeated. Maybe he’s going to sit me down across from a desk in one of his private buildings somewhere and ask me to discuss the plans I’ve come up with to enhance his image. Maybe that’s how he works—he draws you in and then, when he has you where he wants you, hook, line, and sinker, he lets you dangle before cutting the rope and watching you fall.

I shake my head, my lips pressed together. No. This can’t be related to the work I have to do for him in the office. I felt the passion in our kiss. I felt the mutual need, so hot it almost scorched the walls of my office.

He’s summoning me because he can’t bear to be away from me one second longer.

I know exactly how he feels.

I don’t know what it is about him that’s making me so crazy, so willing to disregard my commitment to professionalism and sneak away to do God knows what with one of my clients on the second day at my new job. And it can’t just be that his body makes my mouth water even when it’s hidden under tailored suits, not an inch of skin showing. It’s more than that, but what? Is it the look in his eyes when he talks to me? Is it the electricity that charges through our veins when we both touch? Is it something deeper, wilder?

I run out of time to think about it because the car comes to a stop, parking curbside somewhere north of Midtown.

We’re here.





Louis gives me a key card. “Use this to access the elevator inside. The doorman is expecting you. Top floor.” Then he turns and gets back into the Town Car without another word.

I take a deep breath, force myself to stand up straight, and lift my chin in an attempt to gather a burst of confidence before moving inside the building.

He wants me to be here, and I want to be here. The only thing left to do is let this scene play out.

I stride confidently into the lobby of the building, It’s fairly nondescript, although there are small touches of luxury everywhere I look—marble flooring and countertops in the lobby, a uniformed doorman who gives me a wink and a smile as I go past, my heels echoing with every step, whisper-quiet elevators. The air inside is cool and comfortable, a welcome break from the summer heat.

The elevator doors slide open as soon as I wave the card in front of one of the scanners embedded in the wall. Blessedly, the car is empty, so I’m left in peace to push the button for the eighth floor. The penthouse.

Moments later, the elevator deposits me in a silent plushly carpeted hallway. Five steps away from the elevator, a single door is set into an alcove in the wall.

If I lose my nerve now, I’ll never go in.

Before I have time to think about this any further, I step up to the door and rap on it lightly with my knuckles.

Then I wait.

It seems to take forever before the door opens, the moments dripping languidly down the chain of time as if my heart is not pounding, as if my mouth is not suddenly dry.

The door swings inward.

There he is.

I look into his crystalline blue eyes for one long moment. Finally, he extends his hand to grasp mine, and he pulls me inside the entryway, closing the door behind us. He turns to face me.