Lag (The boys of RDA #2)(78)

I huff and take a step closer to his desk. “My sister was the goddamn valedictorian of her high school class and had a full ride to Tulane for pre-med. Then, this morning, out of the blue, I find out from one of her roommates that she has dropped out of school and started working here. She’s twenty years old, for Christ’s sake! Clearly, you can see why I’m concerned. I mean, why the hell would she do that?”

He offers me a small, understanding smile and leans over his desk, toward me. The fabric of his dress shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and strains against his massive biceps. My mouth salivates and I fight the flush I’m sure is creeping up my neck. The worst thing about being fair-skinned is the complete inability to hide my reactions, especially to men like Savage Hawke.

“I do understand, Ms. Eriksson, but I don’t have the answer for you. Have you tried asking your sister?”

Shit. I should have seen that question coming.

I shift uncomfortably and twist my hands in front of my body. “No, she’s been avoiding my calls. That’s why I finally went to her apartment today, to make sure she’s okay.”

He almost looks sympathetic and I wonder how long it took him to perfect this nice-guy act.

“Well, I think you need to talk to her. I don’t think she’s on the schedule tonight, but you can ask Byron downstairs, and, if she’s here, he will gladly show you to the changing rooms in the back so you can speak with her.”

Casting an uncomfortable glance toward him, I move my purse from one shoulder to the other and turn to leave without a word. Absolutely no good will come from me spending any more time in this room with this man.

Savage Hawke is precisely the type of man I always end up getting myself into trouble with: dark, strong, passionate…

I almost stumble when a vision of him slamming me back against the wall and yanking up my skirt to gain access floods my mind.

Jesus—I bet he takes absolute control in the bedroom, and I bet he f*cks like a complete animal. Men like that don’t do things slow and sweet.

“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’ or a ‘goodbye?’”

His sultry, deep voice stops me halfway to the door. I look over my shoulder at him.

Deep breaths, Dani. Keep it together.

Don’t let him see how he affects you. Don’t let him see you rattled.

“I don’t have anything to thank you for,” I reply, before raising my head high and strutting out the door, not bothering to close it behind me. I punch the button on the elevator and tap my foot impatiently.

I need to get out of here.

I need to get as far away as possible.

I need to find Nora.

I need to find something to prevent me from racing home, grabbing my Rabbit, and spending the rest of the day fantasizing about that man.

I need to find something to prevent me from racing straight back to his office, climbing over his desk, and straddling his lap.

An angry f*ck can be supremely hot—ripped clothing, hair pulling, strong, groping hands—but having an angry f*ck with my stripper sister’s deviant boss would be an epically bad life choice.