The Casanova (The Miles High Club #3)(8)

What the fuck?

It’s Kathryn . . .

“You ready?” Tristan’s voice sounds from behind me.

I immediately click out of the footage and shuffle the papers on my desk, completely flustered.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” I stammer. “Just got to take care of something.”

“Okay, don’t be long, hey?” Jameson says.

I hear them leave in the elevator and I stare at my computer screen in shock.

No.

Couldn’t be.

Kathryn’s not hot, she’s never been hot. I would have noticed if she was that fucking hot.

My cock is thumping, demanding attention, and I guiltily look back at the door to make sure my brothers are gone.

Just another quick look . . . Wouldn’t hurt.

It probably wasn’t even her.

I open the computer screen again and see the red dress bouncing to the beat.

It is her.

She’s facing the camera now and my eyes roam over the way her breasts are bouncing. The curve in her neck, the cinch in her waist. The way her high ponytail moves as she dances.

I get a vision of wrapping that ponytail around my hand as I pull her down to suck me off.

My cock clenches. I shudder with a disgusted shake of my head.

Fuck . . .

I need to get laid.





Chapter 2


I pack up my desk with haste—I want to get far from my computer as quickly as possible. I close it down and with one last look around my office, I head to the elevator, hit the button with force, and exhale heavily.

I’m rattled: it’s rare that a woman gives me a physical reaction anymore. Lately I’ve been struggling with attraction issues, nobody seems to be doing it for me, no matter how beautiful they are, and I have no idea why. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’ve dated some of the most beautiful, extraordinary women in the world, and yet, still. I haven’t found what I’m looking for. Perhaps my brothers are right about my standards being unrealistically high.

But, a rock-hard boner from an employee I despise, Kathryn Landon.

Just fucking no.

I march out of the elevator and into the lobby, and see Jameson, Tristan, and Christopher waiting out on the curb for me. Jay and Christopher are looking at something on Jameson’s phone, deep in conversation.

“We going?” I snap impatiently. “Or what?”

Tristan looks up. “We’re waiting for you, dick. What do you think?”

I roll my eyes as I run my hand through my hair. “Drinks?”

“Yeah,” Jay mutters.

We turn the corner and begin to walk, and Tristan digs his phone out of his pocket; his eyes narrow when he sees the name on the screen.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Malcolm, my neighbor at home.” He answers it. “Hi Malcolm.”

He listens as we walk and then he narrows his eyes at me and gives a subtle shake of his head.

“What?” I mouth.

“Harrison,” he mouths.

I chuckle. Tristan’s middle son is sending him grey.

Wild as a bear.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know, Malcolm, I’ll take care of it from here.” He listens. “No, I appreciate you not calling Claire, she has her hands full with the girls,” he says. “Thanks again.” He hangs up and immediately dials a number. “I’m going to kill this fucking kid with a smile on my face,” he mutters under his breath.

I smile as I walk along and listen.

“Harrison,” he barks. “Do you mind telling me why Malcolm just called to tell me that you were speeding down our street late last night? Said you were going way over the speed limit.”

He listens.

“Listen,” he barks. “I spoke to you about this only last week. You are driving way too fast for someone who only just got their license and I’m not putting up with it.” He listens again. “Don’t give me that bullshit. Why would Malcolm make this up?” He rolls his eyes in disgust. “Malcolm is not trying to get you into trouble. No, I warned you. You’ve lost your car for a month.”

He listens again, his face murderous.

I chuckle and turn to see Jay and Christopher trailing behind us, still looking at a phone. “What are you two doing?” I snap.

“Looking for something,” Chris replies. He gestures at Tristan. “Who’s he yelling at?”

“One guess.” I sigh.

Jameson smirks. “What did Harry do now?”

“Speeding.”

“Hand your keys over to your mother right now, young man . . . or I am getting on the first flight home,” Tristan growls. “Do you understand me!”

He listens again.

“This may come as a shock to you, Harrison, but you are not invincible,” he snaps. “You’re going to cause an accident or, heaven forbid, kill yourself, and I’m not having it. Hand the damn keys over.”

“Dramatic bitch,” Jameson says as he rolls his eyes.

I laugh; watching Tristan navigate rebellious teenagers might just be my favorite pastime.

Tristan hangs up and stuffs his phone in his pocket, fuming mad. “That fucking kid, every single time I go away he gets into shit.” He punches his hand into his fist.

We walk into a bar and take a seat at the back; the waitress approaches us. “What will it be?”