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  “I don’t know about being a real competitor, but I’ll at least save you from playing like you’re an only child. Lord knows that sucked as a kid for me fairly often.” She lifts her dark eyes to mine. “What about for you?”

  It’s the first time she’s asked me about my childhood, a subject people avoid like the bubonic plague if they know who my father is. Since I haven’t outright admitted it to Drew yet, I decide it’s time.

  I set my bourbon on the windowsill and stare out at the buildings across the street. “My mother tried to make things as normal as she could, but it was hard when she was constantly trying to regain Dom’s attention and affection for herself. She basically chased him away a few years after I was born. In case you haven’t put it together, Dom is my father.”

  As soon as the words are out, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. I never admit who Dom truly is to me, either verbally, in writing, or otherwise.

  Thankfully, Drew doesn’t gasp in shock, something I probably have Randi to thank for, because I can’t imagine she wouldn’t fill Drew in on that piece of information.

  “It sounds like he didn’t need to be chased away, because he’s an old tomcat, too busy trotting from alley to alley to remember who he left behind,” she says, and I turn to catch her shrug with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

  I shake my head, gripping the neck of the bottle. “It’s fine. It’s all ancient history now. It’s actually refreshing to be able to talk about it. I don’t get the chance often. Or rather, there aren’t many people who wouldn’t take that information and spread it around in a way that would come back and bite me in the ass.”

  26

  Drew

  I’ve never felt guilt for lying before. Never felt guilt for ferreting out information that needs to come to light. But with Cannon Freeman, a man who may possibly have done unspeakable things, I feel the curling claws of regret digging into my belly when I think about what I can do with the information he’s sharing freely with me.

  I want to open my mouth and tell him not to trust me. Tell him to stop talking about anything that matters or could hurt him.

  But I can’t.

  Because that would undoubtedly get me killed, and an untimely death isn’t in my plans for tonight.

  So I do the only other thing that might allay my conscience. I share things with him that I have no business sharing.

  “My father was my best friend. He was brilliant, but so humble. The reason I love working at the club is because sometimes I catch a hint of the cigars, and it reminds me of the ones he’d sit outside and smoke while my mother poured a bottle of vodka down her gullet.”

  I lift my gaze to meet Cannon’s hazel eyes, wondering if he can see how bare and vulnerable that admission is from me.

  “How did he die?” Cannon asks, and pain swipes through me like a hot knife through butter.

  The question is a brutal reminder of why I’m here.

  I hold out my glass. “I’m going to need a lot more bourbon for that.”

  “Come and get it, because you look like I need to kiss you again.”

  Instantly, the sadness enveloping me dissipates into a fluttering flock of butterflies trying to escape my chest.

  How does he do this to me? Even though I wasn’t sure how to respond, my feet move across the planks of hardwood toward him, as if drawn by an eerie magnetic force.

  Maybe that’s the explanation for all of this. I’m drawn to Cannon Freeman in a way I’ve never been drawn to another man before. My entire goal was to bring him down when I topple the Casso family empire, but now, I can’t help but hope that there’s a way I can save him from the aftermath if he’s innocent.

  My instincts can’t be that wrong, can they? Cannon couldn’t have had anything to do with my father’s death.

  Stop it. Now you’re talking crazy.

  Even as my thoughts are being torn in opposite directions, I hear the click of my glass as I set it on the ledge of the window, and my body fits against Cannon’s like this is where I’ve always been meant to stand.

  “I have so many questions for you,” he says in a husky tone. “But as much as I want answers, I want your mouth more.”

  I meet his heated gaze with the knowledge that my barriers are falling and my instinct for self-preservation is fading much too quickly. “I want to tell you things I shouldn’t,” I whisper, my lips only a breath from his. “But I want you to kiss me more.”

  In that moment, I give him a part of myself I haven’t given anyone else since my last conversation with my father—total honesty.

  I don’t know who closes the distance, but our lips collide and arousal zips through me like a lightning bolt. I wrap my leg around his hip, and the hard bulge of his erection presses against me. I moan, hell, maybe I purr, as his hand cups my ass and pulls me closer to wedge his hips between the V of my legs.

  His lips drop from my mouth to my throat as he uses his other hand to tug my hair backward—by my wig.

  Fuck!

  I jerk away, and Cannon stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.

  Arousal circles the drain to be replaced by hard chips of ice in his eyes. My heart pounds in my throat, choking off my quick and easy explanations, and I stand here gaping at him like a fish out of water.

  In a voice that demands the truth, Cannon grinds out, “Why are you wearing a wig and colored contacts? What the fuck else are you hiding?”

  Stay cool. Act cool. Be cool.

  I’ve prepared for this, I remind myself. I have a plan. Get it together. Laugh it off.

  But I don’t want to lie to Cannon anymore, which is probably the dumbest thought I’ve had in my entire life. Honesty will get me killed; of that, I have no doubt. But summoning the lies to my lips is like chewing glass. I can’t speak them to his face, so I drop my gaze to the floor.

  “I . . . Randi told me you liked dark-eyed blondes. I . . . I thought it would make it easier to get the job if you liked looking at me.”

  The heavy silence threatens to suck all the oxygen from the room as I study the striations in the wood beneath my bare feet and wait for judgment to be cast.

  “Take it off.” The order comes out on a growl as Cannon’s black leather loafers come into view.

  The urge to shrink away and run is so strong, I almost can’t force myself to look him in the eye again. Somehow, I manage.

  The pale green flames of his hazel eyes burn with such intensity that they threaten to singe me.

  “Why?”

  “I want to see you,” he says, ducking down to force me to hold his gaze. “The real you.”

  With trembling fingers, I reach up to tug at the pins holding the wig in place and slide it off my head, taking the wig liner with it. I’m left with my long hair clipped flat to the back of my head.

  I know I could have told him no, told him it’s none of his damn business if I wanted to wear a wig. But part of me wants him to see me too. The real me. The me that no one ever sees.

  Even when I would report on the air, I wore a wig. In my entire life, I’ve never appeared in front of a camera without changing my appearance. It was my father’s biggest regret about his career—that it completely stole his privacy. He couldn’t go anywhere without being recognized, and he didn’t want the same for me.

  I listened and I learned, stealing my stepmother’s wigs from when she was recovering from breast cancer years before. In minutes, I could look like someone else. And over the years, I got so good at it that sometimes I forgot who the real me was.

  But one by one, I pull the clips from my hair, forming a stack next to my glass, and let my loosened hair fall around my shoulders until all the clips are gone. Finally, I shake out my dark brown locks and meet his eyes once more. I’m not sure what I was expecting to see there, but instead of judgment, I see curiosity and . . . appreciation.

  “Randi lied to you, Drew. This is so much better.”

  Because I’m already in for a penny, I reach up and quickly snatch the contacts from my eyes, revealing piercing aqua-blue irises that I’ve missed seeing in the mirror.

  That’s when Cannon stumbles back a step. “Jesus Christ. How could you cover those?”

  The truth, that eyes like mine are too memorable for people to easily forget me, hangs on my tongue, but I can’t give that to him. No matter how much I wish I could.

  “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

  I back away from him, heading for my purse to stick the contacts in the case before returning.

  Cannon steps forward and runs the pad of his thumb along my jaw. “One day, I’m going to wake up next to you and see only you. It’s going to be the most beautiful sight of my life.”

  My knees threaten to give out as his vow wraps around me. Instead of trying to support myself, I give in to my desire and reach for Cannon.

  “Kiss me. Make me believe you really want that.”

  Another lie, because I know he wants that. There’s no way he can stare at me like this without his words being anything but sincere. And I don’t know if I have the willpower to resist his fantasy coming true tomorrow.

  I want him.

  But it’s not safe to trust him completely, because I can’t trust anyone completely.

  Still, that doesn’t mean I can’t take what little bit of this I can steal. Later, I’ll have the memories, when I no longer have him in my life.

  Cannon doesn’t hesitate. His lips are on mine. His tongue delves deep and twines, tangling with mine. But that’s not what sends me over the edge. No, it’s the way his hands thread through my hair, tugging at the strands and turning me from one angle to the next.

  My arms wrap around his neck, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from climbing him. Cannon lifts me off the floor, but I don’t know where we’re moving until something firm brushes against my ass and I’m seated with him between my legs.

  When he pulls away, I blink, trying to place myself in his office. That’s when I realize I’m seated on his desk and he’s dropping into his chair in front of me.

  Cannon’s gaze burns into me as he drags it from where his hands grip my knees until it lands on my face. “Remember what I said in the restaurant?”

  His words fly back into my head, because how could I possibly forget him saying I was the only thing he wanted to eat at Per Se.

  I nod, my desire climbing higher with the hemline of my dress, which he pushes up inch by inch.

  With a wicked grin, he stops when he sees the black thong covering me. He sweeps the pad of his thumb over my center, and a full-body shiver works through me. I’ve never felt need like this. Achingly. Desperately. The look on his face tells me that I won’t be going unsatisfied.

  And his words confirm it.

  “I don’t touch the people who work for me, but I can’t stop with you. Not unless you tell me to back the fuck off and stay away. I’ll keep coming back. I don’t know why, but there’s something I can’t fucking resist. I know I should, but I don’t want to.”

  When I reach down and wrap my hand around his forearm, Cannon’s entire body stills, like he’s expecting me to push him away. But that’s the opposite of what I have planned.

  “Whatever you do, please don’t stop. I . . . I need this. I need you.”

  Cannon’s nostrils flare at the raw and honest words. Somehow, I know in that moment, that’s all he wants from me. Honesty.

  I send up a promise to the universe. Someday I’ll tell him why. I’ll tell him all of it. Just . . . not yet.

  With my conscience temporarily satisfied, I lean back on the empty desk, balancing on my elbows as he catches the fabric between my legs with a hooked finger, right in the vicinity of where I’d prefer to have him buried inside me, and pulls it a breath away from my body.

  “Baby, you’re soaked.” Cannon’s bourbon-warmed voice takes on a husky, awed quality as he realizes how hungry I am for him. “These panties are a lost cause. We’d better take them off.”

  With hunger for him driving through my veins, I lift my hips as he uses both hands to drag my panties over my generous ass and down my thighs until I kick them off my feet.

  And then it’s just him staring—at me, completely exposed—and the pulse already pounding in my ears goes haywire.

  “Fuck, you’re so pretty here.” With the slightest sweep up, the pad of his thumb slips through my wetness and I squirm against the desk, wanting more from him.

  I rock my hips forward, forcing his touch to deepen, and a wicked grin steals onto his lips.

  “Oh no. You’re not going to fuck my fingers until I’m ready to give them to you.” His hazel eyes ignite with challenge as they lift to meet mine. “You’re used to being in charge, but that’s not how it’s going to be with me. Not when I’m staring at the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. I’m going to take my time with you. If you can’t handle that, I’ll make you handle it. Get me?”

  Hell. Why is that the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard? My brain is rioting in approval, but my lips press together, and some proper part of me is afraid to agree out loud.

  Cannon must see my inner struggle, because he grips both my knees and rises until he and I are face-to-face. “Are you going to be able to handle it? Or do I need to strap you down to the desk to keep you where I want you?”

  Another burst of heat lights up between my legs, and I have to be dripping onto the surface of the desk.

  “I . . . I don’t know.” What I want wars with what I think I should say, but he sees through it. Through me.

  “Poor little girl. You haven’t ever had a man like me. I bet the rest of them let you decide when and where and how much and how hard.” He grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger and leans forward to nip at my lips. “That’s not how I work.”

  “Why?” I ask, my voice trembling.

  “You don’t know what you want from me because you’ve never had a man determined to set you on fire, just so I can fan the flames. I’m going to show you.”

  With his hands still locked around my knees, he lifts my right leg until my foot is resting on the edge of the desk and then the left. I’m exposed. Obscenely exposed. Looking at his handiwork, he sits back down and reaches forward to pull my ass closer to the edge.

  “Heaven,” he murmurs before he bends forward and sweeps his tongue through my slit, ass to clit, and groans so loud, the vibrations nearly set off an orgasm by themselves.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. My fingers curl into claws as I try to grab onto anything that’ll help me keep quiet. But there’s nothing other than the fists they ball into as Cannon goes back for more and devours.

  Holy Jesus. Cannon’s tongue is a gift to womankind. He tastes and licks and teases until I’m fighting his grip on my hips. He’s trying to keep me pinned to the desk, and I’m desperate to push my pussy harder into his face because my orgasm is right there. So damn close. But he won’t let me have it.

  “You taste fucking delicious.” He groans as he goes back for more. Except this time, he adds two fingers that press inside me and scissor, stretching me until I can’t stop myself from fucking them.

  “Please. Please, just—”

  But he isn’t taking orders from me, just like he said. He’s drawing it out and making me crazy while sparks burst along the edge of my vision, and I’m grasping for what remains just out of reach.

  “So close. Please.”

  My begging tips it over the edge. When Cannon’s teeth close lightly around my clit and his fingers press right where I need them, I explode with a scream.

  The orgasm washes over me, staying strong as he stokes the flames higher, but I’m insensible. My head whips back and forth as I ride it out, never wanting it to end.

  At least, not until he says, “That a girl, Drew. Good girl.”

  Drew.

  Drew.

  Drew.

  My fake name clangs like a warning bell, dragging me out of pleasure and back into reality.

  Fuck. What am I doing? I scramble back up to a sitting position, my chest heaving, and Cannon Freeman’s face, the face of my target and enemy, inches from my pussy.

  It’s safe to say that this definitely isn’t how my investigation was supposed to go.

  27

  Cannon

  There’s a shift in Drew that I can’t explain, but it’s almost like her orgasm scared the hell out of her. Now, instead of pressing into me for more, she’s trying to move away.

  I’m not a stupid man, and her explanation for the wig and contacts was weak. There’s something she’s not telling me, and her reaction now is even more evidence of it.

  Drew Carson isn’t who she seems.

  What she wants, I don’t know, but I’ll find out. If I have to, I’ll cuff her to my bed and make her come over and over from the most erotic kind of torture I can dream up, until her final wall crumbles.

  But with that soft, hazy look on her face right now, I don’t want to spook her more. I want to hold her close and see how she reacts to someone taking care of her.

  Given the amount of blood pulsing in my crotch, I’m amazed I’m still capable of logical thought at the moment. Call it my superpower.

  Instead of pushing her more right now, when I can practically see her walls slamming down, I roll away from the desk so she can shut her legs, but after an inch, I pause.

  “I want to get one thing straight right now. This has nothing to do with what happens at the club or whatever reason you really felt the need to wear a wig and contacts. This is between us. Get me?”

  Drew nods quickly, and I roll the rest of the way back.

  As I stand, I place one hand on the desk on either side of her hips so our noses are an inch apart.

  “That will not be the last time I eat your pussy. I’ll promise you that. Now, come on. You owe me that game of shuffleboard we just got distracted from.”

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