Bad Intentions by Tara Wyatt

6

Present Day

Lucian could tell he’d surprised Olivia with his offer of a job. He could also tell that he’d thrown her off-balance with his demeanor—he wasn’t being cold to her, not exactly, but he was trying to keep things professional.

Because goddamn, was she killing him in that dress, with the sheer panel and the cleavage and the visible points of her nipples beneath the thin fabric. Fuck, he wanted to rip it off and haul her onto this desk. Wanted to find out what sounds she made when he ate her pussy and made her come all over his face. Wanted to sink himself so deep inside her she felt him for days.

He clenched his jaw, studying her, struggling to control the lust surging through his veins. He’d known this was going to happen when he saw her again, and sliding his hands around her waist, smelling the sweet vanilla scent wafting off her skin had only taken reminded him of how badly he wanted her.

“You want to offer me a job?” she asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing her slender legs. “What kind of job?”

“I’m looking for a designer for our latest project, Maison Blanche. It’s an upscale French bistro in the Bowery.”

Shocking the hell out of him, she threw back her head and laughed. “You don’t want to work with me.”

“No? And why is that?” he asked, arching a brow.

“No, no, I don’t mean you shouldn’t want to work with me. I’m good at what I do—very good. I just mean that you clearly don’t actually want me to take this job. So my answer is no.”

“Your answer is no?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Did my father put you up to this? Because there’s no way that you’d be asking me to come work for you otherwise.”

Lucian sighed and sat back in his chair. “Your father asked me to hire you as a favor to him, to help build up your portfolio. He meant well, and it’s not as though you aren’t qualified.”

“I see. Well, my answer is still no.”

He studied her, one eyebrow arched. “Is this pride talking? Or is it that you don’t want to work with me?”

She swallowed, holding his eyes, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. But then she shook her head, ready to deny it despite the streaks of pink slashing across her pretty cheeks. “No, it’s not that.”

He tilted his head. “Do you trust me to be professional?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “God, Lucian, I’m not accusing you of…” She trailed off, her eyes darting around the office, landing anywhere but on him. “But I don’t need your charity or favors done for my father. My career is mine and mine alone to worry about.” She sighed heavily and when he didn’t respond, she shrugged. “So, I guess I’ll go back to the party,” she said, starting to rise from the chair. He drank in the way the dress hugged all of her curves, imagined burying his face between those breasts as he slipped a hand between her legs to see just how hot and wet she was for him.

“Olivia, wait.” At the commanding tone, she froze, and then slowly sank back down into the chair. “If you don’t take this job, your father will know something’s up and start asking questions we probably don’t want to answer. He wants you to have this job, and he wants me to give it to you.”

“We’re not obligated to do what he wants, you know.”

“But that’s just it. We are. It makes things so much more complicated if we don’t.” And while Prescott Group was doing well, the last thing he needed was to lose his biggest investor over something as small as one interior design job.

She bit her lip, staring down at her hands in her lap, clearly mulling over what he’d just said. After a moment, she looked up at him, her head tilted. “It’s a French bistro?”

He nodded. “On Orchard Street, off of East Houston.”

She pursed her lips, and this time when her eyes met his, he could see the pent up longing in them, coupled with determination. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve heard good things about the way you treat your employees, and working for you would be a boost to my career. Your company is prestigious and successful. I’ll come by Monday with my portfolio so that you can evaluate my work. And then you’re going to interview at least three other designers—designers you’d actually hire. I don’t want charity. I’m grateful for the opportunity, but I want to earn it. After you’ve interviewed everyone and evaluated the portfolios, then, and only then, should you offer me the job if you truly think I’m the right designer for the project. But I don’t want to be handed a job because my Dad asked you to hire me. No thanks.”

“Fine. I’ll meet you there Monday morning at 10:30.” If she needed this pretense, he could give her that. It was far simpler than trying to explain to Gavin why hiring Olivia hadn’t worked out.

She nodded and rose to her feet again. “Okay.” Her eyes roved over his body and she shook her head, sadness creeping in around her mouth. “I shouldn’t, but okay.”

“This isn’t the situation I would’ve chosen, either.” He’d been trying to commiserate with her, but by the way her features tightened he knew immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. Without another word, she started for the door, her head held high but her shoulders tight, her body language stiff.

“Olivia. We’re not done.”

She whirled. “I thought we were.” Her words hung heavy in the room, weighty with meaning.

“I’m not talking about us right now. But I do want to talk about you. Sit. Please,” he added when she just stood there, arms crossed over her chest. Some of the tightness left her face and she sank gracefully back down into the chair. The way she obeyed him when he bossed her around made him wonder if she’d be as compliant in bed. Immediately, his mind was filled with filthy commands.

Olivia, wrap your lips around me and suck my cock until I come all over your tongue.

Olivia, sit on my face so I can eat that sweet little pussy.

Olivia, look at me while I fuck you.

“What about me?” she asked, sitting back and crossing her legs, ripping him back to the present.

“Tell me about Massimo.” The name tasted like sawdust in his mouth, and he felt something just a bit short of murderous rage at the thought of another man touching her. Kissing her. Inside her.

Her cheeks went red and she shook her head. “How did you…did my dad say something?”

“He mentioned that he’s worried, that this Massimo won’t leave you alone. Is he stalking you?”

She bit out a little laugh. “That’s a bit dramatic. No, he’s not stalking me. We dated for about a month, and I broke things off.”

“Did he do something to you? Hurt you?” Please, Liv. Give me an excuse to flay him alive.

But she shook her head. “No. It just…the connection wasn’t there for me. I didn’t see a point in continuing to date when I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. No sense in wasting everyone’s time.”

“But he’s bothering you?”

She hesitated, shrugging. “He’s calling and texting, wanting another chance. He’s shown up a few times when I’ve been out with my friends, but that could just be a coincidence.” He could tell from the look on her face, from the tightness around her eyes that she wasn’t entirely convinced of that, and neither was he.

He stood and came around the desk. She gasped softly when he crouched in front of her chair and took her small hands in his, his thumbs tracing over her knuckles. At the feel of her skin against his, the soft, warm scent of her filling his lungs, he felt as though something that had been off-kilter since he’d last seen her was settling into place.

“I want to help,” he said quietly. “I need to keep you safe.”

She bit her lip and nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay.”

“What’s his last name?” Sasha hadn’t been able to find anything, with only a name and a thin connection to Olivia to go on. Even he wasn’t that good.

“Greco. His name’s Massimo Greco.”

Alarm bells blared in Lucian’s head, but he pushed them away, not wanting to frighten her. “How did you meet?”

She shrugged. “At a bar. He bought me and my friends drinks.”

“I see.” Had she gone home with him that night? How many times had they kissed? Had sex? Had she woken up in his arms, all adorably sleep rumpled? He wanted to know so much more, all while knowing the details would gut him. “If he contacts you again—phone, text, email, fucking carrier pigeon—I want you to tell me.”

“And you’ll do what with that information?” she asked warily, her fingers still laced with his.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

He could see the debate raging behind her eyes, but after a moment she swallowed and nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks. “This is so embarrassing.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She looked at him, her brown eyes luminous with unshed tears. “I can’t even imagine what you think of me. The losers I date. You probably think of me as some club hopping spoiled kid, waltzing around in party dresses and messing around with idiotic boys.”

“Hey, whoa. That’s not what I think of you. Not at all.”

“Then why…” She swallowed and shook her head. “Never mind.”

“I’ve seen you work a room full of people and charm every single one of them. I know that you graduated at the top of your class and last year you won an award for your designs. I know that you donated your time and resources to redecorate the long-term stay rooms for families at the children’s hospital. I know that you don’t take people’s shit and that you’re strong.” And he meant it, every single word of it. Yes, she was young and had made some questionable decisions, but he didn’t think any less of her for it.

She didn’t say anything, but he caught the slight hitch in her chest.

For several moments, they stayed like that, hands entwined, devouring each other with their eyes. Finally, he stood, helping her to her feet.

“Your friends are probably waiting for you. Go. Enjoy your birthday.” Her hands were still in his, and she stood only inches from him. His gaze dropped to her mouth, to those gorgeous lips.

She rose onto her toes and brushed her lips over his stubbled cheek. Every muscle in his body went taut, his skin hot and tight. He wanted those lips everywhere, but knew he had to settle for this ghost of a kiss against his cheek.

“Thank you,” she whispered, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “For the job offer and for looking out for me.” Her eyes lingered on his for another moment and then she slowly slid her hands from his. “I’ll see you Monday.”

He nodded. “Monday. I’ll walk you back to your friends.”

After he’d safely escorted her back to her table and sent over another bottle of champagne, he returned to his spot up on the balcony, his gaze roving out over the club.

He’d been reluctant to offer her a job because being near her and around her was torture. But now he was glad he had, glad that he had a reason for the proximity. Because her ex-boyfriend wasn’t just some douche who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Massimo Greco was a hit man for the Italian mafia, and that meant that keeping Olivia safe had just gotten a lot more complicated.