House of Payne: Steele (23 page)

“Goddamn it, you’re coming with me.” His snarled declaration barely registered with her, she was so intent on what she was doing. Then he was spreading the hot, intimate tissues of her cleft wide so that his tongue and the faintest scrape of his teeth could abrade her clit. Frantically she tried to stay focused on giving him what he wanted, but she was moaning now as well while he mercilessly toyed with her.

The sounds she made seemed to be a signal for him, and he pushed down on her ass to bring her lower. Once he had her where he wanted her, his mouth opened on her nub, his lips sealing around it so he could suck it in.

An incoherent scream burst from her, the sound muffled by the surge of his hardened flesh. Then he was plunging into her even as the crushing tension within her abruptly released and catapulted her into a world of mindless pleasure. Feverishly she lost herself in it; she ground herself down into his mouth, blindly reaching for more even as that pleasure consumed her.

Suddenly he let out a harsh sound that vibrated against her while the back of her throat flooded with his saltiness as he came. It was the wildest, most intimate moment she’d ever experienced with him, and as much as she hated to admit it, he’d been right.

As of now, she was a big fan of this unforgettable lesson.

When he at last hauled her, as limp as a ragdoll, back into his arms several glorious minutes later, she chose to ignore his knowing smirk.

“Do I have to say
I told you so
at this point, or is it unnecessary?”

Maybe she would kill him, after all. “I’ll let you be the judge. Let me know what you’ve decided after I’ve had a nap.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” He rolled her onto her back, his hips settling between her limp-noodle legs even as he reached for the condom box. “You asked me to fuck you, remember? Now that we’ve relieved the worst of the pressure, so to speak, I should be good to go all night long.”

“Oh… my.” It was all she could get out before he set about proving to her that he was, indeed, a man of his word.

Chapter Twenty-One

Essie couldn’t see a downside to being called to Steele’s workplace, Private Security International. The few times they had touched upon his private security work, he generally blew it off as being a glorified rent-a-cop and changed the subject before she could delve any deeper, but she wasn’t stupid. Rent-a-cops would never have been hand-picked to be bodyguards for a UN diplomat during one of the most high-profile summit meetings seen so far this year. Nor would a company of low-level, untrained rent-a-cops have a client roll in that was so important—or dangerous—that all phones had to be put in lockdown until that client had left the premises.

So, no. This was no rent-a-cop business. Not by a long shot.

That only meant she knew was PSI
wasn’t
. She had no clue what it
was
. While she was sure Steele downplayed what he did for a living to minimize the danger of whatever his job actually was, it still kept her in the dark when it came to that facet of his life. That was unacceptable. Now that she had fallen in love with him, she was hungry to know every last bit about him. PSI was just one of the many items on her list that she wanted to know all about when it came to Steele.

The building itself seemed to take up most of a city block, and it had probably been a warehouse in an earlier incarnation. It now housed several different storefronts that she could see—an interior design office, an insurance company and what looked to be a baby product shop. The biggest chunk of the building was taken up by PSI, its entrance near the building’s corner and protected by about a dozen cement planters filled with what she thought might be pansies in bright shades of white, lilac and purple. A semi-circular eaves over the entrance held up by steel buttresses was both stylish and sophisticated, and it blended surprisingly well with the white-washed brick exterior.

The light-filled, sophisticated air continued inside, complete with ultra-cool exposed brick walls, brushed-steel pendant lights hanging from the warehouse-level ceiling and black-framed industrial-style windows that allowed tons of sunlight to pour in. The business’s logo took up the entirety of one interior wall in the waiting area that was filled with contemporary cream leather tufted couches and chairs. A reception desk was off to one side and manned by a woman with dark blonde curly hair.

“Good morning.” The blonde watched her from the moment she entered, prompting Essie to try to imagine what type of person usually walked through PSI’s front door. She couldn’t even fathom. “Welcome to Private Security International. How may I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Essie Santiago, here to see Ezekiel Steele.”

“Do you have identification?”

Essie blinked before she dug her phone case out of the pocket of her A-line navy polka dot skirt, and popped her ID out of its place to hand it over. “Here you go.”

The blonde gave it a good, long look before handing it back with a smile. “We’ve been expecting you, Ms. Santiago. The other House Of Payne finalists haven’t arrived yet, so go ahead and have a seat in our waiting area, and we’ll start your meeting just as soon as everyone is here.”

Essie bit her tongue to stop herself from asking if she could see Steele anyway, and instead changed gears. “Would it be possible to read up on any brochures or pamphlets as to what PSI is? I’m here but I’m not exactly sure what PSI is or what it does.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she didn’t see any reason why she couldn’t get a few answers straight from the source.

“Of course.” The woman plucked a glossy tri-fold from a stack nearby and handed it over. “If you have any questions, just let me know.”

“Thanks.” With a nod of farewell, Essie moved to the waiting area and settled in a chair that looked toward both the entrance and the reception desk. With her phone still in her hand, she glanced through the information on PSI and saw it was pretty much what she’d expected. Every field agent was an honorably discharged member of the military, most of whom had combat experience. It was founded by James “Cap” Fogelmann, a retired Marine colonel. There was a basic list of PSI’s services that included what she already knew—business security and bodyguard detail.

But there were also services that sounded both ominous and mysterious, like
courier services
,
corporate self-defense training, cyber security, defensive driving training/tactics
and something simply labeled
international security
.

What exactly did that entail?

Something dangerous, she was sure, and something that needed military-trained, combat-proven personnel.

Like Steele.

A chill scuttled over her flesh as the reality of Steele’s chosen profession sank in. Grim-faced, she set the brochure aside and tried to lighten the mood by opening her phone’s text app. As she typed in Steele’s name, Olivier walked through the glass doors.

“I’m here at PSI. Olivier just showed up, too. Still waiting on Dizzy Izz. You here?”

Of course she knew he was there, but she wanted to remind Steele that whenever they were in the same building like they were now, life was so much better when they were together. But as the seconds ticked into minutes and Steele didn’t respond or show up, she figured he was in another lockdown and couldn’t get to his phone.

With that in mind, she smiled to herself. How much fun would it be to send him a few brow-raising messages—messages that would be there waiting to tease him once he got his phone back and she was long gone?

No time like the present to find out, she thought with a smirk.

“This is a nice place, PSI. Very professional. Maybe I was wrong to not wear any underwear under my skirt. I feel underdressed.”

She was wearing a thong, actually, but since she doubted he’d see the message before their meeting, it was good for a laugh.

“Sort of assumed going commando while dropping in on commandos was the correct fashion choice. Now I’m second-guessing.”

Smiling to herself, she glanced around the reception area and its wide open spaces, then smiled at Olivier when she accidentally caught his eye. He didn’t return it—no surprise there—and instead gave her a look that stated quite clearly that it was killing him to exist in the same universe as her. Again, not a surprise. But it did give her another inspiration for a text.

“Looking at Olivier close up, I think I now know what his problem is. He’s never been laid. As a former sort-of virgin, I can spot the signs.”

She tried not to laugh at that, and she sure as hell didn’t glance at Olivier again out of fear of giving away that she was texting about him.

“Too bad Olivier doesn’t have a Professor like I do. I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who could give him lessons? Or that there’s a place within PSI to hold these lessons?”

She sent that message and immediately began typing the next.

“I guess that’s not the sort of classroom you security types would need to have onsite. Too bad. Since I’m underwear-less, we could’ve used a room like that.”

The sound of the door opening brought her attention to Dizzy Izz, swathed in her usual black-on-black garb and eyes darting around nervously, as if she expected an ambush at any moment. Again Essie offered a smiling greeting and, like Olivier, was ignored by the older woman.

“Dizzy Izz just showed up. Damn. Was hoping I’d have time to run out and buy some panties. Oh well. I’ll just avoid walking over floor vents. Can you imagine? Talk about a full moon over Chicago.”

She could hear the woman at the reception desk speaking with Dizzy Izz, and caught the faint confusion and disbelief on the receptionist’s face as she listened to the fashion designer’s response. Essie snorted and turned her attention back to her phone to ask Steele if he’d warned everyone that Dizzy Izz spoke in the third person, when suddenly Steele was there, appearing from a wide hall behind the desk and looking severely professional in black tailored pants and charcoal gray Oxford shirt. His glance scanned the entirety of the waiting area, paused ever so briefly on her before he continued on his way to the desk. Once there, he spoke briefly to the woman before he turned back toward the hall.

And disappeared.

Essie sank like a deflated balloon back into her seat, not realizing that she’d come to perch on the edge of it. Well. That had certainly been anticlimactic. In the week that Steel had been back from New York, they had spent every night together, as well as whatever time during the day they could spare. When they weren’t together, Steele had a lovely habit of texting her, and his texts were just like his bedroom talk—
dirty
. He’d encouraged her to text in kind, so at this point she was now perfectly comfortable talking with him about her panties—or lack of them. She wasn’t quite up to his level of dirty talk, but being more than a little racy in her communication with him was now second nature.

In just a few short weeks of being schooled by her Professor, she’d come a long, long way.

That was why she felt so let down when he hadn’t done anything more than glance at her like she was no more to him that Olivier or Dizzy Izz. She’d gotten used to sizzling fireworks, hot smiles and hotter looks whenever they were in sight of each other, but this had been the firework equivalent of a dud.

Then she shrugged. It was idiotic to expect that he’d slobber all over her. They were at his place of work. No doubt he had to present a professional air. For all she knew, his involvement with her was against company regulations, so maybe he had to keep their relationship under the radar. Copping a feel and enjoying a deep, wet kiss right there in the waiting area was definitely not keeping things under the radar, and it sure as hell wasn’t professional. She was silly for thinking he’d react any other way.

But still, a wink would have been nice.

“All right, our security team is ready to begin now that we’re all here.” The curly-headed woman approached them with a smile. “If you’ll follow—”

“Dizzy Izz doesn’t understand why this is necessary.” Jumping to her feet as though she’d sat on a tack, Dizzy appeared as though she might want to challenge the receptionist to hand-to-hand combat. “All these constant demands in the schedule interrupt the creative flow. Being called down here…this is not what Dizzy Izz signed up for.”

“Sorry, can’t help you.” Clearly not at all inclined to make herself the impromptu Complaints Department, the woman smiled brightly before turning on her heel to aim herself down the hall. “Follow me, please.”

Essie was only too happy to comply, eager to at last see what Steele was like in his natural habitat, and also to drink in whatever features that habitat possessed. She fell in line behind the woman, trying to take everything in at once while simultaneously doing her best to ignore the buzz of resentful muttering going on behind her.

“Do you have any idea why it was so important for these… these mall cops to call a meeting to hassle Dizzy Izz, as well as you and the other one?”

Great, Essie thought, her mood taking a dark swing. Security professionals worthy of covering the UN were now
mall cops
, and she was
the other one
. How traumatic it must have been for Dizzy Izz in that moment to realize she wasn’t the center of the universe, and she actually had to do things she didn’t want to do from time to time.

Geez.

For once, Essie was pleased to hear the contemptuous phlegm-clearing noise Olivier used with the frequency of a comma. “Are you speaking to me? Because I don’t think you should be speaking to me. Or has Dizzy Idiot forgotten that Payne had prohibited us from speaking to each other? Apparently he thinks we’re all horrible little children who can’t be trusted to not pull each other’s hair out.”

“Not that you have much hair left to pull out, Olivier. You should know that your Friar Tuck bald spot’s nearly blinding in the right light.”

Ouch. Score one petty point for Dizzy Izz.

“And don’t call Dizzy Izz an idiot. You’re the one who’s complacently going like a lamb to the slaughter. What do these people want? Are they going to question us yet again? Are they trying to destroy us?”

“You know, I didn’t think you could get any more insane—or annoying, for that matter. But once some paranoia’s injected into the mix, you really get the crazy train rolling, don’t you?”

“Do you not understand the power these mall cops have over this contest? Any perceived smear from their unrefined head of security—a man who knows
nothing
about how things are the fashion world—and that’ll be it. Game over. Reputations ruined and futures decimated, just because some Frankenstein of a mall cop dares to sit in judgment of Dizzy Izz on the creative process, a process he knows—”

Essie wheeled around so fast that Dizzy Izz walked right into her.

“Bitch, you really want to shut the fuck up. Like,
now
.”

Both Dizzy Izz and Olivier reared back, unvarnished surprise on their faces. Only then did Essie realize that just like the diligent rule-follower that she was, she’d never spoken to her fellow contestants before. But sometimes rules had to be broken.

Quickly Dizzy recovered. “You can’t talk to Dizzy—”

“The moment you opened that stupid yap of yours and denigrated someone for having scars, you gave me that right. PSI’s made up of combat military personnel. You know,
military
? That’s not just an abstract word, though I’m sure it seems that way to you. It means people who put their lives on the line every day so that ignorant people like you can continue to live without a care in their self-absorbed world. And yeah, they sure as hell get scarred up doing it, and they get maimed, and they die—something you obviously don’t appreciate, because you’re standing here disrespecting them and calling them fucking
mall cops
. Your behavior is so disgusting I’m embarrassed to even be seen with you.” She turned back to the curly-haired woman, who’d come to a halt to watch the scene without discernible emotion. “I’m truly sorry. I’d like for you to know that this woman doesn’t represent who I am. I just currently happen to be sharing the hallway with her.”