Perfect Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

His tattooed arms hook around me and he jerks me forward so my back flops against the seat. Suddenly, I’m ready, wide open for him.

There’s a rushed crinkle of another condom wrapper and he’s in me.

We’re doing it again, our bodies two colliding lava flows.

This time, it doesn’t sting, and if our kiss ever breaks it’s so one of us can gasp for air.

For a second time tonight, my body clenches around him.

Once again, he carries me away in no time, pounding into me like he means to break us both, and God, do I want him to.

Later, when I check myself in the mirror, I see the living proof he definitely broke something. One eye, bloodshot with crisscrossed lines. My price paid for letting Nick Brandt shake me into the next century.

It’s that good.

I come that hard.

I’m falling that fast.

When we finish, he holds me, then gropes around the floor. He finds my panties, works them over my feet, and slides them partly up my legs.

I grab the waistband and pull the rest of the way.

Heat radiates from my face. “You don’t have to help me get dressed.”

He kisses my knee.

“If I know you well enough to undress you, surely it’s okay to put you back together.”

I never thought about it like that but...having him pull clothes over my body after what we just did feels more intimate somehow.

But it doesn’t matter what I think, because now he’s pulling my pants over my legs. Piece by piece, Nick dresses me, as good as his word.

When he’s done, he pulls his pants up and fastens them, then puts his shirt on.

“Can I button it?”

The only answer I get is a knowing smile, but he makes no effort to button the shirt, so I fasten it for him, one button at a time.

We’re dressed, still clinging to each other in the back seat. He cracks the door for fresh air, and I laugh as I realize we turned the Lincoln into a sauna.

Jesus. I’m going to need to clean this thing before I transport anyone else.

“Nick?”

He kisses my forehead. “Yeah?”

“I think you might have to drive. I can barely remember my own name,” I whisper.

He laughs and kisses me again.

“That means I did my job.”

He can’t be wrong. Because I am floating. Still floating.

“And did I? Was it just as good for—”

His grin silences me. “I don’t have another memory that sweet.”

Is that a compliment?

Or is it because you wouldn’t call Carmen Seraphina and the other legion of women he’s had sweet. Hot or something, sure. But sweet?

“You’re frowning,” he says, leaning in so his lips almost touch my ear. “Sweetheart, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It was the best of my life, hands down. If we didn’t have to go pick up a kid, I’d keep you here all night and deal with the guilty conscience tomorrow. Because I damn sure wouldn’t have the patience for the bed I promised.”

Slayed.

I’m on the verge of tears again.

I smile. “I think it’s too late for the bed. I might be new at this, but I know we went a second round.”

His laughter melts into a heated kiss.

“Cute that you think that’s all I’ve got. Sooner or later, we’ll set aside a whole day for you to find out,” he says. “Now, come on. We have to pick up Millie before Tiffany kills us.”

He climbs out of the car, helps me out, walks around the vehicle with me, and opens the passenger door. “Get in. I insist.”

It’s really happening.

My boss drives his chauffeur back to Brandt Ideas to pick up my niece, and our hands are twined the whole way there.

He parks in the garage and we hold hands as we walk through the door.

“Do we need to act normal—for Tiffany?”

He lets go of my hand and slides an arm around my waist.

“Whatever normal is, I’m not letting go. I get your hand or your waist. Your choice,” he says with a possessive growl.

I’m smitten, and I want to say it. But I won’t dare go that far. Not until I’ve had time to sort this out.

We barge in and apologize to Tiffany for being late. Nick promises her overtime, smooth as silk, and the nanny leads Millie away from a table with an untouched plate of food.

“She wouldn’t eat dinner without you,” Tiffany says. “She said she had to wait because she’s having sleep milk tonight.”

Millie beelines straight to Nick.

“Trolls World Tour! Movie night.” She slams into his leg.

“When we get home, definitely,” Nick says with a smile.

“Sleep milk?” I ask.

“It’s just milk with cinnamon, sugar, and vanilla. Old family recipe,” he tells me.

“It’s magic, Auntie Reese! It makes you have sweet dreams,” Millie says.

“Sweet dreams? I see.”

“Millie, I’m starving. Do you think we can stop somewhere and get a hamburger and a milkshake instead of sleep milk tonight?” Nick asks, humoring her.