“Yes, but I know you can pull strings.” She ran a finger down his arm. “Come on.”
“I don’t feel like Japanese. We can pick up noodles and have dinner back at my place.”
Eumie wrinkled her nose. “I can get noodles back home.”
“And you had plenty of sushi and kaiseki in Tokyo.”
She sighed. “Fine, but let’s at least order something fancier than noodles.”
Her statement reminded him of how impressed Kimani had been by the hole-in-the-wall noodle house he had taken her to their first night in San Francisco.
After Eumie was seated in the Porsche, Bataar closed her door and pulled Ben aside. “Given what Jake might be up to, I should be covering you, not chauffeuring Miss Ma.”
“Jake doesn’t have the guts or wherewithal to do anything to me. And you’re just dropping her off. Wong can pick her up,” Ben replied. Wong was his driver.
Bataar continued to frown.
“This isn’t Hong Kong,” Ben said, “and my meeting is in Oakland Chinatown. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“All right, boss, as long as I don’t have to stay with Miss Ma—not that I wouldn’t mind watching her ass all day—”
Ben snorted. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“But you’re my priority.”
“Kimani’s your priority,” Ben reminded him. “I want to know she made it back safely.”
Bataar nodded before getting into the car behind the wheel. Eumie waved at Ben from the passenger side.
After they drove away, Ben contemplated going into Havenscourt himself. She shouldn’t be anywhere near Uncle Gordon or his campaign...but he believed her. He could see the contrition in her eyes.
But he had trusted her before. And got burned for it. With Uncle Gordon paying the price.
To be safe, he should pull her out of East Oakland and slap a restraining order on her. He recalled Uncle Gordon saying something about a profile the Tribune was doing. What the hell was that all about?
He wanted to ask her about that, but did he really want to come within ten feet of her again? Like a shark scenting blood, his arousal had perked the instant he’d caught a whiff of her. No perfume, just the faint fragrance of her soap or body wash. And all her.
When he had caught her wrist, he had managed to yank her just short of him. But what he’d really wanted was to feel her body crashing into his. He wanted to slam her against the car, maul her, grope her, kiss her till she cried.
Fuck.
How was it his reaction to her seemed even stronger now than before?
Tension coiled inside his body, and sex with Eumie wasn’t going t
o be enough to relieve him. He hoped Bataar was up for a beating, or maybe Bataar would be open to beating the shit out of him. Then maybe, just maybe, he might find relief.
“WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?” Eumie asked when she entered Ben’s place in Pacific Heights to find him sitting on the sofa with an icepack to the side of his head.
“Nothing,” Ben replied. “Bataar and I had a vigorous sparring match.”
When they sparred, both men held back as it wasn’t necessary or advisable to go all out. But this time, Ben had wanted Bataar to go hard. He’d had to bait Bataar to do it.
“Don’t you hate watching me fuck all these women without being able to join in on the fun?” Ben had asked when deriding the Mongolian’s kicks as “weak-assed” and his right hooks as “pussy punches” hadn’t worked.
Bataar had grinned. “Think of me as a parent living vicariously through his son’s sports accomplishments.”
“You’re not resentful that you don’t even get sloppy seconds?”