Enforcer (Seattle Sharks 2)

Shit. Jessica? Jane? June? What the fuck was her name?

It wasn’t Bailey, and that’s all that mattered.

Her throaty moans were fake, but her orgasm wasn’t, and that was all they wanted out of me anyway—well, all they got. I focused on my own orgasm, trying to forget the way she didn’t feel right, didn’t smell right—and thinking of the one person who did until everything else faded away.

Getting her out of the house before seven wasn’t going to be an issue. She’d fled, yelling what an asshole I was about thirty seconds after I’d come.

Turns out her name was Joan...at least that’s what she’d been screaming at me as she threw her clothes on.

She yelled the entire way out of the house, and I followed, a blanket wrapped around my waist in case Lettie woke up. Joan slammed the front door and rattled the light fixture in the entry hall.

Just my fucking luck, Bailey came into the foyer, her hair a sexy, tousled mess, and her nipples showing through the silk of her pajamas. Jesus, were those shorts or underwear? How could she possibly look so fuckable at 2 a.m.?

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s great,” I snapped.

“Right. Well, you enjoy your toga party, I’m going back to bed.” She turned and left me standing in the entry hall with a raging hard-on despite the fact that I’d just come less than ten minutes ago.

As my feet grew cold against the marble floor, I came to two conclusions. One, women didn’t like to be called Bailey during sex if their names weren’t Bailey, and two...my body knew the difference between the fantasy and the real thing, and it was one tug away from dropping the blanket and finding out if the skin of her hips was softer than the silk she slept in.

And three—I always did suck at math—I couldn't bring any more women home because I was living with the only woman I wanted...who also happened to be the only woman in Seattle that I couldn't have.

Fuck. My. Life.

Bailey

Chapter 4

I set the video monitor down on my nightstand, thankful for Lettie’s soothing white noise machine blocking out the sounds of half the Shark’s team playing poker a floor above her. Jeannine followed me into my room, somehow managing to balance three perfectly salted Margarita glasses and hold the door open for Paige. She came in last with a full pitcher and I quietly shut the door behind them.

“Get to pouring, Paige,” Jeannine demanded once she’d set the glasses down on the oversized desk which sat—mostly unused—in the far corner of my huge room.

Paige chuckled, her gorgeous red hair trembling down her shoulders. “Act like you had a rough week.”

“Perfecting a new menu is just as hard as running a multi-billion-dollar corporation. Actually, it’s harder because I have to constantly think about how things will taste in other people’s mouths.”

I snorted, taking the full glass Paige handed to me first. “Why does everything you say sound so dirty?”

Jeannine batted her crystal-blue eyes. “Just lucky I guess.” She took a large pull of the drink Paige finally handed her. “Speaking of other people’s mouths…” she arched an eyebrow at me. “Have you gotten a taste of Gage’s yet? Because damn.”

Heat flushed my cheeks and I tried my best to ignore the ache at the mention of the want I wouldn’t express.

“Of course not,” Paige answered before I could. “That would be completely unprofessional. She’s his employee.”

Jeannine huffed and took a seat at the royal-blue, cushioned armchair next to the desk. “Ha! Everyone doesn’t have to worship the rules like you do, Paige.”

Paige’s shoulders drooped and the weight of her position hardened her green eyes. I didn’t envy the girl—she had more people’s lives depending on the success of her family’s corporation than I would ever know what to do with. That and her father had always held her to the highest moral standard I’d ever seen.

“I’m just happy he hasn’t brought home another puck-bunny for an entire week.” I dodged any sort of committed answer to Jeannine’s prying. Truth was I’d thought about Gage’s mouth a hell of a lot more than I should. So much so in fact that I’d sworn I’d heard him call out my name last week when he’d had his last conquest here. But I knew that couldn’t be right. Why would he ever do that? The girl’s name had to have been Hailey. Or Kaley. Whatever.

“Wouldn’t you jump at the chance if you could?” Jeannine asked. “I mean, you’ve seen the way he slams those big ass dudes into the walls, think of what he could do to your body…”

It was easy to see all of the gears turning in our eyes at the picture she painted.

I quickly blinked away the image of his hard body pinning me to any one of this house’s walls, moving against me until I screamed out his name. “Stop. Seriously, the man has had a slew of one-night-stands paraded in front of me every morning. Do you know how that feels? Plus, they constantly mistake me for nothing but the maid. It’s enough to make me take up drinking.” I raised my glass in a faux-toast.

Paige sighed. “That’s not very professional either.”

Jeannine and I chuckled.

“What?” Paige asked, leaning against the desk. “It isn’t.” She brought the margarita to her lips and Jeannine bolted out of her seat, holding the bottom of the stem so Paige couldn’t bring the drink down.

Paige’s eyes widened as she took a much longer swallow than she’d intended. Finally, Jeannine stepped back.

“What the hell, ‘Nine?”

She pointed her finger between me and Paige. “You two need to more liquor therapy than we have time for in one night. So drink up.” She ran her fingers through her long hair. “You’re both wound tighter than those whoohas you keep clenched shut. It’s time to loosen the fuck up!” She held her already near-empty glass out and Paige and I gave each other an incredulous look. There was no denying Jeannine, not when she had an idea up her sleeve. We’d learned that the hard way a few years back when she’d wanted to sneak into the Shark’s locker room after their season opener.

Just a peek, she’d promised.

Well, that damned “peek” had turned into a full on entry, earning us a good, stern talking to from security—which would’ve been much worse if Gage hadn’t talked to them on behalf of we knew each other.