Maceo (Filthy Rich Alphas)

“I—”

“When are you off?”

I swallowed. “Like I said, I’m never off.”

The line of his jaw twitched. “When is the club closed?”

My voice went hoarse. “I’m not going to date you.”

Because you’re entirely too much for me to wrangle.

“I’m not asking you out.” Yet, he licked those lips.

Why does he always have to lick those luscious lips?

He inhaled me again and sighed. “I won’t ask you on a date until you’re ready to stop fighting me on that.”

“Then, why do you want my schedule?”

“I want to come up with a plan for replacing the rest of your pipes.”

“Okay, but—”

“Moreno and Sons will be doing the job. You want to pay? Fine, but you’ll pay the price we both agree on.”

“And what if—”

“If you get a lower quote from someone else, I’ll match it. If you can’t afford my price, then we’ll do a payment plan or work out some non-panty discounts.”

I held up my finger. “And—”

“If you don’t like what my team has done, I’ll give you your money back.” He placed his hands in his pockets. “Any questions?”

I blinked. “No.”

“When is the club closed?”

“Sunday through Tuesday.”

“Can my team and I meet you here Sunday to start work on the women’s bathroom?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else. My mind was a jumble of conflicting thoughts.

Part of my brain yelled, ‘Danger, danger he’s trying to tame you somehow.’

The other side wondered what he looked like without his clothes on.

And like a lion tamer wielding a whip with confidence, luring in a ferocious creature that he knew just might bite, he tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear and leaned in to whisper, “Can we start at twelve in the afternoon?”

“Yes.” The word came out lower and more sensual than I’d truly intended.

“What do you like to eat?”

I leaned away from him. “This isn’t a date.”

He met my gaze. Heat burned in his eyes. “No, but I want to feed you. What do you like to eat? Chocolate or something savory? Are you the type to have dessert before dinner or after? Hmmm. I bet you don’t even have dessert unless it’s a special occasion.”

“You’re wrong. I had cheesecake for breakfast this morning. So there.”

“Well today was a special event. You met me.” Shrugging, he walked off.

I watched him, loving the way that designer suit hugged his muscled ass.

Cocky bastard.

I looked down at the paper that Maceo had left. It was a list of the five men that he’d selected from the auditions. It rested in my hand. Surprisingly, they were the exact dancers I’d been considering. That fact pissed me off more than I allowed myself to focus on.

Oh, you just think you have it all planned, don’t you, Maceo?

Chapter 4

Big Pimping

I would be lying if I claimed to not think of Maceo each day leading up to Sunday. Men like him did that to me. They made me wonder about something more, dream about what could occur, and even reevaluate the lonely reality of my love life. I hated that crap.

Men like him were why my magic wand constantly needed new batteries.

So when Sunday came, I played my Hear Me Roar playlist non-stop—everything from “Respect” by Aretha Franklin to “Oh Bondage! Up Yours!” by X-Ray Spex, “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett to “Independent Woman” by Destiny’s Child. I listened to it all and trekked through the dawn.

Any songs that advocated for love, I skipped.

My feet pounded on the pavement while I raced through my four mile run, not relishing in the sparkling blue water that waved against the crisp sand. Topless men ran by. I gave them no second looks. I wasn’t sure why I ignored them this time, when usually I drank them all in.

Maybe I imagined Maceo, jogging by me in less clothes and hair waving in the cool breeze.

Yummy.

His coiled muscles on his back and arms flexing as he pushed forward, a slick coat of sweat gleaming on that rich tan flesh. Maybe, I allowed myself a few seconds to linger on how I could soothe that worked-out body while we showered together—hot steam rising and swirling around our entangled limbs as we humped and ground into each other.

I knew I would explode before him. Maceo seemed like the type to pleasure before conquering. Maybe, he even liked it rough.

Stop it, Christine.

It took time and a steamy session with my magic wand to get Maceo out of my mind.

By the time I pulled up to work, I readied myself for business.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t been prepared enough.

My two bulky brothers stood in front of the club, wicked grins plastered all over their faces. That was the first sign things wouldn’t go as planned.

They were identical twins, but quite different when it came to personalities. Dylan wore crimson red workout clothes as usual. Douglas dressed in his signature casual wear—khaki pants, designer shirt, and shoes polished until he could see his face staring back. Dylan loved hip hop and littering perfectly fine public walls with graffiti. Douglas only listened to jazz as he devoured hundreds of science fiction books.