Page 28 of August

“Nice to meet you,” Dana said with a wave.

August nodded. “You, too. Welcome to the team.”

“I better get back to work.” She sauntered to the office across the hall and shut the door.

“This goes without saying,” Taschen hissed, his voice low and lethal. “My sister’s off-limits. Got it? I don’t need any of you fucking buffoons trying to get with her. If one of you so much as look—”

“Dude.” August laughed. “You realize Toth and Rami are both taken, right?”

“You’re not.”

August pushed away the counterargument that wanted to project itself from his mouth. As far as Taschen was concerned, August was a bachelor. But really, he was very much taken with a certain pint-sized brunette who’d chew him up and spit him out if she knew he was reserving himself for her.

Because she didn’t want him. She’d made that as clear as fucking glass.

“Got it. Besides, I’m not interested. She looks too much like you.” August smirked. Dana was very pretty, but there was no way he could look at her and not think about Taschen. “What made her leave the FBI?”

Taschen’s face hardened, reminding August of the guy’s blinding temper and deadly fists. He’d witnessed Taschen lose his cool on bastards one too many times. But when they’d been in black ops together, it hadn’t mattered if Taschen went apeshit on a war criminal. “I dunno. She won’t say. Just said she was tired of it.” His tone suggested he knew there was more to it and he planned on finding out what.

August dug his keys from his pocket. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost them in the accident. He found the one that opened the safe then pulled out a Glock and a 9mm. After tucking one into his waistband and the other in a holster that he secured around his ankle, he examined the three sets of car keys. “We got a new ride?”

“Yep. It’s nice. All black, fully loaded Tahoe.”

“Sweet.” He pocketed the keys, shut the safe, and locked it up.

He left Taschen at the office and rode the elevator down to the company’s private parking garage. It had enough spaces to hold their personal vehicles as well as a handful of company SUVs. Finding the Tahoe, he hopped in and then headed to his apartment. Traffic was still busy, but his place wasn’t too far from work.

Ten minutes later he pulled into the parking garage beneath his apartment building. Every time he left Rami’s place and returned home, he felt as if he was downgrading. Rami had a nice cozy house that fit Ivy and him perfectly, and August just had an apartment.

Not that he couldn’t afford a place. He could. Probably a beautiful one, too, since he banked and invested most of his money. He rarely bought himself things, and working as a contractor allowed him a shitload of write-offs.

But part of him was holding out—waiting to meet someone? No, that was lame as fuck. Yet picturing himself in a house, with all that responsibility and no one to share it with, was almost as sad as waiting to meet someone.

Someone like Gigi.

He got out of the SUV and banished the intrusive thought. Of course Gigi would enter his mind. He hated being away from her right now, while she was vulnerable, hated that she was scared, hated that he wanted her... and hated that he’d already had her and couldn’t again.

That was a lot of hate for a woman he’d fallen for two years ago. He still hadn’t gotten back up.

August walked to the elevator and rode up to the seventh floor. Other than a few dishes in the sink from days ago, his apartment was orderly. A house cleaner came in once a week, a luxury he permitted himself because he was away so often for jobs, or working long hours, so other than laundry and tidying, he didn’t have much to keep up with.

Nothing was worse than coming home to a messy place. It was bad enough he rarely had food, and home-cooked meals were hard to come by.

He entered his bedroom and headed straight for the bathroom, where he stripped down. His stomach growled at the thought of a home-cooked meal. He did all right for himself, and if he knew he was going to be around he kept groceries in the fridge and cupboards. But his cooking expertise started at bacon and eggs and stopped at spaghetti or something on the grill.

Opening the glass door of the shower, he turned on the hot water. Gigi was a great cook. When they’d been together—hell, could he even call it that?—she’d talked a lot about her food blog. And she’d cooked.

Fucking amazing food.

Maybe if the house he bought had that kitchen she was talking about...

No. Hell no.

He stepped under the spray and let the hot water beat down on his back. Images of Gigi in the shower with him filled his head.

No, not just images. Memories. Her naked body pressed against his under this same damn showerhead, her lithe legs wrapped around him as he banged into her hot slit.

Jesus, she’d even gone down on him in here. He remembered how her tongue had swirled around his flesh, remembered the sweet, raspy sounds of the cries that had followed as he took her against the wall.

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