Page 81 of The Break Down

Yes. Please.

He doesn't stop.

He doesn’t speak.

He just grabs my hand—gently but firmly—and starts walking.

“Uh—Koa?” I say, stumbling after him. “Where are we going?”

“Not another word,” he growls. “Not one fucking word until we’re inside, Red.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Should my panties be wet right now?

It doesn’t really matter because they are wet. Like super fucking wet.

We pass by Tank, who raises an eyebrow and then immediately pulls out his phone like he’s texting someone at this exact moment as it unfolds.

I make a mental note to delete whatever meme that cheeky little shit is cooking up before it sees the light of day. Tank simply loves goading his brother. I get it. But not when I’m the butt of his joke.

Koa doesn’t slow.

Doesn’t explain.

Just leads me straight to his cabin, throws the door open, pulls me inside like he owns me,which is totally rude, and shuts the door with a thud that shakes the frame.

Then he turns.

His jaw is tight.

His velvet eyes, wild.

He’s still breathing hard.

“Lunch with Mitchell fucking Knight?” he spits, arms crossed over his chest. “Alone? In his perfectly pressed khakis and his flirty rich guy grin? Did he offer you a jet and a puppy too?”

I blink. Then blink again.

“Oh my God! Are you jealous that I had a professional lunch meeting with a hot billionaire?”

“Hot? Red, I swear to God, I will spank your arse if you call another man hot again.”

My mouth opens.

Spank?

Why does that make me even wetter?

I squeak.

“It was a meeting,” I try, ridiculously pleased with his caveman behavior because,let’s face it, I am not normal. Not where he is concerned.

“A meeting? You looked pretty cozy,” he scoffs. “He’s got a rep, you know. That dog is always looking for his next high-profile acquisition.”

I fold my arms too, mimicking his stance.

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