Page 19 of Hidden

“A mistake I won’t be repeating, I can assure you. You’re a journalist. Journalists only want one thing and it certainly isn’t the truth.” His lips curled up into a sneer and his voice dripped with a disdain he hoped conveyed how much he wanted—no, needed—her to leave.

“I really think you should hear me out. I can tell you that Corbit Upwood is not a good man, and he’s definitely up to something illegal.”

Peter was on her in a split second, and his hand gripped her face as if she were an errant child. “I don’t deal in rumors and anonymous sources. If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police and I’ll have the Secret Service launch an official investigation into you. I promise you don’t want that.”

Fuck, he shouldn’t have touched her. Her face was soft, and he wanted to trace every inch of it with his fingers and lips. She tried to pull away, but he held his grip firm. The defiance in her eyes went straight to his dick. He was so fucked right now.

With his fingers still gripping her face, he walked her backward until she hit the side of the cab. One step closer to getting her out of here, right? Wrong. Her body moved with his, her hands resting on his chest. Such a subtle touch, but it felt like a brand.

“God damn it, what are you doing to me?” His voice was strained with need, and he fucking hated it.

She didn’t try to fight him when he slammed her against the car, and she didn’t pull away when his lips crashed down on hers.

The brutal kiss sent a torrent of desire between them. When she snaked her arms around him, as if to pull him even closer, he knew he was a goner. This was a terrible idea. What was he doing?

The driver rolled down the window. “I have to get out of here. Get a fucking room.”

Peter scooped her up as the cab drove off, then he turned and strode toward his building.

“You have one chance to walk away and say no to this. Otherwise I’m taking you upstairs to fuck you out of my system and then we’ll never see each other again.”

***

Christ, was he serious? Carrie’s breathing was ragged and her brain wasn’t working right as he carried her into his apartment building. Was this really happening? She was sexually adventurous but fucking someone who clearly hated her was a new one.

“I’m serious Carrie. If we get to the elevators, you're mine until I’m done with you.”

Her pussy clenched as they approached the elevator. She could tell him no right now and he would put her down and she could get in a cab and go home. That was the smart thing to do.

Instead, she stretched her arm out and pressed the up button to call the elevator.

The doors pinged open and Peter carried her inside.

When he started to press the button for his floor, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t want to do this in your bed.” She needed to get some control of this situation if she was going to go forward with sleeping with him.

“I have a couch, a kitchen counter, and a guest bed. I intend to take you on all of them before I kick you out. “

She shook her head. “No. Not in your apartment. What about a stairwell or the gym? If this is just the quick fuck you say it is, why bother taking me into your private space?”

Sure, she had an exhibitionist streak, but she also didn’t relish the idea of seeing his home and forming some kind of attachment. And he was straight-laced enough he’d probably never taken a girl in the stairwell before.

“I knew you were fucking crazy the second I saw that damned eyeshadow.”

He set her down and backed her against the side of the elevator, crushing his mouth over hers. He reached out and pressed the button for the top floor. When the car came to a stop, he gripped her hand and practically dragged her through the doorway and down the hall toward a door marked stairs.

“No one comes up here this time of day.” He scooped her up again and jogged up a flight of stairs and pushed open a door. Damn he was in good shape. They stepped out onto a rooftop garden. He dumped her on a large couch and stretched out over her, devouring her mouth once more. She lifted her hips and pressed into the erection bulging in his slacks.

She yanked his shirt out of his pants and slid her hands across the rippling muscles of his back. She wanted to feel his skin heating beneath her fingers. She needed to feel his warmth against her.

He grunted and pushed to his feet, yanking his shirt up and over his head. She licked her lips, wanting a taste of all that ripped muscle. Her mouth watered at the sight of his bronzed chest and the smattering of dark hair across his pecs.

Pinning her to the sofa with a knee between her legs, he grabbed her ass and lifted her hips, shoving her skirt up around her waist. His eyes widened, and he glanced up at her.

“Fuck, you’re wearing a thong.”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Is it a problem?”

His mouth crashed down on hers while he unhooked her bra and cupped her breasts, his fingers closing over her nipples. “No,” he growled. “Thongs are my favorite, but you’re going to need a new pair.”

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