Page 7 of Kingpin

Thatwas my life.

I knew what I had to do.

“Come. See the view,” Israel said.

His low, commanding voice caught me off guard. He wanted me to do what? His hands pressed softly against my skin, guiding me toward the floor-to-ceiling windows the far wall of our room boasted. My jaw dropped open as I gazed out the windows. I gasped audibly, not caring about how I looked. Or how crass it might have sounded. I lifted my hand and pressed it against the cold windowpane, entranced by how the twinkling lights of Chicago looked from our perch. I barely had any time to study the room. In fact, I wasn’t quite sure what it looked like. If the plush carpet beneath me was any indicator of the rest of the room, then I was in for a decadent evening.

Well, until a certain point.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

Israel’s hands slid to my hips. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Brianna.”

I controlled my movements, refusing to wince at the name. I had to admit, I wanted to know what my own name sounded like falling from the tip of his tongue.

He patted my ass softly. “Your lingerie is in the bathroom. Get dressed.”

I paused. “Come again?”

I slowly turned around and gazed up at him.

“Your lingerie and robe for the night are in the bathroom. Get changed. I have something to tend to, then I’ll be back.”

I paused. “For the champagne-pouring, I presume.”

“Yes. For that. And…other things.”

His finger trailed down my bare arm, and I shivered. He grinned in delight, and the grin made his eyes sparkle with mischief. My gut clenched. My toes curled. Already, I felt myself wanting to explore him. Wanting to taste him. Wanting to know what his body might feel like pressed against my own. I pushed it all away, though. It wasn’t about what I wanted.

The end was near.

I couldn't disappoint my uncle.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as he turned his back. “Your clothes and things will be shipped here tomorrow.”

I furrowed my brow. “Wait, my things will come here?”

He reached for his suit coat. “Yes. Why?”

“To the hotel room?”

He chuckled. “My dear, this isn’t a hotel room.”

“Then where are we?”

I watched him thread his long arms through his coat before he buttoned it around his waist. He peered over his shoulder before he threw the bedroom door open, exposing the rest of the penthouse to me. My jaw dropped open. Reality dawned on me.

We weren’t in a hotel room.

We were in his penthouse suite.

“I’ll be just downstairs. You have twenty minutes,” he said.

I blinked. “There’s a downstairs to this place?”

He didn't answer my question. He simply slipped out the door and closed it behind him. I drew in a deep breath as I turned around, gazing out at the lights of Chicago once more.

Great. We were in the man’s home.

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