Mr. Garcia (Mr. Series Book 3) by T L Swan

Author:T L Swan [Swan, T L]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T L Swan
Published: 2021-05-28T00:00:00+00:00

April

I watch the dial in the elevator as it goes up the numbers, my mind is filled with poison.

Did he think of me while he was inside of her?

Was I anywhere in his thought process? Or am I imagining something that isn’t there?

The worse thing is, deep down, I know he cares. I know we have something, and we shouldn’t, because we hardly know each other.

Every time I’m in the room with him, my heart is on standby, waiting for him to look my way, waiting to smell his cologne. To feel the power emanating from his body. To feel my own physical reaction to him. The goosebumps, the butterflies, the flush of my cheeks when he makes eye contact. Every little thing means so much.

And it sucks. I fucking hate this.

I’ve waited seven years to feel something for someone. Anything.

It’s ironic that I’ve fallen for someone who has as much baggage as I do.

Maybe even more.

Poor Duke, is this how I made him feel?

It makes me sick to my stomach. I inhale deeply to try and fight off the nausea.

The unwelcome vision of a woman on her knees in front of him comes to mind plays like a horror movie in my psyche.

Was it dark and moody, or were the lights on?

How many times did he come?

Oh.

I remember the way he puts his hand around my throat when he fucks me. The darkness in his eyes. His primal urge to dominate.

The fire and fear he lights up in me.

It’s wrong. I know it is.

So, why does it feel so right?

I close my eyes, knowing there are no winners here. This will never work. Sebastian Garcia is an entity all of his own.

And I am an island.

The elevator doors open, and I drag myself up the corridor, I close my eyes as I brace myself to knock on the door. Come on, you can do this.

I knock twice.

“Come in,” Sebastian’s strong voice calls.

I open the door and walk in as I act unaffected. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” He points to the chair with his pen. “Please, take a seat.”

I stare at him, wondering if I can lie across his desk in protest until he wipes the last week away from my memory. I sit down. “What is it?”

His dark eyes hold mine, and for an extended time we stare at each other.

“You wanted to see me?” I prompt.

“Yes.” He regains his composure and holds his pen in his hands. “How are we going with the security footage?”

“I’ve done the report, but it appears that he stole a security card from a cleaner’s trolley and simply walked out in the middle of the night.”

“And none of his credit cards have been used since?” He frowns.

“No.”

He rubs his pointer finger over his lips as he thinks. “I’m beginning to get worried.”

“Me, too.”

He leans back on his chair, deep in thought. “Let’s hope they find him today, hey?”

“Yes.” I nod.

There’s no denying that this situation is dire. Not because he’s the head of the country but because he is a human being with depressive addiction problems who is missing.

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