Necessary Betrayals by Raleigh Davis

Author:Raleigh Davis [Davis, Raleigh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penny Bright Publishing, LLC

Chapter 17

In the end, she sleeps for eight hours. When Morgan comes out of her bedroom, tousled and creased but looking sexy as hell, my brain stutters. Leaving this woman again is going to be hell. Thank God I don’t have to do it right now.

“How long was that?” The rasp in her voice makes my cock stir.

I force my mind to clear. “Eight hours.”

Her lips purse. “Are you going to force me back into bed?”

Probably at some point today, but not right this moment. There is some actual work to do. But after…

“How do you feel?”

She takes a minute to consider. “Better. It was weird, seeing him collapse and having to sit with him at the hospital. Like I was… entangled. But now I feel clearheaded.”

Meaning she’s ready to do what needs to be done. Excellent, because I’ve been putting together a plan.

“I suppose eight hours is enough.”

She takes a seat at the dining table across from me. The entire living area, dining area, and kitchen are all one open space. Her apartment is actually kind of small for how wealthy she is and contains nothing more than she needs. She doesn’t even have an office here, which is why I’ve been working at the dining table.

Me, I like to take up more space than I need and fill it with expensive, luxurious things. Probably because of how I grew up.

“What happened while I was out?” She flicks her hair over her shoulder, exposing one delicately arched collarbone. I remember how those hollows there tasted. My tongue craves it.

“Tynan?” She raises an eyebrow.

Shit, I was staring like a damn teenager. “Raven’s still asleep. Bishop just texted me.”

“So she has to get the full twelve?”

“Bishop’s much meaner than I am.”

A slight smile curves her lips. “Really?” Her tone is so arch it makes me want to drag her into the bedroom and show her how mean I can be.

“You got to sleep for only eight hours.”

“True. That makes you practically a…” She cocks her head. “A puppy compared to Bishop.”

She’s trying to yank my chain—and it’s working. Consider my chain officially yanked. “A puppy?” I dare her to try it again with my tone. And make it clear that I really want her to.

Her expression turns solemn. “You’re right. Comparing you to a puppy is inappropriate. Completely inappropriate.” Her face stays still, serious. “I should have said a kitten. A lovely, fluffy kitten.”

She’s teasing, but even when she’s teasing, she’s entirely determined to do what she set out to. Which is to rile me up.

“I’m no kitten,” I say with deadly softness. I’m sorely tempted to show her how hard I can get. For her. But we also have to focus here.

“Hmm.” Now her mouth twitches. “What about a tiger kitten? Is that better?”

“I don’t want to be any kind of kitten.” I replay how that sounds. “I’m not any kind of pet and never will be.” It’s a warning, although I don’t mean it to be so menacing. But

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