What He Guards (What He Wants, Book Twelve) by Hannah Ford

Author:Hannah Ford [Ford, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Anthologies, Contemporary, New Adult & College, One Hour (33-43 Pages), Collections & Anthologies
Amazon: B00Y5RMZBG
Published: 2015-05-22T07:00:00+00:00

***

It was an hour before he let me move, an hour before he let me unclasp my hands, an hour before he let me readjust my bodysuit so that my pussy wasn’t exposed. An hour of my desire building inside of me like a boulder gaining momentum as it rushed down a mountain.

He’d spent the whole time working at his desk, making phone calls, barking orders, typing on his computer, signing papers. Every so often he would glance over at me and give an approving nod as he saw I was following his instructions.

Finally, he hung up the phone and came to me, reached down and moved my bodysuit back over so that I was covered.

He reached down and picked up the jacket I’d been wearing.

“Arms out,” he commanded.

I put my arms out and he slid the jacket onto me and buttoned it.

His hand tightened around mine as he led me out of his office and through the halls of Cutler and Associates. We passed a couple of people in the halls, but for the most part, the office felt quiet. But not from a lack of work. There were people in the building, but the franticness of meetings and appointments had slowed down, replaced by the humming drone of writing briefs and researching cases.

When we got to the elevator, Noah pushed the button for the garage, not the lobby.

“Where are we going?” I asked as the elevator began its descent.

“Force, Charlotte.”

“No, I mean, why are we going to the garage?”

“I’ll be driving tonight.”

“You drive?”

He glanced at me, amused. “Yes, Charlotte, I drive. I am a man of many talents.”

The doors opened into a small parking garage, with just enough spaces for ten or so cars. Most of them were taken up with sedans and SUVs, but at the very end was a sleek black sports car.

Noah came around and opened the passenger side door for me, and I slid into the bucket seat, inhaling the scent of leather and extravagance.

“Fancy,” I said as he settled into the driver’s seat.

“Put your seatbelt on.”

I slid my belt over my chest and buckled it.

Noah pulled out of the space and guided the car out onto the streets of Manhattan. Driving in the city was insane at any time of day, but Noah drove exactly like he lived – controlled and unflappable. He seemed oblivious to the honk of horns and the swerve of taxis.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“What?”

“Are you cold?” He indicated the temperature control on the dashboard.

I shook my head. “No. I’m fine.”

The truth was, I wasn’t fine. I was trying to keep my body from shivering and my teeth from chattering. I wasn’t physically cold – the reactions were physical manifestations of stress. My stomach rolled on itself, twisting into a figure eight and a jumpy feeling coursed through me, causing my leg to jitter.

Noah glanced at me and frowned, so I forced myself to stay still.

My phone vibrated in my bag, and Noah’s hands tightened on the wheel as I pulled it out and checked the screen.

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