Max

It's the question I've been dreading. After my headache knocked me sick for most of the night, once it finally abated, I sat in the dark and contemplated my hasty actions.

Victoria wants to know what I have planned.

I have nothing, absolutely nothing other than the intense desire not to be apart from her.

"You seem to know your way around a kitchen, Ms. Graham," I say, sipping the coffee she made, which tastes like a little piece of home.

"Vikki," she says.

"Vikki?"

"Everyone calls me Vikki." She puts down her cup. "And you want me to cook for you?"

I nod. "Yes, you can cook for me."

"And that's all. For half a million, you want me to cook for you." Her eyebrows are nearly in her hairline.

The soft silk of the black nightgown drapes over her perfect body, her raised nipples making it increasingly difficult for me to look her in her eyes. I'm also finding it hard not to squirm on my seat, given the destruction which is about to unleash in my pants if I don't get a fucking grip.

"There are other things, but I need to clear them with the office first," I snap, draining the rest of my coffee. "Order what you think you'll need."

I reach into my pocket and pull out my notepad and pen, writing down the wifi password details for the penthouse, the website I use for ordering in my groceries, along with the login details before I tear off the sheet and slide it over to her.

"I'll have my assistant contact you to arrange a fitting. Give me your phone," I order.

Vikki blinks her incredible, beautiful eyes at me, stunned.

"A what, my what?" she whispers.

I'm so close to doing what I shouldn't do, what I did in the corridor last night after the auction, the very reason we're here, right now. I want this vulnerable, fierce, beautiful, dangerous creature in my arms and in my bed. I want to rut her like I've never rutted before. Gods! I want to fill her.

"Your phone. Give it to me," I grind past my tusks.

I have to focus.

Vikki reaches into the pocket of her dressing gown and hands me over a battered smartphone. I make a mental note to arrange a new one for her today. I punch in my number, text myself, and then and save it to her contacts after a brief scroll to see who else is in them. There are a couple I will be arranging for my security team to check out.

"You have a message from your former employers," I inform her. "You will need to tell them you are no longer available for a shift today." I slide the phone back across the island.

Vikki snatches it up and gives me one of her glares. She checks the message and thumbs an answer.

"So, I'm cooking dinner?"

"Yes," I say, gathering up my laptop case. "I have a busy day. I'll see you tonight and we can talk about the rest of the month."

In no time at all, I'm out of my apartment and in the elevator, exhaling harshly at the swift exit. I am fit, at least as fit as I was in my last battle. My breathlessness is merely due to how good Vikki is at stealing it from me.

I shake my head as the lift descends. I've got myself into a complete mess.

What exactly am I going to do with a human in my house for another whole month? One my body finds completely irresistible and my head thinks I've taken leave of my senses.

Which I probably have. My life has been one of order, of work and business. I built Quake Industries into both an Upper and Lowerworld leader in manufacturing of every type. I've made my fortune many, many times over. And I did it all without even the thought of a female in my head.

Until now. Until everything unravelled at the sight of Vikki up on that stage.

"Good morning, Mr. Horenson," my chauffeur greets me as I slide into the comfortable leather seats of the Bentley.

"Morning, Neville."

"The office, sir?" he asks as the big car purrs out of the garage.

My phone rings. I nod at Neville as I see it's Peter calling.

"Yes."

"It's here,"he says, deadpan.

"What?"

"The invitation. And this year they want you take part in the charitable section of the evening."

"Fuck!" I swear under my breath.

The one thing I dread…the only thing I dread. The yearly invitation to the Monster Mansion House ball. Where all the great and good of the business Upper and Lowerworld attend in order to flaunt their wealth, in the case of many of them, to find themselves a partner.

Not a business partner.

And what's worse, I'm considered to be eligible.

It might only be eight thirty am, but I dig out my cigar case. It's going to be that sort of day.