Home > My Cruel Lover (Wicked Poison #3)

My Cruel Lover (Wicked Poison #3)
Author: T.L. Smith

 


BLURB

 

 

My heart has been broken, torn to shreds.

I’m used to the game of pain.

Basically, I’m acquainted with it.

Some would say I’ve become immune.

That is …

… until him.

He’s cruel, hard, and everything I should stay away from.

For one, he is my boss.

Second, well, I can’t stay away.

But in this game of life, maybe pain is my love.

Or maybe I’m not seeing things clearly.

Because every time his hands touch me, it’s anything but cruel.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Beckham

 

“Please.” Her voice is a squeal through the phone. I have to pull it away from my ear, and when I do, I shake my head.

Fuck, why did I even answer?

I never answer.

It must have been a momentary lapse in judgment.

That’s the only reason I can think of for my stupidity.

“Rebecca,” I guess. She has been messaging me non-stop all day, asking me to come over tonight. That is not going to happen.

“Yes. Why? Do you have someone else?” she squeals.

“I do. Multiple, if I’m being honest. Which I informed you of when I first asked you to drop your dress,” I say to her as I drive up to my house.

“Arghhh.” Her screech is loud through my car’s hands-free phone unit.

“Look, I have to go.” With a quick flick, I hang up on her. She automatically tries to call back, but I ignore it. Leaning over the seat, I grab hold of my bottle of whiskey to head inside my apartment building. The doorman opens the door for me as I walk in and takes the keys for my car, which he will park.

I was born into a life of luxury and still live in that lifestyle. I’m in my early twenties and already a multi-millionaire, and well on my way to being a billionaire.

“Sir …”

Spinning on my heel, I turn to my doorman, Jim, who looks behind me and nods.

As I turn, two arms wrap around my middle. “I’m ready to drop my coat,” Rebecca whispers in my ear, her voice sounding like cracked glass ready to puncture my entire being. I clutch the bottle of whiskey in my hand, a little too tightly, and then attempt to pull her hands off of me. When I step back, she’s wearing a long coat and sky-high heels.

“Rebecca …” I start.

She shakes her head and starts to undo the top button of her coat. It’s then I see the pink skin and realize she’s wearing nothing underneath.

Fuck.

Rebecca flicks her long hair back over her shoulder and holds her fingers at the top of the coat to keep it together. “Let’s take this upstairs. You know you want to.”

I do.

But I don’t.

Confliction takes over, my body reacting to something I don’t want.

Rebecca’s already attached. She wants me and obviously feels some sort of connection I have no wish to experience, so me taking her upstairs to bend her over would do nothing to help this situation I now find myself in.

I look back to Jim, who’s watching us with his eyes widening and his mouth falling open.

“Jim, please escort Rebecca out. She is not welcome here any longer.” I look back to Rebecca and smile. “I have work to do, and you need to leave. Please don’t come back again.” I try to step around her, but she opens her coat and showcases herself to me.

I’m a man, so naturally, I look.

But when I think about it, there is nowhere else to avert my eyes right now as she is all up in my face.

When I look up at her eyes, there’s desperation there. Her eyes dart around a little, and she jerkily steps from side to side, then the pained stare has me searching for answers I have no questions for.

“Please go. Do you need me to call you a cab?” I ask.

Rebecca closes her coat quickly, her lips form a straight line, and she thrusts her chest out. “Fuck you, Beckham Harley.”

I’m pretty sure that’s what she wants me to do. Fuck her that is.

Her heels click-clack as she storms out of the building.

Jim holds the door open for her, and I watch as she leaves.

“Don’t allow any women in here. Only my sisters,” I tell him before heading toward the elevator that will take me to my apartment and away from the craziness that has just enveloped my life at this moment.

“Yes, sir,” he says as I step in.

My phone pings, and when I look down, it’s a photograph of my niece, Winter.

Pressing call on her contact, Winter’s little voice echoes through my sister’s phone. “Uncle, I want to come to yours.”

The elevator finally opens on my floor. Stepping off, I quickly pace over to the counter and place my whiskey on top, then look at it longingly.

It’s the only thing that helps me sleep.

I can sleep without it, but on the weekends, I need it or should I say want it. Not every weekend, just when I dream of her. Paige invades my thoughts when I’m exhausted, and I am helpless to stop the flood of emotions those thoughts inflict on me.

I loved her.

And then she died.

Winter reminds me of her. Her soul is pure and sweet. Much like Paige’s was.

“Next week! We will go on a date.” I hear Winter sigh, then she replies, “Okay,” before Rylee’s voice comes through the phone line.

“It’s your birthday next week. Twenty-four. Are you excited?”

“No,” I grumble.

Because I’m not.

Who wants to be excited about getting older?

“Well, we are. August wants to know if you want steak or burgers.”

“Neither. I have to go,” I reply, then hang up on her.

Some days are harder than they should be.

Some days, I dream of her. And when I do, I wake up drenched in sweat.

As I said, whiskey helps. I don’t dream after whiskey. I simply pass out. So I walk over, grab the whiskey and a lowball crystal tumbler.

Sitting on my couch, I press play on my phone. My apartment has speakers installed throughout. Every room you walk into, the music blasts, deafening me, helping me to drown out any unwanted thoughts.

I down a shot.

Those beautiful eyes smile with such ease as she stares at me.

I shoot another shot.

Her hand touches mine, and I feel the spark, the electricity that flies up my arm whenever she touches me.

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