Chapter 9 My sugar bunny

~ ISAAC ~

"What look?"

"Never mind. Let's talk business," she said, pulling out a file and handing it over, the paper crisp against my fingers.

Better. God, I hoped she didn't suspect a damn thing.

"Have a look at this file," she said.

I flipped through it, scanning the pages, the words blurring a bit before sharpening. "You want to acquire this property too?" I asked, a smirk tugging at my lips, the familiar thrill of a deal humming in my veins.

She stepped closer, her rose-scented perfume wrapping around me like a cloud, intoxicating and heady. Her arms slipped around my waist, her chest pressing forward, those generous curves bouncing slightly against me.

"I don't think we should be doing this here," I said, but a smile was already creeping across my face, betraying me.

"What other perfect time is there for you to touch this perfect body?" she whispered, her breath hot against my ear, her tongue flicking out to stroke the lobe.

My heart leaped, a surge of heat rushing south, a bulge forming in my pants that I couldn't ignore.

"I can tell you want it right now," she licked her lips, her eyes darkening with promise.

"Yes, Pat."

She grabbed my tie, yanking me closer. "Let's go to my room."

Okay, that sounded like a damn good idea, but Druscilla was upstairs in her room. Patricia's suite was in the other wing, sure, but still... the house wasn't that big.

"What if the girls..."

"Oh, don't worry, they won't hear us," she cut me off, her voice a low purr.

"But..."

"I have a new client for you," she said, dangling the carrot. There she goes, always mixing business with pleasure. "Thomas O'Connor. He wants to divorce his wife but doesn't want to lose his assets to her."

Thomas was one of Manhattan's heavy hitters, loaded and a solid pillar in the Hayes church-or organization, depending on how you sliced it.

"I referred you to him when he brought the issue to my table," she added, her fingers tracing patterns on my back.

"Oh, that's so lovely of you." I cupped her face, smooth as porcelain from all those trips under the knife, and she leaned in.

Our lips met in a kiss, soft at first, then building, the taste of her minty lip gloss mingling with the faint bitterness of her morning coffee.

"So you have to dig me well today," she murmured against my mouth.

"Absolutely, my sugar bunny." I cupped her bum cheek, firm and yielding under my hand, and we kissed again-hot, passionate, tongues dancing in a rhythm we'd perfected over time.

I walked backward, her hands still locked around my waist, guiding me without breaking the connection. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a warning bell clanged: Pray Druscilla and Avery don't come down and catch us like this.

How the hell would I explain it? Druscilla would shatter, screaming to high heaven that I was cheating on her with her own mother. And Avery? She'd be floored, furious to learn she wasn't the only side piece in this mess.

Damn! It's so complicated. But what can I say? I'm loved by three women, each pulling me in different directions like a game of tug-of-war.

I don't know when we stumbled into the kitchen, but there we were, the cool tile under my shoes, the hum of the fridge in the background. I was lost in the kiss, giving it to Patricia-she earned every star in the rating book when it came to this. Age hadn't dulled her edge; if anything, it sharpened it. Her experience showed, years of knowing exactly how to tangle tongues and build that fire.

Avery couldn't match it yet, not with the same finesse. Druscilla... well, we hadn't gone there like this, but maybe with time, she'd catch on. It must run in the family, that spark.

I lifted Patricia up, her legs wrapping around me briefly as I set her on the kitchen counter, the marble cold against her skin, I imagined. My hand slid under her skirt, exploring, the fabric whispering against my fingers.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, not breaking the kiss, her breaths coming faster, mingling with mine.

Who'd believe this mouth-the one preaching morals from the pulpit, condemning the unholy-was devouring mine on a Sunday morning? Hypocritical as hell, but I didn't mind. Not one bit.

My fingers found her mound, no surprise she skipped the underwear under that big pleated skirt. No panties, no tights-just ready access. She bit back a moan as I rubbed the entrance of her folds, her body arching into my touch.

But then, footsteps echoed from the hall, approaching fast.

We broke apart instantly, hearts pounding.

"I think someone is coming."

"Shit!" Patricia groaned, hopping down from the counter, smoothing her skirt with quick, frantic hands, her cheeks flushed.

Avery pushed open the door, stepping in, her eyes flicking from my face to Patricia's, a flicker of curiosity there.

"Uh... Cilia needs a glass of water," she said, her voice casual, but her gaze lingering a second too long.

"Fucking cock blocker," Patricia murmured under her breath, low enough that it barely carried, as she stepped aside and headed for the door.

"Uh, did she say something?" Avery asked, tilting her head, clearly not catching the words.

"Tell Cilia I need you guys at church in an hour," Patricia said, her tone clipped, before slamming the door behind her, the bang rattling the cabinets.

Avery winced at the noise, her hand flying to her ear.

"What was that about?"

I shrugged, playing it cool, though my pulse was still racing. "I don't know."