Elias The Wicked: A BWWM Interracial Paranormal Romance

Kerah

“You didn’t answer my question.” I should have dropped the subject, but I couldn’t. My brake line had been cut, and I was on a straightaway down the slope of Elias Mountain. “Why not have her mother drop her off if it’s easier?”

I blinked. In the split second that I’d blinked, his eyes were lifting, almost as if he’d been looking down at my mouth.

Without a word, he pivoted, storming out the way he’d blown in.

Nipples harder than ice, I flipped a bird at his broad, leather-covered back. Somehow, he must have seen it—evil did have a tendency to be omniscient—and he spun around in the doorway, pinning me with a hard glare.

“You know what?” I stepped from behind the desk and marched toward him. “I’m not going to do this with you anymore.”

If I’d had a chisel, I probably could have carved a new Mount Rushmore in the bone and muscle of his jaw which I noticed, as I drew closer, was pulsing.

I stopped in front of him. “Have Elena’s mother drop her off.”

His brows lowered, the skin between them wrinkling. “Did you just demand I do something?”

“This is my establishment.” I smashed the tip of my index finger into my palm. “And until you’ve learned to respect me and it, I don’t want you back here.”

“It’s a free country, Moss.”

I was seething, a wild animal ready to charge. “This is a private company, Cabral.”

“And if I don’t ‘comply’?”

I grabbed the lapel of one of the open sides of his jacket, dragged him toward me—well, me to him considering the man was like a monument—and used my other hand to grip the back of his neck to pull his mouth down onto mine.

In the middle of the entryway.

Where at least one of my staffers could see.

Damn it, Kerah.

10.14.2020