Page 25 of Gunnar

“Be happy I’m not,” I growl, my voice low and dangerous, coming from a darker place than professional frustration. “Because if I were in charge of you… After that bratty little stunt, you wouldn’t be sitting for a week.”

It takes her a second to register what I said, and I watch the realization dawn over her face. Her eyes blow wide, the pupils so round, they nearly eclipse her golden irises, as her sharply inhaled breath hitches in her throat. Devyn opens and closes her mouth, her lips repeatedly parting, but no sound comes from between them. For once, she is at a loss for words, stunned into silence at the not-so-subtle implication of my hand leaving prints across her tight little ass.

But it isn’t her shock that causes my own breath to stutter; it’s the tiny glimmer of intrigue that flashes across her eyes. That tiny spark of curiosity and interest leaves my palms itching to follow through with my idle threat.

She recovers her composure quickly, her spine snapping rigidly straight and her firm finger falling from my pec. But she can’t hide the flush that has spread up her chest and over her, now rosy cheeks.

“You—” she starts, but her ire crumbles before it can pass through her lips.

Biting my tongue, I say nothing as I watch her stare back at me, this little spat between us suddenly becoming a standoff. The air between us feels heavy, charged with inappropriate possibilities.

She breaks eye contact first, spinning on her heel. Her hair whips around her shoulders as she storms over to the staircase. I’m rooted in place as her heels click against the hardwood floor, mesmerized by the sway of her hips. The tiny emerald dress—barely more than a slip of silk—clings to her body before fluttering away with each step, revealing glimpses of skin that make my mouth go dry. As she climbs the stairs, the fabric rides up just enough to garner me an improper glimpse of where her long, lean legs meet the swell of her tight little ass.

Though I am supposed to be a hardened professional, the sight before me sears into my memory. And I can’t help but think how much more of her I want to see.

When she crests the top of the stairs, her heated steps clack down the hallway. Even when she is no longer in my line of sight, I can still feel her fury radiating down the stairs. Her bedroom door slams loudly, firm enough to shake dust from the chandelier.

“I told you,” Jagger teases from behind me, amused and insufferable. I turn to find him leaning against the banister of the grand staircase, his arms crossed and a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You like her.”

Hawk stands beside him, his expression carefully neutral, but I can see the judgment and concern in his eyes.

I storm past them both, my shoulder brushing against Jagger’s, hard enough to make him stumble. “Shut up, Jag.”

“But I’m not wrong.” He follows me, dogging my steps like a persistent shadow. “You’re all worked up over this girl. Your pulse is elevated, respiration increased, pupils dilated⁠—”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” I grouse, accentuating each word, as I head into the kitchen. I open and close cabinets, the act less about looking for something and more about needing to do something with my hands. Something other than grabbing Devyn Martin and shaking her, kissing her, or bending her over the nearest available surface to show her exactly what happens to disobedient little brats.

I plant my palms on the ice-cold marble island and hang my head. She’s fucking infuriating. Not only does she treat our protection like it’s merely a suggestion, but she also spent the entire car ride arguing with me about it. She’s reckless, stubborn, and has absolutely no concept of the danger she is actually in.

Or how badly I want her…

The realization hits me like a physical blow, stealing what little breath I’ve managed to recover. I want her with an intensity that scares me. I can’t stop thinking about the sounds she would make if I actually followed through on my threat. It’s not a fantasy, but a ravenous need. The image rises unbidden: Devyn folded across my lap with that little green dress around her waist and her skin pinkening beneath my hand.

“I’m going to pull you from point.” Hawk’s voice, deep and serious, spills into the kitchen. Unable to meet what I can only assume is his unapproving gaze, I can’t bring myself to turn to look at him. “I’ll take the lead. You can work surveillance and logistics with Jagger instead.”

I shake my head, the rushed movement sharp and violent. “No.”

“Gunnar—”

“I said no.” I push off the island and turn to face him, my hands flexing involuntarily at my sides as Hawk’s eyes diligently catalog me. “I’m fine. This is fine.”

“This is not ‘fine.’” Hawk air quotes, stepping into the kitchen. He lowers his voice, mindfully, before continuing, “She’s under your skin. I’ve never seen you like this. Not with a client. Hell, not with anyone.”

“She’s difficult,” I lie—poorly—to us both. “She gets under my skin because she’s a pain in my ass. That’s all.”

“Bullshit,” Jagger chirps from the doorway. Seriously! Does he have any survival instincts at all? I glare at him, but it does absolutely nothing to shut him up. “In a foyer full of witnesses, you threatened to spank her. Now, I am not normally one to deny the need for a solid correction… but I’m pretty sure none of us have ever spanked a client.” His gaze darts to Hawk next to me and Damon a few feet behind him, his lips pursing and eyebrows lifting inquisitively as he internally questions his own statement.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and count slowly to ten as he continues, “Well, I have never spanked a client.”

Then twenty, before proceeding to fifty for his own well-being.

“She needs to learn,” I blurt out, opening my eyes and fixing on Jagger with a stare that would make a smarter man back down. “She needs to understand that her actions have consequences, that she can’t just⁠—”

“Brat away without getting a sore bottom?” That cocky-ass grin, always plastered to his face, has grown feral. “But… based on her expression, she wasn’t entirely opposed to the idea, old man. Or with your bad eyes, did you not quite catch that?”

Oh, I saw.

Missing it would have been impossible. With those wide eyes and flushed skin, her intrigue and forbidden interest clearly showed in her outrage. It took every ounce of my self-control not to follow her up those stairs and show her exactly how little I appreciate her behavior.