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(Break So Soft #3) Hurt So Good
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Am I brave enough to follow him into the dark?
Dylan’s f’d up childhood left him with a dark view on intimacy. He’s afraid to let the monster out.
He thinks our meeting in the hotel bar was by chance. It wasn’t.
Though he hates himself for the things he wants to do to me, when he unleashes his beast and takes me in the darkest, most depraved and forbidden of fantasies, it’s the only time I feel truly free.
Oh yes, I wanted Dylan Lennox. I wanted the beast.
Warning: Contains triggers and dark themes which may be distressing to some readers.
This novel is a standalone in the Break So Soft series. Other novels in the series include:
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I stare over the rim of my glass of bourbon, watching the bombshell in the red dress work the room.
She’s good, I’ll give her that.
She flirts just enough with the men—only the important ones, I note—a touch of her hand on their shoulder, the brush of her hip, the flash of her smile. She’s making them feel like they’ve gotten something from her but then she moves on before they can really get a taste.
And the more I watch her, a taste is exactly what I want of the woman.
I don’t even know her name but my cock has been stiff for the last half hour as I’ve nursed my bourbon and watched her.
This is a bullshit mixer the Silicon Valley Robotics Symposium puts on every year, and it’s made exactly for this kind of shit. To encourage the greasing of wheels that actually gets deals done. An open bar. A tight red dress. A word or two in the right ear.
The hotel ballroom is dimly lit while a band plays soft, unremarkable jazz on a small stage up front. Meanwhile, middle-aged men with flushed faces laugh too loudly at jokes and are a little too obvious about their hopes for getting laid. Because it’s a tech conference though, there are about two guys to every woman, so their chances aren’t good.
And then there’s her. The woman in red.
I wonder what company the woman represents.
It doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to find out and you sure as fuck aren’t getting a taste of her.
I frown and tip my glass back, draining the last of the bourbon. Don’t know why the fuck I even stopped by here after my presentation. My brother, Darren, kept saying I needed to at least show my face or it would look rude after I gave the keynote speech. Considering he’s also my business partner, I thought, fine, I’ll drop in for a few minutes and then get the hell out of here.
Until I saw her.
Trouble is what she is. Trouble I don’t need.
Which is why you’re leaving. Right now.
I stand up and put the glass down on the bartop, then turn and—
Almost run straight into her. Her.
“Where you off to in such a hurry?” She flashes the same mega-watt smile she gave every other guy in the room and my eyes narrow. She thinks she’s gonna run her game on me? It’s insulting. Do I look like all the other desperate fucks in here?
I ignore her and reach for my coat and umbrella, then I move again to leave. I don’t step around her, though. I step into her and our bodies do more than brush. We collide and I hear her quick intake of air as she rocks back on her heels.
I expect her to get pissed at the dick move. Which is for the best because I just need to get the hell out of here. Discipline has been my watchword for the last six years and I’m not about to blow it now.
But when I glance her way, her posture is completely different.
Her eyes have dropped to the floor and her head is bowed. Submissively. Her brunette hair shines in the dim light of the wall sconces and now that she’s here up close I can see that she’s younger than I first thought. Maybe only twenty-five? Twenty-six?
And then I see her tongue swipe out to lick her lips at the same time her chest heaves, ample cleavage rising and falling dramatically.
I’m captured by the sight and when a moment later she glances back up at me, the lust is clear in her eyes.
Who the fuck is this woman?
“Who are you?” I’m not a man who beats around the bush.
“Miranda Rose. With ProDynamics. And you’re Dylan Lennox of The Lennox Brothers Corporation.”
My eyebrow lifts. ProDynamics, huh? Rod Serrano, the CEO, has already put in his bid to have their Pro processors in our newest robotics motherboards we’re pushing out. He keeps calling to get updates about his bid but I’ve been ignoring his inquiries.
Is putting this siren in my path his latest attempt to sway me into taking a meeting with him?
“Wow. Rod really does go all out,” I sneer. Rod will find out along with everyone else when we make the announcement of which processing chip we’re going with. But I already know I’m not interested in his processor. Processors like Intel has capitalized on—and like ProDynamics keeps producing—are the past. I’m more interested in the future.
The woman’s eyes flare but she doesn’t say anything. Fuck. She doesn’t look pissed by my asshole attitude. She looks turned on. And her lust seems genuine.
Or she’s just one hell of an actress.
Either way, no fucking way I’m letting my dick have any say in my business dealings. Jesus but I learned that the hard way, didn’t I? I barely survived the scandal last time and only because I had the money to pay to make it go away quickly.