Page 98 of Fierce Storm
It doesn’t last long as a vision of my charcoal-stained lot comes into view.
Of all the fucking things.
Arson.
I’ve owned my own business for over twenty years and never experienced a personal attack on one of my buildings.
And make no mistake, it had to be personal. A message.
Someone set fire to D’Angelo Construction’s on-site office at one of our build sites,andthe gardens surrounding it. They didn’t touch the multibillion-dollar building itself.Thank fuck.And emergency services were there to help before anyone from my team had called them.
Before any of them had even found out.
My guess… the same person who lit the fire called 911.
I pissed someone off. Me, or Daniel, who’s been running the company while I’ve been in San Francisco. And neither of us knows who.
Like I said, it’s a fucking shit show.
I should have stayed in New York.
Iwouldhave stayed in New York if it wasn’t for Daniel practically kicking me out of the state.“There’s nothing you can do here. I’ll call you if we hear anything else.”
So, I made my statement, which gave the police fuck all since I had no idea who I could have possibly annoyed, then I was on my way.
Back here to hopefully get through the week without something else going wrong.
With one last look at my weary expression, I drag my T-shirt off over my head and wrap the towel around my neck, making my way to the changing room, checking the time to ensure I’m not running behind for my meeting with the board.
I’m not.
It’s unusually quiet for the middle of the afternoon, but if I stop and listen, I can hear the occasional whistles coming from outside. My team is back in action—the rookies giving it their all to prove themselves during training camp, the seasoned pros showing them how it’s done.
I have to admit, it’s calming. The chaos of a football teamiscalming.
Who knew this place would be what I needed in my life to find zen?
I’m smiling to myself as I open the door to the changing room, until a vision of red appears ahead of me, and I catch myself before I groan.
Keeley’s unintentionally teasing me in a tight little sports bra and yoga pants so perfectly sculpted to her body that you’d think they were painted on. She’s facing away from me, and try as I might not to let my gaze drop to the curve of her ass, I can’t stop it.
I’m a red-blooded man like the rest of them, and this woman is my weakness.
And it’s not just her body that reels me in. It’s the way she makes me feel.
My pounding heart beats in my ears as I stare at her.
I’m drawn to everything about her. Her happiness, her strength, her passion, and the way she controls a room full of men who think they’re God’s gift to women. She’s incredible. And right now, she’s making it hard to walk away.
My sports briefs tighten as the blood rushes to my cock, and I catch myself before I’m hard, adjusting myself as I clear my throat.
“Keeley.” Her name escapes me without permission, and I internally wince. It would have been so much easier to let her walk inside, none the wiser of my presence.
She turns and without a word, she steps forward, her lip trapped between her teeth as she unabashedly ogles my body.
There are words exchanged, but I couldn’t tell you what the fuck I said with my energy focused on getting into the shower before her eyes drop to my shorts to find my cock standing at attention for her.
We talked about opportunities presenting themselves, but as much as I’d love to taste her again, the staff changing room—where anyone can walk in at any moment—is not the place.
