Page 7 of Mr. Blackwood

“How do you know that?” I asked.

“If you were supposed to be here, you wouldn’t have set off the alarm,” he replied.

I felt a little stupid because that was obvious, but oh well.

He took another step closer to me, and I inhaled his expensive cologne. I reveled in the rich scent he wore, and I could detect notes of coffee beans and oud.

I was familiar with them because I came from money, and my nose had learned to detect cheap cologne from moderately priced cologne to expensive cologne through the years. I loved the way he smelled mixed with the cigar. I could lay underneath a man like that all night and inhale his scent. I could get intoxicated off his scent. Hell, I could cum off his scent.

Damn, Camilla, get your act together, I warned myself. I hadn’t been too pleased with myself for jumping back in bed with Nick, but I chalked it up to all the time that had passed since my last sexual escapade. Now here I was on the prowl, checking out a man who could be a psychopath.

“Well like it or not, I’m here. So how about you help me leave before I’m discovered?”

“Or how about I turn you in and get your lease revoked?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Do you at least have a phone that I can use to call someone?” I asked.

He took another step out of the darkness, and I finally saw his features. My eyes widened when I realized who it was, Jabari Blackwood, the man I had been hunting down for the interview. Mike Sullivan of Sullivan Investments had shown me a picture of him. It was a picture that was somewhat grainy, but it had been captured at some sort of conference on a security feed. I hadn’t shared it with the others, but I did confirm that he was as good-looking as we suspected, and he was fine as hell. The picture didn’t do him justice, though. I couldn’t believe my luck, but I hated that he happened to be the one man who I didn’t mind bedding tonight.

He stared into my eyes, and a taunting smirk danced on his full, heart-shaped lips as he took another step closer. I was mesmerized by his appearance and couldn’t think straight.

Mr. Blackwood was roughly six feet, five inches, because he was just a few inches taller than Nick. The rich, deep coffee-colored skin was smooth and showed no lines, which was why it was difficult for people to guess his age. Almond-shaped, hooded, chocolate eyes, peered out at me from a triangular-shaped face. They appeared to see every secret I ever held. He pulled his fingers through his full Hebrew beard, and his thick mustache covered his lips when they pursed around the cigar again. The diamond earring that twinkled in his left ear only enhanced his sex appeal.

I backed up and hit my back against the bar when he took that final step toward me. A shiver ran down my spine at the closeness of him. He snatched the proof sheets from my hands, and when I attempted to take them back, he gripped me by the shoulder and held me in place. When I relaxed, he released his grip on me and used his lighter to check out the details of the photograph.

“Why did you choose Errol Washington for your cover?”

“He’s the perfect choice for the upcoming summer cover. He’s blazing trails, his stock is heating up, he’s outgoing, athletic, optimistic, and assertive, and he has lots of energy. He’s single, attractive, and he’s a hot commodity on the market looking for someone to run his empire with. Why wouldn’t I? And who are you to question my choice?”

It sounded like he growled at me, but I wasn’t sure.

“Uhm, . . . did you just growl?”

His eyes narrowed. “That isn’t a reason to choose someone to grace the cover of your magazine. You should’ve selected someone with a new business venture, someone who inspires future business leaders, someone your readers could admire, and someone who photographs well and has a striking expression that pulls people in.”

“And you don’t think Errol has that?”

He turned the picture around and held it close to my face. “Do you think he has that? His skin is sallow, he’s got dark circles underneath his eyes, and yes, he may be physically fit, but his suit is ill-fitting. Errol’s too eager to be seen. He cares more about cultural relevance than he does market performance and getting the shareholders what they need.

“He hasn’t had a new business venture in the last three years. He’s using your magazine to get his name back out there and boost interest in his company because his sales are lagging. Did you even do your research? He can’t help you. This is trash. Then again, maybe you choose people on the level of your magazine. Your magazine is low-budget because your mindset is low-budget.”

My mouth dropped in shock at his disparaging comments. “You may know about the behind the scenes details about his finances because you’re ruthless and prey on those who don’t have the same level of power that you do, but that doesn’t make him any less interesting. In fact, because he’s open and charming, people are drawn to him, they want to know who he is, and they’re more apt to buy his products after this interview because they’ll know his value and his backstory. When people feel they know you and that they’re connected to you, you can have them eating out of the palm of your hand. You may have money and a predatory reputation, Mr. Blackwood, but you’re not a very likeable person.”

“Have you finished your spiel?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He lifted my chin with his fingers and brushed his lips against mine.

Although I was shocked, I was drawn into it and couldn’t seem to resist him. He was a good kisser, seductive and persuasive, gently coaxing me to relax and trust him as I opened my mouth and let him in.

His lips were pillowy soft, and his tongue was velvety smooth. He tasted like a smooth bourbon. I was embarrassed that I let him kiss me, and I was moaning underneath the kiss. I pulled back and wiped my mouth.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you always go around kissing strange women just because your name is Mr. Blackwood?”

“No. I only kiss women who I want in my bed.”