Deeper [The Underground 3] (Siren Publishing Allure) (2 page)

The click of ice dropping into a glass filled the room. “Please, call me Tate.”

She assumed the easygoing smile he gave her was no doubt an attempt to make her feel comfortable or lessen the blow he was about to deliver. He didn’t go back behind his desk, instead sitting on the edge of it, facing her. She was acutely aware of how close he was. The smell of his cologne filled her nose. It smelled rich, masculine, and very expensive. When sitting this close to him she felt extremely feminine. Tate Wessen was a large man, with wide shoulders and massive arms. The shirt he wore stretched across his broad chest, the muscles underneath the material obscenely evident. It was plainly obvious Mr. Wessen worked out. A lot.

Her gaze dropped to his hand, the one that held the square-cut tumbler filled with caramel-colored liquid. He brought the glass to his lips, his long fingers encompassing the perimeter. When he took a deep drink, she watched his throat work as he swallowed. She let her eyes travel up his tanned, thick throat, over his square jaw and full lips, across the sharp angles of his cheeks, and finally settled on his eyes. The way he watched her let her know he was very aware of the way she had been looking at him. Her cheeks heated to the point she knew they had to be red as tomatoes. Clearing her throat just proved to make her even more uncomfortable because it caused Tate to smirk at her.

“Has my father done something wrong, Mr. Wessen?” She desperately wanted to change the subject because his gaze was too intent, too knowing. Just like a light switch turning off, a composed mask slid over Tate’s face. He slid off the desk and made his way back to his chair behind the desk.

“I’m afraid your father is in quite a bit of trouble, Miss Vincent.”

“What kind of trouble, Mr. Wessen?”

He still gripped his tumbler, his fingers running up and down the smooth glass as he watched her. “I insist you call me Tate, Stella.” He smiled but it seemed anything but friendly. It reminded her of a predator in the jungle, grinning right before it pounced on its prey. “I can call you Stella, right?”

Like she was going to tell a man like him no. She knew all about him, knew that he owned the majority of their town, that he was ridiculously wealthy, and that anyone that was smart knew to stay away from him because he was dangerous. She knew all of this, especially the last part, yet here she was, like a damn fool, sizing him up like she wanted to take him out on a freaking date. Of course, if she was being brutally honest with herself, it wasn’t a date she was imagining doing with Tate. Her cheeks heated at the image that slammed into her mind.

Her naked, spread out on his bed. Tate pressing all those hard, defined muscles into her. The feel of his cock, which she had no doubt was just as impressive as the rest of him, brushing against the most sensitive part of her body. God, she was so aroused, and what a fucked-up time to let her libido take control.

She needed to stop thinking about ridiculous and dangerous things, especially when they concerned Tate Wessen. “Of course, Mr…Tate.” His smile was all straight white teeth. Oh yes, Tate Wessen was used to getting exactly what he wanted.

She was nervous as hell, but that was no surprise because anyone in her position usually was. Tate leaned back in his seat, his fingers wrapped around his drink as he rested it on his thigh. When he invited people into any of his offices it usually wasn’t on the best of terms, and tonight wasn’t any different. It was a hell of a shame he had to unload her father’s bullshit on her because the woman in front of him was a fine piece of ass. He knew all about Stella Vincent, knew that she lived in the Fallencrest apartments off of Harris Ave. It was his job to keep tabs on the people, and anyone connected to them, that owed him money, and Henry Vincent owed him a shit ton of money.

“Your father is in a bit of a situation, Stella.” Her little white teeth pulled her bottom lip in and bit it nervously. He could practically hear the beat of her heart as it thundered in her chest. And what a fine chest it was. His gaze dropped down to her blouse, her breasts rising and falling against the material. Lifting his gaze to hers, he knew she had caught him staring, but he didn’t give a fuck. Tate didn’t apologize for the way he was. He wouldn’t be where he was in life if he had.

“He owes me quite a bit of money.” He took another drink and watched her over the rim. “I’m sure you’re aware of your father’s drinking and gambling problem, Stella?” She swallowed and he heard it from where he sat.

“How much does he owe you?” Her voice caught and he could tell she wasn’t surprised at the news, but then again she had been picking up his ass from his businesses for far too long for her not to have an inkling of what type of man he really was.

He didn’t mean to leave her hanging, but as he watched her, saw the play of emotions filter across her face, he found himself lost in her. Strange reaction for him, and frankly, one he didn’t care for. He wasn’t the type of man to do dinner and flowers.

The longer he watched her the more he found himself wanting her. Her tits were large and her nipples were becoming hard. He was blatantly staring at her, not giving a shit if she realized it or not. Was his gaze affecting her that much?

“Mr. Wessen?”

Lifting his gaze from her breasts, he knew that he wanted her. Bad. Of course it wasn’t wise to mix business with pleasure.

He wanted her to say his name, his first name. His business associates and the people that were scared of him called him Mr. Wessen. For some stupid reason, Tate wanted his name to fall from her lips. He could almost picture her moaning it in the dim light while he fucked her.

Had he ever wanted a woman this much?

“Your father owes me twenty-five thousand dollars, Miss Vincent.” It would do him well to keep her at a distance. The blush that had once covered her cheeks vanished as she turned pale. The color drained from her face and her eyes widened. Just looking at her, even the shocked look on her face had his dick rock hard. He was a fucking dirty bastard for wanting between her thighs. But being a bastard had worked out well for him in his life, and he wasn’t about to change that.

“Oh, God.” She wiped a bead of sweat that formed on her forehead and looked around the room. Was she looking for an escape route? If she knew anything about him she knew he didn’t fuck around when it came to his money.

Downing the rest of his scotch he set the glass on the table. He was acting like a fucking pussy. He needed to keep his head in the game, needed to remember why Stella Vincent was sitting in his office. Her father owed him a shit load of money.

“God can’t help you in this situation, Miss Vincent.” His tone was harder and he knew he was being a dick, but she needed to see who she was dealing with. This situation was serious, and the sooner she realized that the better off everyone would be.

“Your father’s debt has put him in a very precarious position.”

“We—” She choked on the word and he felt something shift inside of him. It wasn’t like he had never seen a female cry in front of him before, pleading, begging, but for some reason this was different. He shook his ridiculous thoughts away.

“We don’t have that kind of money, Mr. Wessen.”

“Maybe your father should have thought about that before he came to me and asked for a personal loan.” The frightened look on her face was one he had seen many times. Tate was used to this type of reaction. He had his hands in many different business ventures, a lot of them not legal. He may have initially made his first millions on the stock market, but his wealth now far surpassed that, and it had nothing to do with buying and selling shares.

“My father came to you for a personal loan?” Her voice was small, scared. She wasn’t a fool. She knew exactly who and what he was. “You had to have known he didn’t have that kind of money. Why would you give him an amount that extravagant?” Her voice had gone a little harder and Tate couldn’t deny his cock stiffened further by the defiant little spark inside of her.

“Your father offered his house as collateral, Miss Vincent.” If possible her face grew paler. “I’m not known for my patience, Miss Vincent. The money I gave your father, just yesterday I might add, has been gambled and drunk away in my casino.”

“I can’t believe he risked the house for twenty-five thousand.” A tear slipped out but she wiped it quickly away before it could track down her cheek. She mumbled something under her breath and ran her hands through the thick tangle of auburn curls that fell over her shoulders. Lifting her wide green eyes at him, he found himself lost for a moment in those emerald depths. “How long does my father have before he needs to pay you back?”

“The end of the week.” His answer was short and to the point. He was done letting his sexual needs override the business side of his life. She was no different than any other female he had wanted, but even thinking it he knew that was not true. There was something different about Stella Vincent, something he wanted to explore further. After she paid him maybe he would explore that, meaning her under him. Yeah, he just needed one night with her, one night to get her out of his system. He wasn’t used to wanting a female as badly as he wanted her. It was clouding his judgment, making him feel sympathy for her and the situation.

Yes, he would get his money and then he would go from there. In the end, Stella Vincent would be naked in his bed, his name coming from her on a scream of pleasure.

Stella was in a massive funk when she left Tate’s office. The drive from the casino to her father’s house was in silence, and it wasn’t just because her dad was passed out cold. Even if he had been conscious, she wouldn’t have had anything to say. She was beyond pissed and scared as hell. Where in the hell was she going to get twenty-five thousand dollars by the end of the week? A tear slipped free and she quickly wiped it away. The very thought of her childhood home being taken away was too painful to even think about. All of her memories of her mother were in that home, and her father had all but signed it away for a quarter of what the house cost. She loved her father, but at this moment she hated him.

A sideways glance at him showed a man blissfully unaware of what he was putting his only daughter through. If the house hadn’t already been paid for she had no doubt he would have lost it years ago. Her childhood house became illuminated from her headlights. Pulling into the driveway and shutting off her car, she sat there for a moment, letting everything settle into place. The tick, tick, tick of the engine cooling filled the car and broke up her thoughts.

“Dad, wake up.” She didn’t bother looking over at him, just stared straight ahead. The front door, once a vibrant red that was welcoming and warm was now peeling and dull. Shutters hung by a nail and weeds were now making up more of the lawn than actual grass. The house looked depressing. It looked like a corpse of something that used to be great. This was what her life was now.

She looked at her dad, felt her love for him try and press through the anger that was currently taking residence inside of her. How long was she going to continue on with this? How much longer was she going to watch her father slowly kill himself? She missed her dad, missed her house, but years ago she had made the decision to move out, to get a place of her own and not let the past consume her like it was with her father. If the house hadn’t been paid for there was no way she could afford to live on her own. The only income that he had coming in was from his disability. If he hadn’t hurt himself right after her mom had died he wouldn’t be getting anything now. That check and her paychecks were the only thing keeping him from being homeless. She worked two jobs to make sure that would never happen. Why did she even bother
? How many jobs have you lost because you’ve had to leave to go pick him up? How many dates have been ruined because dad called you, begging you to come get him because he was too drunk to drive home?

Another tear slipped free and it tracked down her cheek before she could catch it. She was sick of crying, sick of always having to worry about everything else, and sick of having no one to take care of
her.
She climbed out of the car and walked around to the passenger-side door and opened it. The handle between her fingers felt icy, and although fall was in full swing around her, she knew the coldness had nothing to do with the metal or the weather. Her life was cold and distant, and she knew the frigidness was coming from within her soul. Angry at herself and everything around her, she tore the door open and stared at her father.

“Dad, wake up. Now.” There was not even a movement to indicate he heard her. “
Dad
!” No doubt the neighbors had heard her, but at the moment she didn’t give a shit. A headache was starting to form behind her eyes and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was go home, climb under her sheets, and dream of a life that didn’t suck so much ass.

Her father mumbled something and turned his face toward her. He peeled his eyelids back, blinked a few times, and smiled. “Hey, baby girl.” The slurred words were far too familiar to her.

“Come on, Dad.” Getting him out of the car was tricky, but by this point in her life she was a pro at it. When she finally got him in the house and into his bed she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she wouldn’t go straight to bed when she got home. Maybe she would take a scalding-hot bath, light a few candles, and imagine a world where everyone wasn’t against her.

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