Chapter 3 is a little short but I still hope you enjoy reading it. Last chapter Bea went from being up on top of the world to crashing down to earth with Lance Mr. Right Now. This time payback's a ...you know what.

Two days later Lance was at his condo exorcising his demon, the sensual Bea, best way he knew how. By hitting the leather speed bag in his personal gym. Everytime he remembered the taste of her, a heady and delicate balance of spice and sweet, he punched the bag harder. Everytime he remembered how her pussy squeezed his cock as she came for him he punched the bag faster.

But what was worse were the number of times he'd wished since he left her establishment to have gotten her naked underneath and making Bea come for him again and again. Bea Lowell was a threat to his company's bottom line. A literal thorn in his verbial side. He shouldn't have wanted her. Or touched her.

Because now after one taste it wasn't enough. He had to have her again. He nearly did too before he came to his senses and stepped away from her and any other hard surface. Arms burning from the strain he lowered his arms and took deep breaths his heart rate decelerating at the same speed as the bag he was punching.

Lance bent his head and raised his right arm to using his teeth to unstrap he gloves. Once his hand was free he took off the glove on his left. Then used a towel to wipe off the sweat .

Sweat he'd much rather gained from doing other things. Like making Bea ride his cock as he held her standing up. A position that didn't require a surface at all.Good thing he only thought of it now.

His cock hardened and strained against his gym shorts. Because of her. Damn the woman. How could he continue to call himself a crisis manager, a fixer, if he couldn't decide on what he wanted more, to fuck Bea or crucify her?

His phone ringing pulled him from his thoughts. Lance reached into his shorts pocket and swore. Usually he kept his phone on him or close by in case of emergencies. But his encounter with Bea had made him go soft in the head.

He followed the sound of the ringtone, Ride of the Valkyries by Richard Wagner, into his living room when it stopped. A quick sweep showed him nothing. The phone went off again and he followed it to his TV entertainment center.

How the hell did it get there?

He picked up his phone when the call ended. Glancing at the screen he saw both calls was from the CEO. Wondering why Mr. Richards was calling him he made to return his call when the phone ran in his hand. It was Mr. Richards. Again.

Dread splashed over his head and his whole body like a bucket of ice and water chilling him down to his bones. Answering the call, he put the phone to his ear, swallowed and said, "Yes Mr. Richards?"

"I've just had an interesting call from the Historic Preservation Office."

His sense of dread grew to sub freezing temperatures but Lance crossed his free arm and asked the question he both least and most wanted an answer to. "About what?"

"It's not so much about what but also about who?"

Lance heard the frustration in his voice but remained silent. Last thing he wanted was to have whoever earned his ire turned toward him. Mr. Richards sighed into the phone and Lance didn't need to be right beside him to know that he was probably pinching the bridge of his nose right now.

"Apparently a Ms. Lowell," Lance hissed and wondered what the woman done now but Mr. Richards answered the question for him, "has brought findings that one of the buildings part of our redevelopment plan is connected to the underground railroad."

"What?" Lance searched his brain on the history of the neighborhood but came up blank. There were stations in Washington, DC and Baltimore but nothing of the kind turned up. "That's impossible. She must be lying. Whatever she presumably found has to be a fabrication."

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