Collared [Excerpt]

Chapter Four

SO MUCH COULD be learned about a person by a simple glance at their driver's license. Their full name, height, weight, address.

Everything Preston needed to know about Jane Doe was in a two by three plastic card.

He didn't feel an iota of remorse for demanding Ashton to lure her into the bar and make her comfortable enough she handed him her license without many queries. He needed to know who this woman was. Now he finally did.

"Abigail Bennett," Preston said aloud, letting the name roll off the tip of his tongue. Enjoying the taste of her name on his lips. Hating the way his cock stirred under his trousers.

Jesus, he wasn't a teenager.

He'd been with numerous women in his thirty-four years. He'd fucked models and actresses. He'd fucked women of all races and cultural backgrounds. They were all the same— tits, pussy, ass.

Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing special.

So why did all the blood in his body rush to his cock when he thought of this woman? Why did it stand proud as if she owned it?

He stared at the small picture that hinted at the color of her eyes and hair.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The bangs that covered her forehead made her look younger than twenty-four. The smile that grazed her full lips made her gray eyes wrinkle in the most innocent way.

It wasn't often Preston was taken aback by a woman's physical appearance. He was overly causations of sirens and didn't let them rule his business or sexual affairs. Yet that was exactly what Abigail Bennett was doing. She'd come into his business as if she owned it and his body was subconsciously reacting to hers.

He hated it, and he wanted to slap that smile off her jovial face.

A knock brought his attention to the door. It wasn't a knock he knew, which only meant one thing. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the driver's license before handing it back to Ashton.

"Not a word about this to anyone. Make sure Joe keeps an eye on her."

"Yes, Sir," answered Ashton like the good little boy he was. He opened the door to leave and in came Elliott dressed in black slacks and a button-down shirt.

Preston stared in disbelief as the blonde walked into his office as if he owned it.

He made his way to the liquor cabinet Preston kept on the far left of the room and poured himself a gradual amount. With the drink in hand, Elliott plopped into the leather chair opposite Preston's desk and propped his ankles on the mahogany.

Preston gaped at his friend who was more like a brother.

The brother he never wished to have.

Elliott James and Preston Trice had known each other for as long as they both could remember. They grew up together as siblings after their mothers made a futile pact to get pregnant at the same time so their children would become best friends just like them.

It was a stupid plan concocted by two dimwitted women. As expected, said plan didn't turn out well. Not where Preston was concerned.

Elliott was like a nightmare Preston couldn't stop seeing. He was everything Preston wasn't. Polar opposites. Where Preston was tall with dark features, Elliott was short with blonde hair and light eyes. He was also the most annoying man Preston had ever met. At thirty-four, he didn't have a job, living off his parents' fortune like the spoiled brat he was.