Page 25 of Mad Love

11

Maddox

Tired from the events of the past week, I check in with my guys at the front desk before heading to my place.

“Any visitors?”

“One, sir. A Granger Ward. He stayed two nights.”

“Any packages other than the flowers?”

“A few from the lingerie place down the street.”

A burst of jealousy explodes through me. I rein it in and give my men a casual, “Thank you. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

On the elevator ride, I lean against the cool metal and talk myself down from the unexpected urge to pummel Granger until he’s a bloody mess. Did he pull one over on me, letting me believe there’s nothing between him and Blaise except friendship? Am I so clueless, I can’t see the truth written in her handwriting?

She added the clause about going outside the marriage for sex for a reason. Granger Ward is her fucking lover. The elevator stops and the doors open. I let myself inside my place with my fingerprint.

Blaise is near-broke but isn’t after my money. No sex. No money. Yet, she wants my name for protection. What can I protect her from that her lover can’t? What is the mystery behind the fast nuptials? Jesus, is Blaise pregnant with Granger’s child? Is the child of a man with no title or wealth so shameful that Blaise’s family cut ties with her?

The thought gets me angry, but what wins out, what is irrational and from left field, is my jealousy. Blaise should only be pregnant with my child, goddammit.

Giving my anger and jealousy a rest—otherwise, I won’t sleep worth a damn—I shrug off my jacket and drape it over a kitchen chair.

Other than the light illuminating from the pool room, my place is dark and quiet. It’s how I like it. I like my space and my privacy. Never have I brought a woman to my penthouse in the Bay Area except for my sister and Leigh Kim. My little sis doesn’t count. She’s family. I can say the same for Leigh, though she wasn’t family or a woman when I brought her here.

Leigh was a reckless, troublesome teenager in need of guidance when she stole and crashed my Bugatti when she was sixteen. Fast forward two years, and I consider her a good friend. I hope she and that boy she likes, Seven Shanahan, have a nice time at their homecoming dance tonight.

To think it was only two weeks ago that my guys found out Leigh’s mother had an affair with Seven’s uncle, Tony McCabe. Shit, first my sister and her ongoing testing of the guys I have guarding her, and now a young lady who is like a little sister to me is involving herself with a boy whose father is part of a large family rumored to be mobsters legitimizing themselves as reputable businessmen and women.

And one of the McCabes, the most ruthless, will be paying me a visit, according to the message sent to me. Fuck sakes, who sends someone a box with a hand nailed to a piece of plywood with “will be in touch” written on flesh?

Needing something other than alcohol or a woman’s body to take my mind off Cillian McCabe’s not-so-subtle message to keep my hands off the strip of businesses in southeastern Oakland, an area he controls through intimidation and bribery, I strip off my clothes. They fall where they land, and I step inside my sanctuary, lowering myself into the heated pool.

Dunking my head in, I swim from one end to the other. Near the ladder on the other side, my fingers brush flesh. My eyes shoot open, and fuck me if I’m not looking into the widest eyes I have ever seen.

“Blaise?”

“Um, hello, Maddox.”

She’s hiding behind the ladder with one arm across her chest and the other down low. I see the reason her hands are where they’re at.

“You’re naked.” I keep my eyes on her face.

“So are you.”

She doesn’t give me the same courtesy. Her gaze trails down my body, lingers on my crotch, and returns to my face. Blood rushes from my head to my cock. I’m robbed of breath. My heart rate kicks up in my chest. I mentally tell my body to calm the fuck down. I’m only turned on because I haven’t had any action between the sheets in a long time. Yeah, that’s it.

“Why are you hiding behind the ladder?” Dumb question on my part when the answer is obvious, but I’ve never had a naked woman in my pool.

“I am not hiding.” Indignation flares in her beautiful eyes.

I cross my arms, needing to do something with them. Otherwise, I’ll strike the same pose, and that’s lame. I mean, come on. I’ve seen plenty of women naked, and plenty of women have seen me in the buff. Blaise seeing me in my birthday suit shouldn’t make me self-conscious.

But hell, does she like my body? Am I too muscular? Is she into guys on the leaner side? Do I have too much body hair?

Blaise looks at me with her head cocked. Shit, am I thinking so hard that she can “see” the gears spinning in my head? Gia and Leigh have mentioned my laser-focused gaze when I’m over-thinking something, and having the two most important women in my life noticing must mean it’s true.

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