Page 121 of Sinful Like Us
She quakes. Her arms hug her belly—and I’m about to draw her onto my lap. I’m about to rub her skin for hot friction and cradle my girlfriend as close as I fucking can.
But I catch movement outside.
I narrow my eyes on the blurry windshield, rain slithering down the glass—and I see her bodyguard.
God-fucking-dammit.
My veins pulse with anger.Tony exits a car that’s parked in front of ours. His stride is arrogant, like he’s about to turn the rain into wine.
“Fuck that guy,” Maximoff says shakily. “I’m going—”
“No.” Farrow tugs him away from the door. “Let us worry about that dipshit. You and Jane need to get warm.”
I click my mic. “Banks to Tony, return to your vehicle. We have enough hands here.”
He smiles at our car like I’m bullshitting him. Like he’s the best bodyguard on the team and there’s no way he’snotneeded.
I’m about to pop off. Badly. I wrench open the door and tell Jane, “I’ll be fast.” If she weren’t frozen, she’d probably pass me an umbrella or hand me another knife.
I shut the door.
Rain pelts my shoulders with harsher impact, and I realize…it’s sleeting. Tony spreads his arms wide, approaching, only a meter away. “I’m here to help.”
“You’re not needed!” I yell between my teeth. “Get the fuck back in your Victor.”Fuck me—I meantvehiclenotVictor, but military slang spills out of my mouth.
He cocks his head, eyes flashing hot. “Why don’t you? That’smyclient. You and your fucking brother are always stepping on my territory. First with Xander, now with Jane—and you thinkI’mthe one with the problem? You want what I have, and it kills you—”
“Tony,” I growl, time slipping. “Back off or I swear to fucking God I will throw you against your car.” My hand is a white-knuckled fist. If he protests, I’m swinging.
His brows pinch, something flickering in his eyes. He’s studying my features. “Banks?”
I stiffen.
I forgot that I’m my brother, and I didn’t think, out of everything, that my shorter fuse and blistering wrath would cause suspicion.
Nothing else has.
I breathe harsh breaths through my nose. Controlling my anger, and I force out, “Back off.”
Tony gives me another once-over, then raises his hands. “It’s her loss. She could use another pair of hands, and you’re just hurting her.”
He knows where to stab me. His words fester under my skin as I return to the car, and I wonder if he’s right and I’m wrong.
Can’t do anything about it.I already made the call.
I open the car door.
Farrow is in the back with Jane, putting pressure on her leg, and he switches with me and takes the driver’s seat again. We work in unison, seamless, without much verbal communication, and I shut out the sleet and strip off my wet jacket.
I draw Jane onto my lap and collect her trembling hands in mine. She watches me blow hot breath on her palms.
Her shaking slows and slows, less violent than before.
“Christ.” Maximoff makes a strange noise in the passenger seat. Like he’s frustrated from not being able to control his body and eliminate the cold.
Farrow whispers in his ear, his tattooed hands moving over Maximoff.
“I can’t…” Jane inhales, and when I clasp her cheek, she nuzzles into my palm, bathing in my warmth. Our eyes lock, and I run my hand back-and-forth over each arm, each leg, the curve of her hip—my touch burning a fire across the planes and valleys of her beautiful body.
