Page 38 of Mr. Wrong
That spine of steel that I’m pretty sure no one has ever seen but me.
That mile-wide stubborn streak that only seems to rear its ugly head when I’m the one pushing her buttons.
And fuck me if knowing that doesn’t go straight to my dick, stiffening it in an instant.
Did I say I wanted to get her naked and bury my face between her legs?
Well, scratch that.
The only thing I want to bury between her legs is my cock, so I can pound that stubborn streak right out of her.
“Careful, Ellenore,” I say, tilting my head forward just enough to bring our mouths to within a breath apart. “I don’t think my brother would appreciate coming home to finding me giving his daughter’s nanny apop quizin the back of his Land Rover—not on her first day, anyway.”
“I’m…” She makes that sound again, soft and helpless, in the back of her throat and my cock jerks so hard in response thatit brushes against her stomach. The graze of it against her belly button breaks the seal on her lips and forces the tip of her tongue out to wet them like her mouth is full of cotton. Shaking her head, she swallows hard and tries again. “I’m not the nanny,” she finally manages, her deep, brown gaze dropping to my mouth, gaging how close it is to her own, before she forces it back up to mine. “You are.”
No I’m not.
Not anymore.
Thanks to her, I’m not anything.
I open my mouth to tell her exactly that, but somewhere overhead I hear a door slam, the sound of it followed by a pair of fast feet hitting a set of stairs.
Killian to the rescue.
“I was wondering if the two of you got swallowed by the 405,” he calls out on his way across the driveway. Hearing his voice feels like someone pulling the emergency brake. Jerks me back to my senses and away from her. I have just enough time to put a respectable amount of space between us before he appears from around the side of the SUV. “You need a hand with that?”
I’m about to tell him to fuck the fuck off when Ellenore reaches for the tote bag I took from her a few minutes ago. This time, I let her have it, watching in sullen silence as she slings the strap of it over her shoulder before reaching for and scooping up her cat who’s been sitting in the cargo hold of the Land Rover the entire time, watching me sexually harass his mistress. “Help would be great, thank you,” she says, aiming a nervous look in Kill’s direction that’s meant for me, before scurrying away, cat slung over her shoulder and glaring at me as she hurries her way down the walkway, like he’s trying to figure out a way to kill me without opposable thumbs.
“You do remember that there are no less than a hundred security cameras on this property, right?” Killian reminds me ina conversational tone while he hefts Ellenore’s box of books from the back of the Land Rover. “Approximately twenty of which are pointed directly at this driveway.”
In other words, he saw everything.
Knows just how close I was to losing control.
“Fuck off, Kill,” I grumble at him, balancing my own set of boxes on my knee while I reach up to shut the hatch. “It’s none of your business.”
Reaching in for the last suitcase before I slam it shut, Killian laughs at me. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right—because, let’s be honest, who you fuck is usually about as important to me as what kind of cereal I have in my pantry.”
“But?” I punctuate the question with the hard slam of the hatch.
“But this one’s different,” he tells me, glaring at me over the box of books in his arms. I have a feeling he’d be throttling me if not for his hold on them. “There’s nothingnormalorusualabout Ms. Pierce because she’s one of us—at least for a while—so, if you can’t keep your dick in your pants, which I sincerely wish you would, then can you at the very least, not contemplate fucking her in your brother’svery securedriveway?”
“Whatever you say,” I tell him, even though it’s notwhatever he saysbecause in the span of less than 24-hours, I’ve lost my goddamned marbles when it comes to the invasion of Ellenore Pierce and we both know it.
Twenty-Seven
Ellenore
I toldLex I wasn’t going anywhere, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve been sitting on the back porch of the main house for about an hour now, trying to work out a way to extricate myself from this web of crazy I’ve flung myself into.
Because as soon as he helped me get my belongings moved into the pool house, Lex walked out the door again without so much as asee you later. Minutes later, the roar of his motorcycle told me that Lex was gone and I had no idea where he was going or when he’d be back.
I should be relieved but I’m not.
What I am is hurt and confused—not just by him but by everything that’s happened in the last 24-hours. To be honest, it’s not just the impossible situation I’ve found myself in with Lex, even though I admit that it alone should be enough to send me running and screaming for the hills, that has me wondering just how far I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole.
It’s wondering if he was right.
