Page 17 of My Puckin' Luck
“Yeah? Anastasia has a secret… You’re a dirty little angel.” I teasingly sing, and skim my hand up her luscious front curves until it’s wrapped ever so lightly around her neck, my thumb at her racing pulse, and I whisper into her ear. “Are you going to let me in? Because it’d be rough to fuck in the hallway, but if you’re into that…”
“Wha-what?” Her breath hitches. “Oh my God. I-I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Shit, that sounds a little too close to coherent thoughts seeping in. And one hits me, too. I want her when she’s sober. I know not to tread this path when we’ve both had too much to drink. Then there are all those warnings from Storm.
I take a deep breath and steady myself, my good sense returning, and pulling back the reins. I take her keys, and once I have the door unlocked and open, I lean against the door frame, neither of us stepping in. She peers up at me, dazed, half temptress, half sweetheart with melty eyes.
“I want to, believe me.” I lift a hand to her hair, pressing it back, laying a chaste kiss to her forehead. “But we’re both a little drunk. When I take you, I want all of you, angel, with a clear head. And make no mistake. I will take you. Just a matter of time.”
“Saint,” she croaks.
“Goodnight, Anastasia,” I whisper, not giving her an ounce to think straight so she doesn’t come up with all the reasons we shouldn’t pursue this between us again soon. Real soon.
I gesture inside for her to step away, which goes against everything my cock desires right now. He lets me know it too, angrily knocking against my zipper.
Splish. Splash.She steps in and freezes.
“Why does your carpet sound like a water bed?” I peek down, perplexed, watching water seep from her place out into the hall, the sound of a river coming from inside of her place.
“What the hell?” She exclaims and takes a few more steps in.Splash-splash-splash.
I enter, too, no matter my leather loafers getting wet, and survey the damage. There’s a gaping hole in the ceiling, debris everywhere, and water pouring in like it’s Niagara Falls. At least a few inches of water fills the floor. What a way to sober up quickly.
“Oh no. The construction above… They must have hit a pipe.” She’s sober now, too, and takes her phone out of her purse. “I need to call the housing association. But it’ll be a voice mail service this time of night. What am I going to do?”
Her hands shake, tapping on her screen. Once I hear the phone ringing, I take it from her. “I’ll handle this. Go pack a bag. You’re staying the night with me.”
“What? I can get a hotel room.”
“Why, when I have a house full of rooms I don’t use? Go pack.” The line picks up. I watch her carefully slosh through the water down the hall, hoping like hell the roof doesn’t cave in on us.
“Hello? Who is this? Oh, the answering service? Listen, we have an emergency message. Total water damage in number—” I glance back at the front door, still wide open to the hall. “—1506 leaking from the condo above where I guess some construction has been going on.”
I continue to give details and carefully travel room to room, surveying and describing the damage until I find her frozen at her bedroom door. The entire ceiling has collapsed and we can see straight up into the place above, water seeping in everywhere. Her place will need a complete remodel.
“I can’t even get into my closet,” she cries, her hands on her cheeks, staring in disbelief.
“Yes, it’s an emergency. I said that already.” I growl into the phone. “Have the association call us as soon as possible.”
I click off and grab her hand. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“But all of my things.”
“It’s not safe here, Anastasia. You’re coming home with me. I’ll buy you whatever you need and you can stay until this situation gets fixed.”
As we track back through the condo, she grabs a few things, like retrieving her laptop from a puddle of water that’s formed on the table below the gaping hole. It’s likely ruined.
The elevator ride to the lobby is entirely different this time as she slumps against the wall, staring off into space, holding her wet laptop to her chest like her life depends on it. “I started with nothing out of college. Everything I’ve worked so hard for was in that apartment, now ripped right out from under me. All I have are the clothes on my back. An angel’s costume at that, but I can’t fly away and escape this mess.”
So despondent she is, the urge to go to her and cup her cheeks forces me to her. I lift her face until her cloudy dark coffee eyes meet mine. “Hey. They’re just material possessions that can easily be replaced. The important thing is you’re safe. I’m here for you. I’ll help you get through this. Okay?”
She nods, taking in a shaky breath. Once we’re in the backseat of another car, she cries, letting go as I hold her to me tightly.
I think about my mother’s overly dramatic cry for help compared to this. I want as little to do with Mom’s issues as possible. But for Anastasia—I would move mountains.
9
OBNOXIOUSLY RICH
