Revenge of the Wronged

by Hettie Ivers

  The doorbell sounded, breaking up the kitchen BFF bonding underway.

  “I got it,” Bethany offered, jumping up from her seat.

  Alex arose as well. “Believe that’s for me, actually. I’m expecting a few”—he paused—“deliveries.”

  “Oh, no, please, allow me,” Bethany insisted coyly. “You two need to get that whole awkward first-morning-after talk and obligatory make-out sesh outta the way.” Her grin was even wider than her eyes, which had grown to the size of dinner platters, as she pointed and gesticulated wildly from behind Alex’s back at me, mouthing an animated, “OH MY FUCKING GOD!” as she motioned to Alex, followed by, “YOU BIG WHORE,” before turning and slipping out of the kitchen and in the direction of the front door.

  Alex’s smile was oddly tentative as he slowly crossed to me. He was dressed in jeans and a well-fitted charcoal T-shirt. I was sure I’d never seen jeans look so sinful on a body.

  Somehow he looked younger than he ever had before to me. And at the same time he was still so mature-looking and refined, far too distinguished and important to be standing in my kitchen. Yet he was. Because he wanted to.

  Because he wanted to be with me.

  “H-hi,” I stammered. Sharp.

  I remained at a loss for better words as he sauntered over, memories of our previous night’s activities assailing me. Alex looked equally thoughtful as he reached a hand out and ran his fingertips over my hair, brushing errant strands and tangled clumps away from my face.

  “You’re blushing,” he observed.

  “You look crazy good in jeans,” I blurted without thinking.

  He pulled me into his arms and off the ground faster than I could take my next breath, spinning me in a dizzying circle as he kissed all over my face, before softly, and so very sensuously, bestowing lingering kisses to my parted lips.

  “You don’t regret it,” he said in between nibbles of my lower lip. A statement I wouldn’t—couldn’t—deny.

  “No. You?”

  A deep, merry chuckle was my answer. I felt the vibration of it against my palms that were pressed to his chest, and I couldn’t help but laugh myself. He was so happy. It made my heart do a little flutter dance, knowing it was because of me … that I’d made him this happy.

  “I’d like nothing better than to demonstrate to you just how much I don’t regret it by way of a repeat performance right here and now. However, my men have arrived, and you need to eat breakfast.” He set me back down on my feet.

  His men? Wait. What? I realized now that I could hear multiple male voices just inside the front doorway, chatting with Bethany and making introductions. I could also hear Bethany’s heart rate accelerating. And I knew from their scent that Alex’s “men” were not human; they were wolves. Trust Bethany to chat up and flirt with a group of supernatural predators at the first opportunity.

  Pushing against his chest, I drew back within the circle of his arms to peer up at him. “Alex? What’s going on?”

  His features were resolute, but I glimpsed a hint of apology in his eyes as he explained, “With your permission, there are some workers here to make a few improvements to your house. Starting with the security system.”

  “I don’t have a security system.”

  “Precisely.”

  I released a breath. Okay, given his proclivity for overprotectiveness, and the fact that evil werelocks had been plotting to kill him his entire life, I was willing to go along with letting him install a security system. A security system was harmless enough. Though he’d said that was just the start.

  “What’s after the security system?” I asked, trying to keep the accusation out of my voice; reminding myself that he was asking rather than demanding. But I was not about to let him come in and alter my mother’s home until it looked like something he would live in rather than the home I loved. That was never part of the deal.

  “Replacing the hot water heater.”

  Damn. He was good. I couldn’t argue or complain about that one either. “And?” I pressed.

  “Replacing the windows.”

  I glanced down at my feet. He hadn’t even been here a whole day and he’d managed to identify and put into motion a plan to resolve all of my home’s most glaring deficiencies. And nothing he’d suggested so far was out of line or would aesthetically alter the home I’d always known.

  “It’s good for the environment,” he added. “The house will be more energy efficient. And safer.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “And we’ll need to replace most of the doors. As part of the new security measures.”

  I nodded mechanically. “All right.”

  He cupped my cheeks between his palms and tilted my face up. “Milena, this house is part of you and your heritage. I understand how much you love it, and I have no desire to change it. But in order for us to live here, there are certain necessary alterations that must be made. Please try and understand?”

  “I do. I get it.” I smiled wanly up at him. “You have to live here too. And you’re giving up living in a veritable palace with closets and bathrooms the size of condos. It’s not unreasonable for you to want a hot shower and windows that shut without a fight.”

  He shook his head, threading his fingers into the hair at my nape. “That’s not the issue, sweetheart. I’ll get on just fine without the manner of bathroom and closet opulence I was accustomed to in my home in Morumbi. But I won’t survive it if something happens to you.”

  Oh.

  “And yes,” he admitted with a slow, sexy smile that made my insides and any remaining reservations melt, “I’d also like for us to have hot showers and windows that shut. Think you can live with that compromise?” His eyes danced up and down over me. “If I promise to make it worth your while?”

  I rolled my eyes and smacked his chest, but I was already grinning and flushing like a giddy fool as he dipped his head to dust his lips across my forehead. Alex could charm the panties off of a nun. Who was I kidding? I’d let him remodel the whole house if he kept looking at me like that.

  “I’ll be such an attentive housemate,” he said, his lips drifting over the tip of my nose before finding my mouth again as his hand slid down my back, drawing my body closer. “So thorough,” he promised, his fingers stealing lower to cup and squeeze my ass in a way that had me instantly wet and tilting my pelvis into him. “Tireless.” His tongue swept inside my mouth, and I was swept off my feet.

  I was halfway across the room seconds later, pinned against the pantry door, my ass in Alex’s hands, legs around his waist, moaning shamelessly over his thrusting tongue as he rocked into me, grinding his erection up and down my slit through the rough fabric of his jeans and the thinner fabric of my sweatpants, working my throbbing, shell-shocked clitoris to a peak in mere moments.

  I could hear Bethany approaching the kitchen with Alex’s men, and still, to my helpless horror, I came the second Alex’s deep voice told me to, his mouth leaving mine just in time to cover it with his palm and suppress my cry of orgasm. I nearly choked on my own tongue in my astonishment at how fast it all happened. Alex was already whispering calming words in my ear, praising me for coming so sweetly for him. Telling me how much he loved me and how happy he was that I was letting him stay in my house with me.

  And I did relax, my body sagging, then sliding down the door until my feet once again touched the floor as behind Alex’s back I heard Bethany and the men entering the room.

  “Okay?” he checked with a brief, reassuring stroke of his knuckles down the side of my cheek. “No one saw,” he whispered. “Promise.”

  I managed a panted, “Mm-hmm,” knowing full well that regardless of what they purportedly hadn’t seen, every single one of the male wolves in the house no doubt smelled exactly what had just transpired in my kitchen. Adorable as he was being, Alex was still Alex. And it wasn’t lost on me that he’d just marked his territory once more with that little move.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Alex turned t
o face our guests, his large frame concealing me behind his back as I regained my composure. As he addressed the men in Portuguese and they responded in kind, I knew without knowing the words that Alex was issuing directives by his tone of voice and the Alpha energy emanating from him that made me want to stay hidden behind his back just a little while longer.

  “This is Milena,” he introduced, drawing me by the elbow out from my hiding spot and tucking me into his side. With his arm around me, I raised self-conscious eyes in greeting to the group of large men filling my kitchen. Definitely werewolves.

  If their scent hadn’t given them away, their sheer size and preternatural attractiveness was enough to cinch it. There were nine altogether, and most of them looked to be American. They took up my whole kitchen. Bethany was standing off to the side, closest to Alex, looking like she might start drooling on herself at any minute as she blatantly checked each one of them out. The wolves all nodded to me in acknowledgement, but none of their eyes actually met mine, I noted. They all appeared to be staring past me … or through me.

  “This is Milena’s childhood home,” Alex proceeded to inform them. “Her house and its contents are to be treated with the utmost care and respect at all times. No changes other than those already discussed are to be made without Milena’s approval.”

  “Of course, Sir,” a tall blond man responded with a curt nod. The others bowed their heads in nonverbal accord as well.

  And that was it. Just like that Alex had convinced me, gotten me off in my kitchen, and laid down the law and rules of my house to his American pack members, further heading off and allaying any potential concerns I may have otherwise harbored.

  “Why don’t I show them around the house while you and Bethany get caught up?” Alex suggested, depositing a chaste kiss to my crown. “There’s breakfast for you in the oven when you’re ready.”

  The moment Alex and the other supernaturals exited the kitchen and were out of what Bethany perceived to be earshot, she squealed like a baby pig, jumping up and down in place and biting her fist.

  “Am I on candid camera getting punk’d right now? Because this isn’t real, is it? Those workers”—she made air quotes—“are really exotic male dancers, right? Part of a Brazilian Thunder from Down Under tour? Is this like an early birthday surprise? Because if it is, you are the bestest friend ever and I may actually forgive you for not calling or emailing me for a whole fucking week.” She whacked me hard in the shoulder, her tone serious as she said the last part.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “You should be; you scared the crap out of me when I didn’t hear from you. I had to lie to my mom and say I’d heard from you or she would’ve called the American Embassy and gotten”—she flapped her hands in the air—“I dunno … international bounty hunters involved and shit.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I just … got really caught up … doing … stuff.”

  “Believe me, princess”—she wagged her eyebrows—“I know exactly what you got caught up doing. And that is one fine piece of Brazilian ass you tapped.”

  She started bouncing up and down again, holding her hand up for a high-five. I couldn’t very well leave her hanging—although it did feel kinda wrong somehow to be high-fiving over “tapping” Alex. Bethany’s excitement and levity had always been infectious, though.

  * * *

  Bethany was still beaming with approval as she sat at my kitchen table watching me scarf down the eggs, bacon, and toast Alex had left warming for me in the oven.

  “Girl, I’m proud of you. I take it all back now—what I said a year ago about you being foolish for not cashing in your V-card with Ryan—because this makes for way, way better bragging rights, saying you got your cherry popped by a sex-walking foreigner ten years your senior.”

  “Stop, you’re gonna make me choke again.” She’d already gotten me to snort coffee up my nose twice in the course of eating and catching up. I made a mental note to remember that Alex had apparently told her that he was twenty-eight, so that I could keep our stories consistent.

  Alex had woven an elaborate cover story, liberally stretching the truth about how we’d met my first night in Brazil by telling Bethany he and Raul had worked together for years and that he’d offered to chaperone and entertain me in Raul’s absence when Raul had been called out of town on business to handle an important account for Alex. I felt guilty for lying to my best friend, but at the same time, I knew it was for her own protection that I conceal the truth about Alex’s world.

  “Holy Mother of all vaginas,” she gushed over her coffee, “that move Alex pulled in the kitchen earlier? So hot.”

  I momentarily blanched, thinking she was referring to when he’d gotten me off seconds before she and the “workers” had walked into the kitchen.

  “None of those construction guys would look directly at you. Did you see that? They were all studiously avoiding it—like they were terrified they might accidentally check you out in front of Alex or something. That was super-hot! Or … possibly terrifying,” she debated after a pause. “Or adorable maybe. I can’t decide.” She coiled a strand of her blond hair around her forefinger as she pondered aloud, “You don’t suppose Alex is Brazilian mafia, do you? That would kinda blow. Yet still be hot …”

  I choked on my eggs. “No. Not Brazilian mafia. He’s just a little … old-fashioned. Overprotective.”

  “Hmm. Well, you are braless, flashing your high beams for all the world to see, reeking of sex, and sporting I-just-got-fucked-within-an-inch-of-my-life-last-night hair. Not surprising he wouldn’t want other men to look at you.”

  My hands flew to my head to palpate a mass of tangled hair. Ugh! I hadn’t bothered to pass by a mirror when I’d jolted awake and sprinted downstairs. “Shoot, do I look that bad?”

  She nodded solemnly. “You look straight-up back-alley hooker right now, princess. But what I don’t get is how you’re not limping. He looks positively huge, judging from the fit of his inseam.”

  “Bethany!”

  “What?” Her big eyes were innocent. “I’m serious. That Brazilian daddy of yours is packing. How’d you manage that the first time?”

  “He was just … ah … really … careful. Gentle.” I couldn’t very well explain to her how he’d also been able to heal and soothe my lady bits by both entering my mind and using his magic tongue, much less tell her that I had the beginnings of what would any day now become full-fledged supernaturally fast healing capabilities.

  “Damn. Damn. Daaamn. I bet he’s a phenomenal fuck.”

  “Stop it,” I protested with a snicker. “Come on, it’s not like it’s just—you know … that … with us.”

  “No? You don’t say? You mean it’s more than just hot sex with the international businessman who swept you off your feet in less than a week, introduced himself to me as your boyfriend, and is at this very moment replacing your piece-of-shit water heater because he’s planning to move in here with you? Surely, you jest, my cheap cookie friend?”

  I laughed at her assessment. And then I winced. “Do you think I’ve lost my mind?”

  “No. I think you’re in love.”

  “Stop. Really? You think? I mean … I might be. Why? Do you like him? You actually like him, don’t you? What did he say to you about me? What did you two talk about all morning? You like him, right?”

  “Oh, no!” She threw up her hands. “No, no, no. We’re not doing this with Alex.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The bullshit you always do where you try and get the people in your life to decide what your feelings for a guy should or shouldn’t be rather than just listening to your own heart.”

  “What? I don’t do that.” Did I do that?

  “You always do that.”

  “What? When?” I shook my head in denial of her words. Did I really do that? “What are you talking about?”

  She laughed. “C’mon, you know you do that.”

  “No, I don’t. I don’t even know what you’re
talking about.”

  “You always try to gauge how I feel about every guy you’re starting to get interested in or who is interested in you. You used to do the same thing with your mom. I’ve even witnessed you do it with my mom before. Hell, I suspect you might do it with strangers sitting on the bus with you. You’re nuts like that.”

  Huh? “No way! What do you mean? When?”

  “I dunno”—she shrugged—“all the time.”

  “Like when? Give me an example.”

  She blew her hair from her forehead, scanning the ceiling a moment. “Okay, how about the time you convinced yourself your mom and I didn’t approve of Ryan, and so you backed out of going to your junior prom with him and instead decided to punish yourself for some unknown reason by going with Carlos, the freaky religious deli guy who you had zero sexual attraction for?”

  “But my mom didn’t approve of Ryan.”

  “No, you only thought your mom didn’t approve of Ryan. Because you pumped her for her opinion on him until she made some flippant remark about how he seemed like one of those ‘player types,’ and then you ran with that as her official vote of disapproval.”

  “That’s not how it happened.”

  “That’s exactly how it happened,” she stated with confidence. “And what Ms. C and I could never figure out is why you wouldn’t just make that decision for yourself. Why you needed to use our opinions about someone as an excuse to back up yours. Clearly, you wanted to break up with Ryan, but you didn’t trust your own instincts, so you made it about me and your mom not liking him.”

  “I’m not following.” My mom had actually liked Ryan? “What are you saying? What about you? Did you like Ryan or not? Because you told me you didn’t like Ryan. But then later you told me I should’ve lost my V-card to him. So which was it?”

  Her blue eyes rolled. “Milano, I told you I didn’t like Ryan for you because I didn’t think that you liked Ryan, and I knew you were looking for a reason to break it off. Maybe in truth you really did like him, and you’d just psyched yourself out between all of your daddy issues and abandonment fears. But I was trying to be supportive and tell you what I thought you wanted to hear so you could come to the decision I knew you already wanted to make.”