“Two hours start the minute we get to the house,” she announced, “and all I want to know is why.”
“Why?” Dread pooled in my stomach. I played dumb. “Why what?”
“Why you made me think that was your first, and if my assumption’s correct, why your bitch of an ex-wife never touched you like that. Why we let her live without sniping her. And why she’s so stupid.”
I laughed.
It felt so damn good. “Know many snipers, pumpkin?”
Her answer was a shrug.
Note to self.
Never piss her off.
Chapter Twenty-Six
ISLA
Jessie’s expression was more pained than angry when we finally settled onto the couch with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
He checked his watch as if he was going to start a timer, which yesterday would have made me laugh or roll my eyes. But today? After tasting him, after doing something that I didn’t normally do—hadn’t really ever fully done if I was being completely honest—it stung.
I didn’t want him keeping track of the minutes.
I wanted him counting them down, coveting each one.
He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, mussing it up before turning to me and grimacing. “It’s not really something I talk about.”
“Really?” I said in a deadpan voice. “I’m surprised that you don’t gush all your secrets to Colin over wine and then sob into the nut bowl, do men not do this? Astonishing!”
“The nut bowl?”
“Mixed nuts, the ones at the bars.” I sighed. “I’m a good listener, I promise, plus I kind of feel like you owe me an explanation for that bomb.”
“More like I owe you.” His face transformed into a grin.
“Don’t keep track, you’ll only ever be in debt.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Does this whole pillow-talk conversation mean you’re going to stop painting my walls?”
I was momentarily stunned by his deep laugh but quickly recovered. “I don’t know, are you actually going to buy milk?”
“That depends, are you going to turn my pantry into an Asian market?”
I grinned, my aunt would be proud. “You’ll change your tune after I start cooking.”
Bachelors. So. Easy. His face lit up like a Christmas tree at the idea of cooking, I could practically see his mind working.
“You win,” he finally said.
“I always do.”
He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and then poured me a glass of wine and one for himself. “If you were Colin or anyone else I’d just say she was a manipulative witch that I didn’t want touching me, I’d say I didn’t want her whore mouth anywhere near my cock.”
I nodded. That’s what I expected. But something in his expression told me it was more. “I’m not Colin, or anyone else.”
“No,” he exhaled. “You’re not.”
“Fiancée.” I showed him my ring.
It made him smile at least, even though it was small, maybe even more like a grimace. I tried not to look deflated.
“The truth.” He wasn’t looking at me, he stared into his wine and exhaled again. “The truth is I don’t think she was ever really attracted to me as a man. She was attracted to my money, my title, my fame.” His voice lowered. “There was nothing else I had that she wanted.” He tilted the wine back. “God, it sounds worse saying it out loud than it did in my head. No man ever likes hearing from a beautiful woman that he lacks in areas that matter, that a woman as attractive as Vanessa didn’t want him.”
“Vanessa”—I said that woman’s name with venom—“is the ugliest person I have ever known. Ugliest.” I had to say it twice. I was ready to kick her ass and I wasn’t the fighter of the group, that all went to Blaire. But Jessie’s expression was so . . . devastated.
I’d never seen a man so willing to share insecurity.
So confident in every area of his life except one.
A big one. One that mattered, especially in a relationship.
“And I want to throw my stiletto at her Botox-injected face.” I gritted my teeth. “Honestly, she saved you by not touching you in that way, hell, she could have ruined blow jobs forever for you! Can you imagine?”
“That would be a travesty.” He finally looked at me, his eyes locked on with an intensity I’d never experienced before.
“Yes.” I squirmed in the chair. “World-ending.”
“Catastrophic.”
I grinned. “Her loss, Jessie.”
“You’re not just saying that because you’re my fiancée?” he probed, his eyes searching mine in a way that made my knees weak, even though I was sitting down.
“I’m saying that because it’s true. Your relationship ending was the best thing that could have happened to you. And you know it. What’s better is that you never let her lips touch you.”
He winced.
“What?”
“There’s more . . .”
“More?” Did we need another bottle of wine? What could he possibly mean, more?
He eyed the wine like he was contemplating chugging the whole bottle before he faced me again and said, “A year.”
“A year?”
“No sex for a year, not with her, not with anybody else.” He exhaled and then shrugged. “I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even look at her some days.”
“You’re not the only one.” I took a drink of wine. “I still can’t look at her, and she never cheated on me, just made my eye twitch and gave Blaire hives.”
“I think she has that effect on most people,” Jessie joked, pouring himself more wine and taking a huge gulp.
“So today . . .” I just had to probe, didn’t I? “That was your first, uh, sexual encounter since—”
“Yup.”
“Oh.”
“You can wipe that grin off your face now, I’m right here.” He filled my glass while I kept smiling. “Oh hell, what do you want? An award? A high five? Do I need to tell you how good it was? How I felt my balls tighten so fast and hard that I almost passed out on top of you? Or that watching you drop to your knees was one of the most arousing things I’ve ever seen in my life? That it turned me on to see your tongue touch me? The warmth of your mouth—I don’t think I’ll ever get over or forget. Yes, Isla, to all those things. You did all those things. And I’m probably not going to sleep for a year because of it.”
My heart skipped a beat, stuttered to a stop, and then pounded as he talked. I opened my mouth to speak but had no words. So I just stared at him.
He stared back.
And that’s how we sat for a few minutes in each other’s company, drinking wine, stealing glances. My mind whirled, and my body wanted.
I felt his intensity.
I could feel it sizzle in the air, touch it with my fingertips.
It was insane.
“So,” I finally choked out, “should we keep watching American Gods?”
He cleared his throat and checked his damn watch.
My heart deflated a bit.
“I’m stealing time,” he whispered.
“What was that?” My head whipped in his direction so fast a flash of pain hit my neck.
“Time,” he said again with that same confident voice that oozed sexuality and made me want to lean closer just so I could feel the words hit my face. “I’m going to borrow from the day we made the agreement to get married, we never had our two hours that day. Technically they’re owed to me, and I’m adding them to today.”
“Is that your way of saying you want more hours?”
“Yeah.”
“You could have just asked.”
“You like rules.” He smiled. “And I like control, right? Both of us have our things . . . if I asked you for more time, if I went over today without explanation you would wonder, you’d analyze, you wouldn’t sleep, and you’d have to write it into your little calendar and then wreck yourself planning for the next day.” He grinned. “I’m just helping you
out.”
“That’s nice.” Sweet, thoughtful, wonderful. Stoppppp . . .
“I’m a nice guy.” His eyes fell to my mouth again. I licked my lips and nodded my head in agreement.
“Should you grab your laptop?”
“Oh.” I jumped to my feet. “Yeah, I’ll just be right back.”
I slammed my hand against my head once I made it to the guest room, grabbed my laptop, and rushed back out to the living room. Jessie had refilled my wineglass and turned down all the lights.
What’s worse.
He grabbed a blanket.
Didn’t he know I was already burning up?
I smiled and set the laptop up.
He put the blanket over me.
Sweet. Fresh. Hell.
I was going to end up leaving a sweat print against his leather, and I knew that wouldn’t go over smoothly.
He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close.
So hot.
Burning up.
I yawned.
The last thing I remembered was a kiss to my forehead, but I must have imagined it, because when I woke up, I was in my bed with the blanket tucked up to my chin, and a smile on my face.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
JESSIE
Watching her sleep was only creepy if she woke up. I tried to take my eyes away from her face—but with her sleeping and her claws tucked underneath the blanket, it was probably the only chance I was going to get to really study her face, the place where her eyes meet her nose, the way her chin juts out just enough to show her sharp jawline, only adding to the sassiness I’d come to realize was just part of her personality. She inhaled deeply and turned on her side, pressing a hand to my chest and grabbing hold of my shirt.
The feeling that came with that hold.
With that touch.
Was entirely foreign.
I couldn’t categorize it, and that left me panicked in a way I wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t even love, it was something much more dangerous.
Trust.
It was a touch that said you’ll protect me, you’ll keep me safe, don’t hurt me, and I was the last guy she should be touching like that. With the past that I had, with the present demons I was fighting while trying to find myself again and destroy the very woman I blamed for taking everything from me.
It wasn’t her.
But her business was the tool that threw my life into the very chaos I’d always been so afraid of.
I was still spinning.
Still running.
Still trying to find my footing, and she made it so much worse—there was nothing calming or serene about Isla, she was as collected as she was fiery, a complete contradiction on a daily basis.
I had no way to categorize her.
And it bothered me.
Because my entire life I’d been able to categorize people.
Colin? Best friend, brother from another mother, loyal to a fault, and would kick my ass without thinking.
Blaire. She’d been the one who got away, the one I compared everyone to, the one who always came out on top. And then after seeing her again, the only feeling I’d ever really had for her had been desperation—I’d wanted someone to want me, and I knew she could.
But I’d never wanted her in that way, not really.
I’d just wanted an escape from my hell.
Which brings me to Vanessa.
Fucking. Vanessa.
She’d been the trophy I was so obsessed with obtaining. But up close, I saw the scratches, the flaws, the manipulations, the need to be the best at everything, to beat everyone. The world revolved around her and she didn’t have a place in her life for those who didn’t agree.
My OCD had gotten worse with her, not better.
Because I’d tried to control her as much as she controlled me, she helped me justify my need for perfection, she fed it, made me think it was normal to panic over having dirty floors, normal to yell at a waiter for spilling red wine on the pristine white table.
She made me feel normal for those feelings.
When deep down I knew it just made me an insecure jackass who cared way too much about what people thought of him.
I reached out and ran my fingers through Isla’s hair. It felt like silk. I wrapped a few pieces around my fingers, tugging them as I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
Maybe my view of perfection was wrong—had been wrong all along.
It wasn’t the perfect house.
The perfect wife.
It wasn’t the perfect life or career.
It was moments like this, with a woman I would never understand or deserve, lying on my lap asleep, and me wishing I could hold on to the seconds a little bit longer.
Keep the moment for me and only me.
It was the moments that looked like chaos but felt like peace.
Perfection wasn’t my world.
Perfection was hers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
ISLA
Breakfast was torture.
I typically did a bowl of oatmeal with my coffee, then, if I was still hungry, made an egg with my sweet Asian chili sauce, the only way to have eggs. But this morning was different.
I was in his kitchen.
Eating.
Cooking.
Sure, I’d painted his walls and raised hell, but things had shifted enough that I felt awkward.
I should have known it wouldn’t last long.
The awkwardness.
Our clashing personalities wouldn’t allow it.
So when I finally made it into the kitchen and plugged my ears because the Ninja blender was so loud, I knew I was in for a rude awakening.
The man didn’t do breakfast.
And he also didn’t clothe himself in the mornings.
No, I was greeted by two overly large pecs.
A six-pack that looked more like an eight if you actually stared hard enough.
The V women drool over whenever they watch Ryan Gosling movies.
And triceps that looked like they deserved their own zip code.
Who the hell works out their triceps that hard?
I gulped and nervously tucked my hair behind my ears as my heels clicked against the slate. “Morning.”
Jessie looked up and grinned.
It was a smile I could get used to, damn him. It was so much easier when he was being a creepy stalker jackass with binoculars. I almost rolled my eyes when he poured part of the gross green contents into his glass, only to have some spill onto that perfect chest when he took a long gulp.
It would be rude not to tell him.
Just like it would be rude not to volunteer to lick it off.
I kept my hands pinned at my sides.
The man made me crazy.
In all the worst ways.
I hated protein shakes.
“Made you one.” He grabbed another glass and poured while my stomach clenched with anxiety. It was green! I didn’t even see the label! I was into labels. He knows this! I at least wanted to know what I was drinking so I could decide for myself, but he made me breakfast—I winced—in his own jock way.
It was sweet.
I took the glass with a shaky hand and sniffed.
“Did you just sniff?”
“No,” I lied.
He leaned his massive body against the counter. “Liar, I saw your nose move. What? Don’t trust me not to poison you?”
“Actually I was more worried about what I was drinking, but poison brings this to a whole new level.”
“Arsenic typically does.” He moved and braced his hands on the counter. “Come on, just one sip.”
“But”—I looked into the glass and made a face—“it’s green.”
“And the licorice you and Blaire always eat is red. Coffee’s black, especially yours . . .”
I narrowed my eyes. “See all that with your binoculars, did you?”
He winked and eyed the front of
my open blouse. “I saw a lot of things with those binoculars.”
“Pig.”
“Stop deflecting.” He moved around the island, put one finger under the glass, and started moving it toward my lips. “I promise, this is my gift in life.”
“Making people choke?” I said sweetly.
“Didn’t choke last night, did you?”
My face went hot. “N-no.”
“Drink.” We were chest to chest. I wasn’t breathing, was I breathing? “I promise, you’ll not only like it, you’ll ask for more.”
“Doubtful,” I said in a breathy voice.
He shrugged and fired right back, “Trust me.”
I hated that I did.
I hated that when I looked into his eyes I saw no maliciousness, just . . . kindness. Ugh, he needed to revert to his jackass ways fast before I fell head over heels and begged him to impregnate me with the next NFL star.
I needed logic.
Order.
My aunt.
I needed to visit my aunt.
She’d know what to do.
She practically balanced other people’s chi by just existing!
I didn’t plug my nose even though I wanted to. I tilted my head back and drank, then swallowed.
“So?” He looked so proud of himself I wanted to dump the shake over his head. Whatever the hell it was—it was good.
“It’s . . .” I shrugged. “Drinkable.”
“Drinkable,” he repeated. “If it was white like a vanilla shake you’d say it was the best thing to pass those lips of yours.”
“Not the best thing,” I said without thinking, causing the sexual tension to skyrocket so fast my vision blurred.
His body moved toward mine. He pulled the glass from my hand and set it on the counter, his arms moved, and I was pinned against the granite. “Oh yeah?”
I licked my lips, still somehow tasting him there, greedy for more. I leaned in, he met me halfway.
The doorbell rang, jolting us away from each other.
“Expecting company?” I laughed nervously.
He pushed off the counter and ran his hands through his hair, then made his way to the door, jerking it open so hard I thought it was going to splinter in his right hand.
“Sir.” One of the guards I’d seen the other night was talking in hushed tones. He eyed me and nodded, kept talking to Jessie, then hung his head and left.
Dangerous Exes (Liars, Inc. Book 2) Page 11