Accidental Rebel: A Marriage Mistake Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  “Well, the mosquitoes will be getting reinforcements any minute,” she says. “And I still have a lot of questions so...”

  I swat at another needling sting on my arm. “Let’s go in.”

  “You’re probably done with questions for the night, huh?”

  I finish my drink with a final gulp, refreshed by the melting ice.

  “You know, Miller, sometimes it takes more courage to accept help than to refuse it.”

  “Believe me, I’m accepting, babe, and it’s the last thing I want. Already tried with you and your boss, and now I’ve got May and her guy.”

  “Fake papers and a place to stay isn’t what I’m talking about,” she says. “I mean, solving this. Really fixing it. Getting what you need out to the world.”

  I wish it was still as simple as I hoped, an escape plan with a decoy wife. That idea, or the idea of her, rattles my thoughts. “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

  She blinks at me, confused. Then picks up her drink while standing and steps toward the door.

  “Where you going?”

  “Inside.”

  “Because I asked you a question instead?”

  She opens the door. “Because it’s getting dark out here and I don’t fancy getting eaten alive.”

  I want to follow her, but I also want several other things that shouldn’t be an option.

  Like a repeat of this afternoon, another bad idea, so I linger where I’m at.

  But not for long. It’s like the mosquitoes know she gave me fair warning, and now they’re descending in attack groups, ready to make a believer out of me for doubting her.

  Red isn’t in the kitchen or living room when I head in.

  Locking the slider, I do a quick check of the front door, knowing it’ll already be locked.

  She keeps this place secure. Day and night. That hasn’t just happened since our arrival. I’d say it’s been a habit for this woman for years.

  There’s movement upstairs. Not needing the image of her prepping for bed, I turn on the TV and click to the news, but soon I’m bored. It’s more disturbing fuckery I can’t do anything about, considering my own predicament. Then there’s weather and talk about baseball season going into full swing.

  I set the remote on the table, noticing the spiral notebook there. It’s the same one I’d caught her scribbling in the other day, with Lauren right beside her, writing in another notebook.

  The noise upstairs has quieted, so I consider flipping it open. It’s supposedly a story she’s writing.

  Lauren told me about it, and the one she’s writing with the evil antique dealer and pink-haired girl with a little tiger cat.

  Still, I respect her privacy, so I don’t pick it up and surf more channels instead.

  This is the real nightmare. Waiting.

  Action, I can handle, but waiting around for disaster fucking sucks.

  That’s when the mind goes stir crazy, concocting all kinds of twisted scenarios.

  I can’t let that happen, and...yeah, hell, I’m staring at the notebook again.

  Shit.

  Yes, it’s private. Yes, I’m a snake for snooping. But it’s either this or be bored right out of my skull.

  I move, picking up her notebook. Whatever’s inside has to be better than what’s on TV. I start to read her neat, curly handwriting one slow line at a time.

  It’s more than an hour later, almost midnight, when I hear a car door in the driveway. Setting the notebook down, I walk to the window next to the door and peer out.

  It’s J.T., right on schedule.

  I open the door just in time to see another guy in a dark SUV backing it out onto the road.

  “Everything’s set, and I’m here for pickup duty,” he says, stepping inside. “Where’s your phone?”

  I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a disposable phone I’d purchased before leaving Seattle.

  He hands me a new one. “Type in any numbers you need now. Anything critical. This one’s untraceable. That old one might not be.”

  I quickly plug in Keith’s number, and then J.T.’s. As far as I’m concerned, those are the only two I’ll need.

  Keeping his voice low to not wake anyone, he continues. “Send a text to your friend, so he has the new number, but do it discreetly. Use a phrase or a name that nobody but him will recognize. That phone’s registered in New York. That’s where it’ll ping from for anyone tracking your friend’s phone.”

  I use an old phrase from our Army days and send it to Keith. Jellybeans.

  Both of us took every security precaution possible when we started this investigation, but Keith’s last call proved it obviously hadn’t been enough. That’s why I’m trusting J.T. He’s been in this business for years and gotten deeper into it than we ever were.

  “Your car’s in the garage?”

  I nod, leading the way.

  “Mederva’s still handling this on their own,” J.T. says as we enter the garage. “They haven’t outsourced tracking you down to any outsiders. Too dangerous, I guess. The big boss you’re so worried about doesn’t want to be grilled by the board of directors, if too much ever comes to light.”

  “How do you know?”

  He lets out a low chuckle. “I’ve got my sources, and they’re good.” Opening the driver’s door of my Equinox, he adds, “Tomorrow, we’re gonna send them on a wild goose chase. Should take them all the way to Mexico. Open the door. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”

  I open the garage door and close it again as soon as he backs out. Accepting help is out of the ordinary for me, and taking it from a seventy-year-old man is damn near unbelievable, but I’m out of options.

  There are footsteps on the stairs as I close the door to the house. I’m hoping it’s Shane or Lauren, but know it’s not likely.

  “Heard the garage door open,” Gwen says, stepping off the stairs.

  Fuck.

  She’s wearing a skimpy tank top and pair of shorts that leave her legs bare from her firm thighs down to her little toes. My hand quivers, remembering caressing her skin, and more.

  The rest of me remembers, too. An instant hard-on forms.

  Eyeing me critically, she skirts around me and walks to the door leading to the garage. She opens the door and flips on the light. “Where’s your car? Who took it?”

  Going for a nonchalant look, I shrug, walking into the living room. “Friend of your ma’s. He’s making a diversion.”

  “What friend? That guy you mentioned?” she asks, following me. “Miller, what’s going on with Mother?”

  I can’t tell her that part, not till I know the next step. J.T. isn’t finished setting everything up.

  I nod toward the notebook on the coffee table. “You’re following in her footsteps. Couldn’t resist taking a peek. What I read was good.”

  That does exactly what I want it to do, sidetracks her.

  “You read it?”

  I nod, unsure whether she’s shocked or royally pissed.

  It’s not like I’m a critic. I’ve never read one of her ma’s books, but I’ve read enough thrillers to know good writing, and that notebook is full of it.

  The style wasn’t the only thing that held my attention. Couldn’t help noticing the obvious. “Every word, babe. Seems like a lot of similarities between your novel and our situation, too. And the characters. Hope I get my cut of the royalties when it’s a hit.”

  “Yeah, right!” She plants both hands on her hips, glaring, but clearly trying not to smile. “Creative similarities. That’s all they are.”

  “Now you’re making sense.” I give her a long, slow appraisal, which heats my blood ten degrees. “Because it’s not like there’s an attraction back here in real life.”

  She lifts her chin, batting her eyes a couple times. “No, certainly not.”

  I nod thoughtfully, taking a step closer to her.

  Goddamn, she smells good, all fresh and clean and subtly sweet. I’m playing with fire and I know it. “Glad you agree. What happe
ned in your ma’s hot tub proves it.”

  Her mouth falls open like she’s shocked I’d dare mention it.

  “Because if there was an attraction, we wouldn’t be standing around bullshitting each other.” I step closer still, running a single finger up the length of her bare arm. “We’d be busy with a replay, Gwen.”

  She tries to hide it – tries so hard it’s hilarious – but I saw that flash in her jade eyes before she closed them. Pure desire.

  “Not going to happen,” she whispers, catching her breath.

  I let my finger trail back down her arm. Stopping near her elbow, I reach over and brush the nipple pebbled beneath her tank top. “Yeah, never.”

  Her eyes snap open. “Miller, I’m serious.”

  I’ve been at the brink of no return since she walked out of that hot tub this afternoon. I cup her chin with one hand. “I am too, Gingersnap. Never been more serious thinking how bad I’d like to lay you down real proper and fuck so hard we forget all our woes. Never had my fingers, my tongue, every inch of me this seriously riled in my life. Never wanted to kiss anyone so bad I pull the breath from your lungs, and make you give it back, give it good, or else you’ll find out I mean serious fucking business for half-assing it when I make you come real sweet for me.”

  I wonder who’s saying these words. This must be how I know I’ve lost my mind.

  There’s no space between us a second later. The air stalls in my chest at the way her body melts into mine, the way her lips race over mine, the way her tongue chases after mine so franticly I want to devour her.

  We stumble up against the wall and I push her against it. Hard.

  Kissing, tasting, feeling, fucking with our tongues.

  My hands shift under her shirt, cupping and teasing her tits while my throbbing cock presses firmly against her soft belly.

  She’s got that little scrap of meat I like, the kind a man imagines knocking up real animal-like. The supermodels with their hard edges never did shit for me. Give me a woman with soft skin and belly and ass and tits any damn day of the week, and I’ll make her scream like the happiest woman on earth.

  “Gingersnap,” I growl. “Now.”

  I’m not screwing around. The heat in my balls that’s been driving me nuts all day since I shot off in her hands almost kills me at the thought of not having her.

  She drops her hands from around my neck with a sultry little sigh.

  Then with a sexy grin, she takes my hand and takes a step toward the stairs. “We have to be quiet,” she whispers. “The kids...”

  My heart thuds in my chest. “I’ll keep you quiet,” I whisper, fire in my blood when I imagine fucking her with a hand pressed tight to those pink lips.

  Still holding my hand, she starts up the steps.

  It’s a manic dash to her bedroom. Once we’re inside with the door locked, the passion that’s been tangled up rips out of me. So does hers.

  If I’m an inferno, she’s dynamite.

  Gingersnap kisses me back intoxicated on lust, on want, on all the filthy, forbidden things I’m promising right now. My dick rubs against her thigh through my jeans, horny as hell, my mouth pressed to hers so tight I suck her breathless.

  We bang up against the wall once when I grab her ass, and she tears her mouth off mine. “Shhhhh.”

  Right, the kids.

  Fuck.

  My son and daughter can sleep through a hurricane most nights, but they’ve surprised me before and could wake up if we blow it. Snarling, I take a step back, trying to tame this storm in my body, regain some basic human composure.

  Gwen grins and points at the bed. I back up till my shins touch the frame.

  Smiling, she gives a look that could kill a man. Raw confidence.

  That’s new. The energy dancing in my eyes is enough to tell her what it does to me.

  She crosses her arms and grabs the hem of her tank top. I watch with keen interest, dick jerking something fierce, as she tugs it off over her head. Have to swallow a jagged groan when I see those glorious, pink nipples I’ve been waiting for finally appear, perked and so ready for my fuckery.

  They’re flush with heat, almost as copper-red as her hair. This perfect complement to the rest of her skin, dangerous perfection made flesh.

  My hands ache to touch her.

  I wonder if she’s in heat as bad as every bit of me goes into rut.

  Walking closer, she pushes down her shorts, revealing a pair of tight pink panties that’s too much like the bikini bottom she had in the pool.

  I’ll be damned if I’m waiting around again.

  My hand flies out, grabbing her waistband and ziplining it down her long legs. She lets out a little gasp.

  “Off, babe,” I growl, enjoying the little kick she gives them at the ankle.

  Then I’m just lost as her legs open, and I see glistening pink crowned by copper curls.

  My cock wants to murder me. I’m pretty sure it’ll find a way to strangle me in my sleep if I don’t fuck this girl, and that single-minded purpose is muted by one nasty realization.

  The hesitation must show on my face. Gwen frowns.

  “Don’t like what you see?” she asks quietly.

  “Hell no.” I grab both her hands and squeeze. “I love every bit of it. Think I want to spend the rest of the night spelling my damn name inside you with everything these hands and this mouth can give, babe. But there’s something else I’d like to do and...fuck, you’re gonna hate me.” Shaking my head, I growl a confession. “I don’t have any protection.”

  Her face wrinkles, a sly grin forming as she unbuttons my jeans. “Let me worry about that, Miller. And this too.”

  For a tall woman, her hands are so small. Another growl sticks in my throat as she rests her right hand between my legs, pinching me through my jeans, rubbing up and down my shaft.

  I grab her hand then, push it down on my cock, mashing my forehead to hers, loving how her breathing matches mine. So raspy. So ready. So drunk on needing me.

  “Babe...”

  “Don’t worry,” she whispers again. “You just think about what you want to do to me.”

  My cock pulses, and she bares her teeth. My free hand shoots out, finds its way between her legs, two fingers up inside her. She’s so soaked for me I want to take her then and there, condom be damned.

  She closes her thighs around my hand as I thumb her clit, struggling to keep control, unzipping my jeans, rubbing me in all the right ways and some very wrong but so fucking good ways, too.

  “Gwen, seriously, I–goddammit, we need a rubber.”

  I’m settled. Won’t be able to stop till I’m deep inside her cunt, her long legs pinned around me, her teeth sinking into my hand while I come so hard in her pink silk she can feel it. I know that for certain.

  “Take off your pants,” she whispers against my mouth. “Miller, seriously.”

  I love the urgency in her voice.

  I’m standing stock-still, fighting the do’s and don’ts warring in my brain, but I know which side already won.

  “Pants, Mister. While I get us a condom,” she whimpers again, running her tongue along my bottom lip. “Or two.”

  “Bring the whole pack,” I bite off.

  Fine, so I’m overly excited.

  Pulling back and pushing down my jeans, I ask, “You better not be playing, woman. You’ve got condoms?”

  She walks into the bathroom. “A whole box. Unopened. They were in my Christmas stocking last year.”

  I kick aside my jeans and pull off my shirt. “Let me guess, your mother?”

  She steps out of the bathroom, holding a black and violet box.

  “Who else? Good thing too...” Her gaze drops to my hard-on. “Quite the shaft you have there, Mr. Rush.”

  “Shaft?” A sense of pride fills me at the gleam in her eyes, but it’s a funny choice of words.

  “Romance terminology. They go a little further in the dirty books.”

  “Then let’s make our story filthy
and call this a cock, babe.” I chuckle, loving how she laughs in echo. “I’ve never read a romance book, but thanks to you, and the way you’ve gotten under my skin, I’ve been walking around with this all day. If anything, what we did in the hot tub just made it worse.”

  She giggles, opening the box as she walks over to me.

  I take the condoms out of her hand and toss them on the bed. “Not yet. Soon.”

  “Soon?”

  I dip my head, kissing down her throat and taking one nipple. “Fuck yeah. Gonna savor this nice and slow.”

  “Okay,” she says, arching into me when my teeth pull her soft bud in for a tongue-lashing. “Ohhh-kay. Take your time. I don’t mind one bit.”

  Neither do I, and we both feast on each other.

  Exploring, tasting, fondling, tonguing, fingering, pumping.

  Mostly, just gasping. Especially her after I kiss my way down her soft belly, bring my mouth up through her inner thighs, and push my face into her delectable cunt.

  Even with just my tongue, I know she’s fucking tight.

  Her pussy tastes as good as her scent, the same faint traces I’ve been smelling on my hands for hours. I dive into her lush, wet heat and push my beard into her, making her ride it right through her first O.

  I know it’s coming when her legs start shaking. They’re draped over my shoulders, trembling like mad, her little whines coming shriller and louder. Luckily, she knows she’s getting too loud and bites the back of her hand.

  That’s my signal to bring her home.

  My tongue smothers her clit. I eat her the fuck up, stroke by vicious stroke, and yeah, you’d better believe I do spell my name at least ten times. It’s as insane as it is serious. I want to mark her that bad.

  Because after tonight, after I’ve had her like this, I want her to think Miller Rush every damn time she touches herself.

  She’s coming so hard her eyes roll as her inner walls clench around me. I lash her with my tongue, quickening my strokes, faster and harder and wilder every time her body jerks.

  Sweetness seeps from her pink slit long after I’m done, resting my head on her thigh, dick hammering so hard it drowns out everything except the soft sensation of her fingers tracing my jawline.