Page 16 of Merging Wright

He captures my forearm next, surprising me with quick reflexes, and settling my arm on the bed in a similar manner to how I held his. Pausing only a second, he then strokes over my wrist to cover my hand. His fingers slink between mine, spreading them until we are linked together.

“I’m drunk, acushla,” he whispers.

My heartbeats halt.

After he exhales heavily, a quick snore follows. Our hands are bound together. For a man who said no public affection, I wonder if he knows privately that he’s holding my hand.

He probably doesn’t.

When I wake in the morning, his back is to me. I’m under the bedcovers while he’s on top of them with a separate, throw quilt over his upper body. He’ll never remember he touched me last night. Strangely, I’m touching him this morning, my hand pressed to his back as if holding him steady or perhaps keeping him at arm’s length.

Quietly as I can, I slip from the bed. I’m wearing sleep shorts and a tank top as the weather is still warm here in the last days of August, but a chill fills the room. Rummaging through the closet, I find a WVU sweatshirt and slip it over my tank top. Without another glance at Mach, I exit the room.

In the kitchen, a man similar in build to Mach stands at the counter with his back to me. He’s busy working at something and doesn’t notice me. Deciding to silently retreat from the room, I hold my breath and take a step backward. Only, a creaky floorboard gives away my presence.

The man spins, and a mirror image of Mach faces me. His hair is a little browner than white and his scruff isn’t as thick as Mach’s, but there is no doubt who he might be. He clutches the counter behind him before slowly offering me a crooked grin that could rival Mach’s if my boss smiled more. “Mornin’ darlin’.”

I return his infectious smile. “Good morning. You must be Myles.”

The man’s lips curl, seductive and tempting, but not threatening. No, the gleam in his eye says he’s all flirt with no follow through. “I see Mach has spoken of me.”

I hate to admit I only learned of him yesterday. Instead, I nod, my smile weakening. I’m a shit liar, and he reads the truth in my face.

His playful expression slowly falls, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m Myles.”

“I’m Jane. His . . . wife.” The word feels foreign on my tongue, and I choke.

“Mach is married again?” His brows arch. His hands tighten on the counter.

Again? The final word punches me in the gut. When had Mach ever been married before? Chewing on my lower lip, a sudden lump clogs my throat, so I croak, “Yes.”

“When did this happen?” His forehead pinches with curiosity.

“Don’t talk to her.” The gruff masculine voice behind me makes me jump.

“Jesus,” I murmur, clapping a hand to my chest and spinning to face Mach. My mouth falls open. Before me is a man I’ve never seen before. The almost blinding white T-shirt exposes colorfully decorated solid arms. Light gray sweatpants hang low on his hips. The sudden drool at my lips is a slow trickle compared to the waterfall between my thighs. Mach is bright and beautiful, and the stark T-shirt accentuates the myriad of designs on his arms. With his arms crossed and his feet parted, his body language, however, screams thunderstorm ahead.

“Mach,” Myles says.

Mach approaches me, fixing his eyes on my face. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

I glance down at the soft, worn material covering my body. Clearly, he’s offended by my wearing the precious item. Before I can defend myself, he speaks again.

“You should dress.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine, and the hard edge of his cheeks and set jaw warn me not to argue with him. Well, looks like someone got up on the wrong side of the bed.

And I hate taking directions, especially when he’s looking at me like he is. Fire yet ice. A line might be drawn that I’m not supposed to cross, but I won’t play his game, especially after the whammy I’ve just learned.

He had a wife.

“Tea first.” Forcing my voice to be cheerful and pleasant, I stare him down.

Mach steps even closer, crowding my space. Despite nipples peaking and the mouthwatering appearance of him and that ink, I don’t move. He leans closer to me, bringing his face within an inch of mine. The mint on his breath kisses my lips. I anticipate him actually kissing me, or at least pissing around me, as his aggression is nothing more than an alpha male exerting possession. Which he doesn’t have, because I’m not his wife.

We stand nose to nose a second. My mouth salivating. Will he kiss me?

Our eyes lock. His are bloodshot and fierce. His nostrils flare once. Then, he pulls back, causing me to flinch at the sudden retreat. He moves around me, and rounds the L-corner of the kitchen, disappearing from sight. Cabinet doors slam and a faucet runs. The microwave churns. I don’t mention that you can’t make a decent cup of tea in a microwave.

Myles watches his brother, opening his mouth to speak and then clamping it shut as Mach stomps around like there isn’t another person in the room.