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All mine.
Everything was new, everything had my stamp on it, and even though I’d asked a decorator to help me with it, I’d micromanaged her down to the ornaments she’d put on my mantelpiece and the knobs she’d used on the kitchen cabinets.
Conor knew I wasn’t going to give the code out to some slut I was banging.
Fuck, it would take me a few days to trust Inessa with the code—and she was my wife now. She was going to live here, and since I didn’t want her to think she was a prisoner, I had no choice but to give it to her. But not one of my brothers knew the code, no one did except for me.
Until Leticia, and whoever had given it to her, because as much as she had a pussy that could suck cum out of a cock better than a mouth, she was no rocket scientist.
“Shit.”
While there was nothing funny about this situation, my lips twitched at Conor’s curse, and I heard shifting and shuffling around as he evidently started climbing out of bed.
“Yeah. Shit.”
“You just couldn’t figure out our system had been compromised forty minutes later, could you?” he grumbled.
I snickered. “Forty minutes, my ass.”
“You questioning my staying power?” he grumbled again.
“No, I’m questioning your interest.” Forty minutes? No way could Conor hold interest in some random bitch for that long.
If he knew me, I knew him.
Conor was particular.
In his own way.
And Klara, who I remembered from the bridal party, with her dark hair and long limbs, while beautiful, wasn’t Conor’s type. He liked big, busty broads whose tits he could dive in without coming up for air for hours.
That kind of woman would hold his attention. Not a skinny bitch like Klara.
He cursed under his breath. “I’ll be on my way home, Klara.” A shriek sounded down the line, and he grunted again before he muttered, “Fucker.”
“That aimed at me, or at you?” I inquired, amused to hear my brother’s evening nosedive like mine had.
I twisted around and stared at the room Leticia had just marred, then I pulled a face.
I was going to have to buy a new sofa, and that pissed me off because the current sofa was really fucking comfortable.
Out of respect to Inessa, I could see no other way around it, but I’d miss the bastard.
It was oversized white leather, took up three-quarters of the fucking room, and stared straight onto a TV that made cinema screens look puny.
Grumbling to myself, I stepped over a sheepskin rug, and grabbed some M&Ms from the bowl I had on the console table that backed the sofa.
“Bitch hit me with her heel,” Conor groused when I heard a door slam in the background.
“You deserved it.”
“And how the hell would you know that? Watching the action, were you?” he jeered.
My lips twitched as I popped another M&M into my mouth. Crunching down on it, I told him, “You might have the attention span of a gnat, but you always make it worth a bitch’s while.”
“It’s creepy that you know that about me.”
“Know creepy shit about all you fuckers. You know that.”
