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Seventeen
Brennan
Knowingthat Forrest would have taken Victoria straight to the living room, I pulled on my jeans in the hall and felt like a fucking teenager when I had to hop and jump to get into them.
I had weak knees, and it had nothing to do with my daily ten-mile runs and everything to do with that mind-bending orgasm back there.
Fuck.
How I hadn’t pushed into her, taken her—I deserved a fucking medal.
Or that sainthood Baggy and me had been talking about yesterday.
Yeah, I should definitely be canonized because pulling away from that sweet cunt made me want to punch myself in the face.
Growling under my breath as I finally got my jeans on, then shoved on a tee, I decided that I wouldn’t get too close to my future sister-in-law because I stank of soap and sex. Personally, they were my most favorite of scents, but they had no place outside of the bedroom I’d just left. A bedroom Ihadn’twanted to leave, in all honesty.
Grateful that my apartment was a duplex, and that Victoria could live downstairs because her sister was definitely a screamer, I tried not to listen to the bedroom to hear if she was heading into the shower. Tried not to listen for the sound of water as I stormed down the hall and toward the upper living area of the penthouse.
When I saw Forrest standing awkwardly by the window, I arched a brow and watched him flare his eyes in warning. Turning to face the youngest of the Vasov sisters, I found her scowling up at me.
“Where’s my sister?” she growled at me, but her arms were held tightly at her waist and even as she was glaring, I saw the fear in them. A fear she was trying to hide with a ballsy attitude.
Whatever the hell that fucker of a father had done to her, he’d had more time to do worse to Camille...
“Which sister?” I asked instead, and without waiting for her to reply, I moved over to the other end of the room.
It was unorthodox, but my living area was one big open-planned space, mostly because it had been that way when I was a kid and I liked it. I liked the kitchen leading onto the dining room table and I liked being able to see the TV while eating at the breakfast bar.
With two floors, I had enough room for three other living rooms, each more formal than this one, but this was my favorite. It reminded me of simpler times, before I was a killer.
Before Brennan O’Donnelly inspired fear in people.
Before hearing that name had men running the other way...
Moving over to the kitchen, I peered inside and found a jar of overnight oats my housekeeper prepared for me before she left. When I pulled it out, Victoria was there, at my heels, and I asked, “Do you want some? Mary leaves me two jars.”
She blinked. “Who’s Mary?”
“She’s my housekeeper.”
“Oh.” Her gaze drifted to the jar. “What is it?”
“Oatmeal.”
“With chocolate?” She peered at it suspiciously. “For breakfast?”
“I have a sweet tooth,” I said wryly, shoving the one with berries at her. “If you want to be healthy—”
As my voice waned off, she grabbed the one with chocolate then demanded, “I meant Cammie. I know where Inessa is.”
“Where’s that?”
“JFK, probably,” was her reply. “She’s on her way back from Texas. But that’s the sister I know about. Where’s Cammie? And why wasn’t Maxim the one who picked me up? And why can’t I go home?”
I arched a brow at her. “With all those questions, I’m surprised you got in the car with Forrest.”
“Trust me, we had an argument first,” my buddy grumbled.
