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He chuckles and his scent makes me want to climb him even when I’m not known for wanton behavior.
“We can talk about that later. Let me take you home.”
“Now, I know you’re crazy. If you think you can just…”
I stop talking when he slides the back of his fingers over my mouth. “Shh. I’m not trying to seduce you. Trust me, you’d know the difference. I just don’t want to see you in court.”
“Court?”
“Yes, I’m a lawyer. DUI’s never really go away.”
He plucks my keys out of my hand, hits unlock on my FOB, and ushers me into the passenger seat.
What the hell?
He folds his big body behind the wheel, adjusting the seat until he’s comfortable.
“So that’s it? You’re Judge Dread? Are you the judge, jury, and executioner?”
“When I need to be. I can be ruthless when necessary.” His light eyes roam over my body making my dress feel tighter. “Put on your seatbelt.”
I don’t realize I’ve followed an order until it snaps into place. It’s weird having his big body in my vehicle and personal space while he’s making demands.
“I should be cursing you out.”
“For catering to your safety?” he volleys as my SUV roars to life.
“No. For taking over without permission,” I correct.
“I’m that kind of man. It’s in my blood. You’ll get used to it.”
“Be happy you’re cute." I want to argue but my stomach feels upset. Rambling off my address, I close my eyes and pray I don’t throw up. “And another thing. I’ll pay you for the ride and even express gratitude but coming into my house or expecting sex is a no go.”
“Noted. Now note this: I'm just helping you out. If sex was my goal, you’d already be naked.”
I would have clutched my pearls if my stomach weren't upset.
Chapter One
Caerwyn
“Eight years,” I repeat it to myself but it’s not helping. My mind is trying to care but my body doesn’t. My dick insists we’re all grown. Yet, I often wonder if our age difference will give us issues.
It doesn’t matter. I remind myself. I haven’t seen Imala since I took her home, ushered her to her door, then ordered a car to take me home. Still, her golden skin - paler than her sisters - and almost black eyes trapped behind clear eyeglasses still haunt me. I want to see her again, and I will, I just need to hone my approach. Her innocence glows off her body until it forms an invisible halo. I understand why Oran calls her his angel. That’s going to change because I will make her my personal sex fiend. Imala will be so gone for me she’ll beg me to do all the dirty things I want. In explicit details. I fight the urge to shift in my seat. I’m so stubborn, I allow the wave of arousal to waft out of me like the puff of cigar smoke I’ve released.
Assessing steel eyes rake over my face. “What are you calculating, asshole? Your nice guy mask has slipped.”
My signature smile falls back into place. I really am a nice guy. Mostly. And Oran knows it. His knowledge doesn’t stop him from ribbing me from time to time. Even with my physical absence from the island, we’ve stayed in touch. He’s more of a brother to me than the other spoiled English bastard my dad created.
My parents are the product of an arranged marriage and while they learned to love each other, the beginning was rocky. My dad called himself having one last fling before he got married. The dumbass got an English tourist pregnant. As the technical first heir, Berke was a smug brat everyone hated to see coming. He’d split half his time between both families often antagonizing me about being the second born and less important. Then, as if the lord answered my prayers, Uncle Elmer found out about Oran. I laughed because his ass wasn’t taking over shit. His visits became less frequent after he and his mother realized he no longer had power to gain. That alone makes me love Oran despite his prickly nature. At least the asshole is honest.
“Pussy,” Jagger answers around his cigar. “He’s trying to scheme his way into some pussy. Fuck, I know the look. I’m thinking about how to get some right now.”
Oran shakes his head; a piece of black hair falls on his forehead. His eyes connect with Jagger’s.
“You don't strategize pussy. You’re married.”
“So the fuck what?” Jagger’s whiskey eyes study the ashes of his cigar. “I must keep her on her fucking toes. That requires strategy.”
