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“Well?”
“What does this have to do with the photos?”
Even to myself, I sound tired. All day, I’ve been rushing around, meeting with lawyers and my business associates, attempting to back out of the deal with the least harm possible.
She grabs the front of my shirt. She’s done this before, but there’s always been lust in her touch, in the sensation of her fingernails pushing through my shirt and against my chest. Now, there’s nothing but rage.
“Answer my question. You and Mom, what’s the deal?”
“There is nodeal,” I say, disgusted at the thought.
Not just because she’s Maddie’s mom, but also because she’snotMaddie. Thinking of any woman who isn’tmywoman causes sickness to swirl through me. I close the door, then attempt to take Madison into my arms.
She takes a step back. “Mom came home all giddy talking about a man who’d finally shown her some love. I’ve never seen her like that. She won’t tell me who it is. Then, when the photos leaked, she wouldn’t even talk to me. She stormed off to her room and yelled at me.”
“Whoever that was, it wasn’t me,” I snap, unable to keep the anger out of my voice. “I don’t want your mom. I don’t wantanybody…”
Who isn’t you, I was about to say, but that would mean ripping the lid off the feelings I’ve been trying to force down.
“Anybody at all?” she whispers.
This time, she lets me loop my arms around her. As usual, savage instincts try to control me, try to guide my hands lower, but there’s affection and warmth and the need to protect inside of me, too, and I listen to those voices. I cradle her close, leaning down and whispering into her ear.
“I swear to you, Maddie. I swear on the truth. I swear on my parents. I swear on my life. I have never andwouldnever do anything like that with your mom. If she’s found somebody, I’m glad for her, but it isn’t me.”
She sinks her touch into my back for a second. She leans back so she can look up at me.
“You promise?”
I do one of my favorite things, brushing the hair from her face. She turns to my touch as if savoring it.
“I promise. I wouldn’t lie to my girlfriend.”
That earns me a smile… something I’ll spend the rest of my life doing. Earning smiles from her.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee.”
I smirk. “It’s one of those days, eh? I’ll make us some.”
She looks around at the tall ceilings of my living room, at the large windows which overlook the city.
“Look at all thisspace,” she says, turning in a circle.
Then she suddenly stops.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, calling across from the open-plan kitchen.
“I sound like a gold digger, just like everybody will think I am.”
Leaving the coffee to brew, I surge across the room and sweep her into my arms. I don’t realize how much passion has infused my movements until she’s off her feet, her legs wrapping around me, probably out of instinct more than her trying to start anything. I hold her tightly like that.
“I don’t give a damn what they think,” I say. “They can call me a pervert. They can call you a gold digger.Weknow the truth… and the truth is all that matters.”
“What is the truth?” she says, her face buried in my neck.
I walk to the couch and sit with her still straddling me. Our position has my manhood getting excited, my body trying to respond even as I tame it with my mind.
