AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’d think so, right? I’d pin this intrusion squarely on my uncle. He sent her to watch me.”
Bristol didn’t say anything, shaking her head. I got the feeling she was keeping her scathing thoughts about my relative to herself. I knew she didn’t like him. Judging from her earlier questions, she didn’t trust him, either. Hell, she had good reason not to, and now, she knew it.
“Will he be pissed about earlier?” she asked. “I’m sure there will be pictures of us kissing splashed across whatever media is hounding you.”
I shrugged. “He might. I’ll have to talk with him about it and make him understand this isn’t negotiable. He’ll have to deal with.”
“Isn’t that…” She seemed to be searching for words. “Isn’t that playing with fire? Won’t it bring repercussions?”
I shrugged. “Don’t think so, not without him getting painted black by the fallout. I didnotsign an NDA about our association or his ‘rules’. I’ve proven myself on the track. And my life off the track is my own business, not his.”
“Before you do anything rash, we do need to talk about things,” she said.
I turned from the ingredients I’d placed out on the counter and shut off the heat beneath the pan I’d started.
“Talk about what? Do you really hate me?” I asked, circling back to last night and the one thing that stabbed me deepest and worried me most. There was a fine line between the passion gripping us and the hate she’d professed.
Her lips twisted to the side in consternation. “I should.”
“But do you?” I pressed, unable to keep an edge of concern out of my tone. I might end up on my knees before her if she said yes, yes, shedidhate me.
Slowly, her head swiveled back and forth, denying her earlier assertion. “No. God help me, I can’t.”
My knees hit the carpet at her feet, anyway. Happiness pulsed through me, and a stirring awakened in my jeans. My hands skimmed up Bristol’s denim-clad thighs then wrapped behind her waist, pulling her toward me. Our mouths met, clashing hungrily. I wanted her. I craved her. I wished more than ever that I could carry her into the room we used to share and make love to her.
I knew I couldn’t. We weren’t ready. Groaning, I just took what I could, accepted her lips on mine and the taste of her on my tongue. Her fingers clenched in my hair again, and I pulled her off the chair to straddle my legs where I knelt. For the first in years, we were chest-to-chest, sex-to-sex, grinding together, touching each other.
A pounding on the door ripped us apart. I groan, my frustration load and clear as I dropped my forehead to hers. “Fuck.”
“I swear if that’s Marta…” Bristol gasped, equally annoyed.
“If it is, she’s fired—more fired,” I muttered.
“More fired?” she giggled, the mirth rocking her against my hard-on.
“Don’t laugh, baby,” I grunted. Gripping her hips, I held her still. “You’re gonna make me come in my pants.”
“Oh, really?” She wiggled, dragging a strangled groan from me.
“Baby…” I growled. Jerking to my feet, I brought my woman to stand with me. “I don’t think you realize what you do to me.”
She licked her bottom lip before sinking her teeth into it. It didn’t hid her naughty smile at all.
Another knock on the door kept me from doing anything about her devilry. With long angry strides, I stomped over to the apartment’s entrance. What the hell with these evening visitors? It was like Grand Central Station around here when I just wanted to spend time with Bristol.
I wrenched open the door, then immediately struggled to choke back my ire and school my features.
“Mom.”
“I brought over dinner,” she announced, with a huge smile stretching her face while she held up a basket. “I thought you and Bristol might like some of your favorite beef potpie. And I know it’s got a crust, but I still made fresh bread to go with it, too.”
“That’s so nice. We love your potpie,” Bristol said, coming up behind me and saving me from myself when I would have probably said something likeI can cook, Mom.But of course, my woman knew better. “Geez, Axel, let your mom inside.”
I nodded, shaking off my confusion at finding my mother at the door. Unaffected, she marched toward our little kitchen.
“How are you feeling, Mom?” I asked, trailing on her heels.
“Same as always when you ask,” she chirped. “I feel better than ever. Really. Stop worrying, honey.”
