Chapter Seventeen
Reese
When I was eight years old, a bully pushed me down in the schoolyard. It was a tale as old as time: there I was, skinny as a popsicle stick, with knobby knees and chalk-pale skin that bruised easily, and there was my bully, ten inches taller and twice as wide.
By all laws of nature, he should have kicked the snot out of me. He was bigger, meaner, filled with pent-up aggression, and way too restless after hours of sitting still in class. He should have swatted me like a bug.
Should have.
But it doesn’t always work that way. Sometimes, the scrawny little kid with knobby knees has an eccentric mother who takes him to judo classes every weekend. Sometimes, the small, unassuming-looking boy has a spark of defiance inside him, ready to roar to life when he needs it. Sometimes, the sun shines in the bully’s eyes at the exact right moment, and the smaller kid tackles him to the dirt.
The bully and I both learned a valuable lesson that day. We both got official warnings from the school, too, but hey—it was worth it.
And when I came home with a busted lip and a big grin on my face, my mother swept me into her arms and spun me around like a hero.
That’s why I can’t yell at her properly now, even as her meddling threatens my business. Even after she’s caused me one headache after another.
My mother loves me. For all her many flaws, she loves me—and Ava, too.
So, Leon goddamn Anderson had better learn to stay away.
“I had no idea.” My mother trails me around the suite as I try to talk on the phone. Declan’s on the other end of the line, rattling off ideas for new solar battery suppliers, and Ava sits cross-legged on the bed, squinting at my laptop and calling out her own list of names. And all the while, my lace-covered mentalist of a mother chatters in my ear, following me round and round the plush carpet. “Honestly, Reese, you never tell me anything. Did you really think I’d spend all that time with Leon if I’d known he wanted to sabotage the company?”
Yes. Perhaps.
If it meant that she got more attention from her son.
But maybe that’s a comment on me as well as her. Fuck, this emotional intelligence stuff is no fun.
“Not now,” I tell my mother, but for once, I soften my tone. Well, I try—and probably do a bad job—but Ava notices, at least. She glances up from the laptop and gives me an approving smile. Happiness sears through my chest, hot and bright, and for a split second, I’m actually giddy.
Christ, I’d do anything for that smile.
Anything to feel those pretty, wide eyes on me.
She’s a miracle.
Hard to believe that only a few days ago, Ava was the maddening assistant I was having inappropriate fantasies about, and nothing more. Now, she’s my wife .
She’s changed me. I’m wrecked and rebuilt, and I never want to go back to that grumpy, lonely man I was before.
“You have to admit,” my mother says, bumping the coffee maker with her hip as she stumbles past, “Leon has a very lovely snake.”
A choking sound comes from the bed, and I shoot Ava a wry glance. “No, it’s an actual snake. A Mojave Desert Sidewinder called Felicity.”
Ava shudders, the blue light from the laptop screen washing over her gorgeous round cheeks. “Oh, wow. No, thank you.”
At last, my mother has another target for her guilt-ridden monologue. She spins on her heel and crosses toward the bed, throwing up her arms in a cascade of frothy cream lace. “Oh no, dear! It’s a beautiful creature. Really, it is, and Leon is so tender with it. That’s how he had me fooled.”
“You should have looked at his shoes,” I mutter.
“What?” Declan says, his voice tinny in my ear.
“Nothing. Go on.”
Many, many caffeine-fueled hours later, Ava taps tiredly on the laptop, her back propped against two pillows and the headboard, while Declan’s voice is scratchy with fatigue in my ear. My own hand feels stiff from gripping my phone, and there’s a headache pounding at the base of my skull. If I stop prowling around the suite floor, I might never get moving again.
My mother has flopped into a cushioned armchair, where she’s scowling at her phone with fierce concentration, calling out potential suppliers every now and then with a regal lift of her chin. And he’s nowhere in view, but the curtain drapes shiver as Max plays out of sight, his claws scratching against the expensive carpet.
This has been the longest night of my life.
But we’re getting there. We’re actually solving this.
Leon Anderson is not going to fucking win. He’s a schoolyard bully, and I’m going to tackle him into the dirt.
“That’s twelve,” I announce at last, hanging up on Declan with muttered thanks. “Twelve new suppliers of solar batteries that fit our requirements. The lawyers are drawing up the contracts. Some of these suppliers have even had run-ins with Leon Anderson before, and they hate him as much as we do. This network is much stronger. He won’t cause us this same problem again.”
Twelve suppliers is probably overkill, but I won’t be burned the same way twice. Better to make extra sure.
My mother stares at the phone in her lap, her lips pursing. And you know what? I get it—bruised pride is a bitch, and I’m only now beginning to realize how lonely my mother has been. No wonder she was so desperate to trick me into taking a bride; my getting married meant she’d have a daughter-in-law. Someone else to chat with and make plans with while her only son groused around his office and shut out the world.
Well, I hope Ava knows what she’s gotten herself into because Nina Anderson is now her biggest fan, and that means there are many fancy brunches in her future. So many sandwiches with the crusts cut off; so many little cakes and pastries and cocktails. The works.
“I didn’t know,” my mother says again for the millionth time, turning her phone over and over in her hands. “I thought flying out here… getting you engaged to Daniella…”
“Who— Daniella ? Engaged?” Ava sits bolt upright, a cushion sliding down behind her back. She looks between us, startled, but my mother waves her off.
“Nothing to worry about, dear. Reese never took the bait. And now he’s done so much better with you.”
My shoulders drop, and I rub at my stiff neck. What time is it? Two in the morning? Three? Lights glitter out in the city skyline, while a never-ending parade of headlights swoops along the Las Vegas streets. Doesn’t anyone in this city ever sleep?
“Finally, something we can agree on, Mother.”
Ava lets out a sigh, mollified. But it’s not until we’ve finally ushered my sleepy mother out of the door and spun the lock before my new wife turns to face me head-on.
“You were engaged before,” she says accusingly, a flush climbing her creamy throat. Sometime in the last few hours, Ava slipped into the bathroom and changed into a silky blue pajama set, declaring to the room that she wanted to be comfortable.
I was so proud in that moment, seeing my gorgeous, curvy wife dress in a way that feels good to her. This is her hotel room, damn it, and she should dress however she pleases.
Of course, it doesn’t hurt that she looks fucking mouthwatering in these pajamas. Blue silk skims her sides and ripples when she moves, catching the light, and the material is slippery, dancing over her body.
Fuck me.
My blood pounds hotter, suddenly surging through my veins. My muscles tense, straining against my bones.
“No,” I correct, “my insane mother tried to gift me away like a fruit basket. I never agreed to any engagement. Does that sound like something I’d do?”
Ava’s mouth twitches, and she’s happier already, her body inching closer to mine. Down between us, her bare toes scrunch into the carpet.
Tired? Who’s tired? Sure, I’ve barely slept in days, and yes, this whole trip has been an emotionally grueling boot camp. But Ava is looking up at me from beneath her lashes, her smile coy and her dark hair mussed, and suddenly I’m as wide-awake as the first time I went sky-diving.
“So, you and this Daniella person never…?”
My nose wrinkles. “Absolutely not.” And frankly, even if I hadn’t been head-over-heels with Ava already, Leon’s daughter trying to barge her way into modeling for our campaign did her zero favors. Those pictures will be published when pigs fly—I’ll make sure of it.
Reese Donovan does not negotiate with terrorists. That includes mobsters, their pushy daughters, and my own meddling mother.
“He’ll keep trying, you know.” A small palm flattens over my chest as Ava guides me back toward the bed. My heart beats extra hard, lunging against her hand, and my feet scuff against the carpet. “Leon, I mean. This will slow him down and piss him off, but he’ll keep gunning for you. Men like that don’t take no for an answer.”
“I know.”
The backs of my legs hit the bed, and I sit heavily on the mattress. There’s no grace to my movements where Ava is concerned, no keeping up appearances. Everything is too urgent, too desperate, to worry about looking good, and I need her too badly. Screw being dignified. If I don’t get Ava’s hands on my body, I’ll explode.
“We need to take the fight to him,” she says, sinking to her knees between my legs. Her delicate fingers work my belt open, and I stare down at the creaking leather in her hands, dry- mouthed and so fucking grateful. “It’s no use always being on the back foot. Not with a man like that. We need to scare him off for good.”
“Oh yeah?” My zipper scratches down, so loud in the quiet hotel room, and a hiss escapes between my teeth as Ava takes my shaft in her hand. She draws it out into the cool air, pumping it lazily, spreading a bead of moisture over the tip with her thumb. “And— fuck. Yeah, like that.” My hips twitch up, chasing her touch. “And what do you recommend, exactly?”
“A show of force.” My wife winks before swooping forward and taking my cock between her lips, sucking so deep her cheeks hollow. My groan echoes off the ceiling, and I scramble for two fistfuls of bedcovers, yanking desperately at the fabric.
Can’t touch Ava when I’m wound this tight. Can’t pull her hair or bruise her delicate skin. All I can do is breathe through my nose and dig my heels into the carpet, fighting with every inch of my self-control not to fuck deep into my sweet wife’s throat.
Ava’s hum vibrates through my nerves, torturing me so badly my eyes nearly cross. She slurps shamelessly, bobbing her head, and I mutter a senseless string of filthy praise, hands twisted in the bed covers as I confess all the things I’d like to do to her. All the things I’ve wanted since the first moment I laid eyes on her.
The way I want to spank her, manhandle her, spread her out and lick her until she screams. The way I want all of her, to claim every virgin inch: every nerve ending, tickly patch of skin, and slick hole.
And I’d be ashamed of talking to my woman like this, but Ava hums eagerly, urging me on, wordlessly agreeing with each pump of her fist and lash of her tongue. Tension coils low in my gut, fireworks explode behind my eyes, and still she tortures me, the fingernails of her free hand digging into my thigh.
Daniella? How can Ava possibly be jealous of another woman when we have this : so much raw chemistry that I can barely string a thought together?
“Mine,” I mutter, finally sliding one hand into Ava’s silky black hair. It’s chin-length, slipping through my fingers—enough to tug on, but not enough to wrap around my fist. The ultimate tease, just like her. “You’re mine, Ava. Say it.”
She scoffs, the tip of her nose nearly pressed against my abdomen, and shoots me a look as if to say: I’m a bit busy right now.
“Say it,” I repeat.
And, a show of force, she said? I tug Ava’s hair, hard enough to jolt her head back. A dazed look of pleasure comes over her face, and she lets my cock go with a sinful pop. Her chest heaves up and down, flushed and straining against her blue silk pajamas.
My new wife likes this, too. Needs this, too: the bosshole treatment.
She’s so fucking perfect, I can hardly stand it.
“I’m yours,” Ava whispers, her lips glossy, a string of saliva leading from her bottom lip to the head of my shaft.
Good.
I prove it to her over and over until sunrise.