Chapter 15
Walking through campus between classes, I stared down at my phone and the absolutely filthy message thread Dacre and I had been sending back and forth all morning.
My phone dinged and I glanced down at the screen again, my eyes bugging out at the sight before me.
Dacre had sent a picture.
He’d clearly snuck out of class to the bathrooms to take a shot of his gorgeous dick.
Could dicks be gorgeous? Generally they were pretty weird-looking things, all thick and dangly, with bulbous heads and stringy hair. But all three of my guys had stunning cocks. Ones that made my mouth water and my thighs clench with anticipation and need.
Tapping out a quick reply about being horny in my next class, I pocketed my phone and glanced up. Only to stop short at the motorcycle parked at the curb and the guy leaning against it.
“Back again, Boston?” I asked, sliding my sunglasses down my nose with an arched brow.
He looked like some kind of motorcycle god in his black leathers, boots crossed at the ankle as he leaned against his bike. That might be his signature pose. Either that or the dude had an issue staying upright unassisted.
“Thought you might be thirsty.” He uncrossed his boots and stood tall, gesturing with the coffee cup in his hand.
I tentatively took the cup, careful not to let our fingers brush as I did.
“You brought me coffee?” I peered at it as though it might be laced with poison that would make me break out in boils. “Why would you do that?”
“I assume if I say, ‘because you’re my wife’, it’s only going to fill you with rage?”
“I’m not your wife,” I cut back, taking a sip of the coffee he’d given me.
I wanted to moan at the taste, the honey used to sweeten it just the way I liked making my insides giddy, despite the proximity of my dangerous husband. How did he know how I took my coffee?
He gave the slightest quirk of his brow at my response to the drink. “The paperwork doesn’t lie, no matter how much you want it to.”
“Well, I’m yet to lay eyes on any kind of marriage license,” I countered.
“That can be arranged if it’s what you need.”
I stared back at him, trying to puzzle his intentions out. He’d defended me against Trent, now he was bringing me coffee and talking about our marriage license.
His expression revealed absolutely nothing though. He took a single step, closing the space between us and leaning in so he could whisper a complete conversational pivot in my ear.
“I have no idea what you were looking at on your phone just now, but if you agreed to be my wife, I could make you blush harder than that.”
A shiver skittered down my spine.
I was never going to be his wife.
And I would never let him see me blush for him in the bedroom.
He moved away, throwing a leg over the bike and gunning the engine.
I sipped my coffee, watching him go and refusing to give in to that little kernel of… something… trying to break free inside me when it came to Boston.
The next day he was waiting outside my morning class in his riding leathers, sans bike.
It made sense, given my class was right in the middle of campus and away from any of the parking lots.
Today he’d opted to lean against the low brick wall of the tiled outdoor walkway while he waited for me.
The sight of him still made my steps falter.
Why did he keep showing up like this?
Boston and I didn’t bother with greetings this time, I merely stopped in front of him in silence. He held out an unmarked brown paper bag.
“Is this a drug deal?” I asked, staring at him as I took the bag, but didn’t open it. “You seem like a drug dealer, given your family’s reputation.”
He pushed off the wall. “You say the sweetest things.”
His expression was completely unreadable, but I think he might have been… making a joke? What the hell was I supposed to do with that?
The idea that he might have tried lightness with me twisted my insides in a way I couldn’t understand.
I waited until he’d strolled off down the path to open the bag.
A gluten-free breakfast burrito from one of my favourite restaurants in Cape Canyon’s main street.
How did he know?
Boston’s campus visits to bring me coffee or food went on for the entire week.
Each day was something different than the last and each accompanied by that same sense of uneasiness that today might be the day he threw me over the back of his bike and drove me all the way to Seattle. The snacks weren’t unwelcome though.
He had a talent for timing his appearances with the rumble of my stomach or my desperate need for caffeine.
I stopped in front of him, my hair still damp after my morning swim practice. “What have you brought me today?”
The corner of his mouth almost kicked up. Maybe that was the most he ever smiled.
“It sounds like you might be coming around to me, Dempsey.”
My expression twisted. “You’re confused. I’m coming around to the snacks you bring me.”
He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against, handing me another brown paper bag. “Whatever you say, Firecracker.”
Before I had a chance to respond, he bounded down the steps, and I chastised myself for noticing the way his jeans hugged his ass and his motorcycle jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Hell no.
“Who the heck is that?” Arena asked, coming up next to me. Her eyes were glued to Boston as he disappeared down the path.
“Someone I wish I didn’t know.”
She frowned at me. “But he brought you food and he looks hot as fuck. Sounds like a dream man.”
She motioned to the bag and I opened it, pulling out two double glazed donuts.
Arena gratefully accepted the one I offered her, looping my arm in hers as we walked down the steps munching on the sweet dough.
“Whoever that man is, he has impeccable taste in pastries.”
It was a shame he had a less than impeccable moral compass and a reputation that would make the devil’s butthole pucker.
But I had to give it to Boston. The guy was either a secret psychic or an alien for bringing me snacks every day and knowing exactly what I wanted. Those were the only plausible explanations, because the notion he was in any way a decent guy was an option I wouldn’t let my mind consider.
He was a cold-hearted killer I wanted nothing to do with.
Right…?