“I hate her.” He stabs his poor, helpless omelet with his fork. “Hate her so bad. She’s such a power-tripping bully.”
I make a sympathetic noise. It would be the end of the world as I know it if Max ever developed warm feelings for Grandma. She’s the reason he prefers to grunt. She could turn even the most gregarious extrovert into a mute, with her out-of-this-world power to nitpick every word and argue and berate and belittle. I don’t talk much around her, either, but my reaction hasn’t been as extreme as Max’s.
“Anyway, I’ll figure something out. I always do,” I say, trying to console him. And to stop him from continuing to stab that omelet. It’s not good form to break a restaurant’s plates.
“I’ll buy the house,” Max says.
“How? You already tried, and she
said no. I doubt she’s going to change her mind now. It isn’t like she’s hurting for money.”
Grandma might be a complete harpy, but she’s a money whisperer. Most of my relatives aren’t rolling in dough. As a matter of fact, I doubt any one of them knows how to balance a checkbook. They depend on Grandma to rescue them from one financial disaster after another, throwing away their pride every time they come begging. And it’s obvious how special and powerful that makes her feel.
“I’ll figure something out,” he says grimly. “I’m not letting you marry some loser. You should marry nothing less than a prince of a man, Bean.”
So like my brother to be all protective and dependable. Even though I’m certain he’s going to fail, I smile anyway. “Thanks.”
Max doesn’t need to worry. I’ve already got a plan to get myself a husband for a year.
Chapter Six
Devlin
I wake up and shift a little, feeling the smooth sheets slide against my bare skin. I feel more refreshed and relaxed than that time I had a two-hour-long hot stone massage.
It’s the sex. The best damn fucking sex of my life. I kept getting hard, like Ms. Bad cast a Viagra spell on me. I’m pretty sure my balls are empty of swimmers right now.
Aaand there it is again. Just thinking about what she and I did last night is making my dick perk up. Maybe it won’t get tired until we have sex so much the skin goes totally raw.
I turn and reach over to take her into my arms…and find nothing but cool emptiness. If the spot were warmer, I might assume she went to the bathroom, but no.
The bed’s cold and she’s gone.
Why the hell would she leave? Every woman on earth wants to stick around the morning after. And it’s not like I was the only one having a fabulous time. She bucked and rocked and cried for hours as she climaxed over and over again.
My dick gets harder. Come on, idiot. She isn’t here.
Maybe it’s for the best. She could’ve gotten clingy, right? That does happen with depressing regularity…
Problem is, I would’ve loved to have her cling. And it’s no use trying to lie to myself. I stopped doing that when it comes to women. It’s how I didn’t see what Ashley was as early as I should have, and I’m not making that mistake again.
I get off the bed. I shouldn’t care if Ms. Bad stuck around or not. It isn’t like there aren’t a million other women out there. Hell, chances are I’ll pick up a few just walking outside the hotel.
My gaze falls to the floor. I kick my pants out of the way and something falls out of one leg. Hello, little thong.
She must’ve left in a hurry if she didn’t take her underwear. Or maybe she left it in my pants as a memento? Some women have tried that. But I don’t remember anybody by their underwear.
I step over the tiny lace and strings, heading toward the bathroom. Then stop and turn around.
Maybe I shouldn’t just let it sit on the floor. I could make an exception. After all, she blew my mind. Her underwear deserves more respect.
I pick up the thong and toss it on a pillow. After a shower and room service, I start packing shoving all my stuff into my suitcase…and stop when the thong catches my eye again.
It’s a nice thong. I lean closer.
Smells like her, too.
Fine. I’ll take it. But mainly because I don’t want some pervert who works at the hotel masturbating to it. Only I should be able to do that.