Dangerous Exes (Page 17)

“You don’t need to understand, just accept it, and know that I get really hangry when I have to wait to get fed.”

Jessie’s eyes lit up a bit before he smirked at his menu. “Noted.”

I rolled my eyes and then remembered we had to look in love, so I leaned forward, careful to show off the sparkle of my diamond ring. “So, Blaire, things all quiet online?”

Blaire lifted a shoulder. “The story was just leaked about your engagement, so I guess we’ll see if phase one actually did anything before we move on to the next phase.”

“Come again?” Jessie dropped his menu.

“Phase two?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Um.” Blaire looked at me helpfully. “It’s just . . . it’s not enough you’re engaged, people are going to speculate that she moved into your rental because she was getting ready to move into the main house. So, phase two, meaning you move in. Together.”

I hung my head in my hands while Jessie said enough Hell no’s to make even the most secure woman want to jump off a cliff.

“That”—Jessie pointed his knife at Blaire—“is all speculation and assumption. What if we’re waiting to move in! Saving ourselves!”

A couple glanced over at us.

“Please stop talking,” I whispered. “People are staring, and the last thing they need to gossip about is me becoming a nun or Jessie not being able to get it up.”

“How the hell does that translate to him not being able to get it up?” Colin said a little too loud.

I ducked my head behind a menu. “Because people exaggerate. They’ll take the whole ‘living separately’ to mean second thoughts, problems in bed. Trust me, this is what we do for a living.”

Blaire nodded her head in agreement.

“No.” Jessie waved the knife in the air. “No, it’s my sanctuary, I finally got my crazy ex out of that place and now you want this one to move in?” He pointed the tip at me. “No.”

I grinned triumphantly.

Blaire nodded.

“She’s not moving in,” Jessie said in a stern voice. “That’s final.”

Chapter Seventeen

JESSIE

My domain.

My home.

My inner sanctum.

I’d finally gotten it back from my ex-wife’s greedy hands, finally embraced the single life.

Only to have Isla fucking Turner toss a throw pillow on my white leather couch.

It was red.

I hated it.

A red throw followed.

The color looked so out of place in my living room that I started getting anxious.

She was ruining everything.

Everything.

When she reached back into one of her suitcases, I put a stop to the madness, rushed over, and slammed it shut. “That’s enough.”

“That’s two of my things.”

“Exactly.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “What about my clothes? Toothbrush? Unmentionables?”

“Put your pink underwear in the washer with my whites and suffer the consequences.”

Her lips pressed together in a smirk. “Aw, Jessie, feeling a little bit uptight?”

I didn’t respond. If I did I’d end up strangling the expression from her face or maybe just kissing it away and then locking her in the guest room. Forget the whole “two hours of conversation a day,” I was tempted to kiss her senseless and send her packing back to her room.

“Why can’t you just keep things inside the suitcase and take them out as you need them?”

Her green eyes narrowed. “Because I live here now, at least temporarily, and I don’t want to live out of a suitcase.”

“Try,” I said through clenched teeth.

“You have no right to tell me what to do.” She jerked her suitcase away from my hands and opened it up again.

I tried jerking it back, but she was too fast. She hurled it upside down and every damn thing came tumbling out onto my newly cleaned marble floors.

I groaned and covered my eyes, so much color. “Did you mean to blind me?”

“Do you even know your primary colors? Because it concerns me, it really does, that you only wear black, white, and maybe gray if you feel like getting frisky. Your walls match the state of your clothing, which matches your stellar personality.” She grinned. “Maybe if you added a bit of spice to your life you wouldn’t have—”

She didn’t say it.

She didn’t have to.

Wouldn’t have lost Blaire to Colin?

Lost my wife in the beginning?

“Clean this shit up, I’m going to bed.”

She hung her head. “Where’s the guest room?”

“Pick one, pick all of them, just don’t come into mine.”

“Are we dealing with a real-life West Wing scenario here?” She laughed a bit.

My lips twitched but I didn’t give in. “I’m just trying to be a good roommate. The last thing you want is to walk in on me doing something you can’t unsee.”

“Honey.” Isla started piling things in her arms—oranges, reds, pinks, blues, I was dizzy trying to keep track. “I’ve seen it all.”

And because I never backed down from a challenge, I pulled her into my arms and pressed myself against her. “I highly doubt that.”

Her lips parted.

Her pulse was erratic.

I walked away.

Like an idiot with a swollen cock and a woman who hated me staring daggers at my back. It felt like déjà vu.

It felt like hell.

Ah, I nodded to myself.

Welcome to marriage!

Chapter Eighteen

ISLA

Darkness swallowed up the house, making me feel small. Every shadow that crept along the wall jolted me awake, ready to grab my hair dryer and wreak havoc on the unlucky bastard stupid enough to crawl through my window. It always ended up being a tree, or security checking the premises, something I really wish Jessie had warned me about.

It always took me a while to get used to a new place. Jessie’s house was gorgeous, but it was cold, lacking any sort of emotion or warmth, which left me more distressed than I normally would have been in an unfamiliar place.

I played with the ring, twisting it around my finger a few times as my stomach growled in protest. The clock said three a.m.

My stomach didn’t believe it.

It needed to be fed.

And I’d been so wound up after the magical fake engagement and Colin’s words coming through Jessie’s mouth that I’d only managed to eat a few bites before tapping out and forcing a smile on my face as people whispered and pointed.

And much to my horror—took pictures.

I’d been out of the limelight so long that I forgot how invasive it could be, forgot how paranoid it made a person feel to be constantly watched, to see your face on social media when you hadn’t given permission to take your picture in the first place.

I patted my stomach and tossed the white duvet from my legs. The ground was freezing thanks to Jessie’s love of slate flooring in every guest room. He should have at least put a few rugs down to bring some warmth to the place.

I had to admit I loved that each room had its own fireplace.

If I ever had enough money to build my dream house, that was the first thing I was going to do. I loved the heat.

When I lived with Wayne in his Hollywood Hills home, he hadn’t yet made it big, so everything was mortgaged to the hilt.

He never let me turn on the fireplaces because it would be an extra cost.