Dangerous Exes (Page 24)

I laughed.

It felt so damn good. “Know many snipers, pumpkin?”

Her answer was a shrug.

Note to self.

Never piss her off.

Chapter Twenty-Six

ISLA

Jessie’s expression was more pained than angry when we finally settled onto the couch with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

He checked his watch as if he was going to start a timer, which yesterday would have made me laugh or roll my eyes. But today? After tasting him, after doing something that I didn’t normally do—hadn’t really ever fully done if I was being completely honest—it stung.

I didn’t want him keeping track of the minutes.

I wanted him counting them down, coveting each one.

He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair, mussing it up before turning to me and grimacing. “It’s not really something I talk about.”

“Really?” I said in a deadpan voice. “I’m surprised that you don’t gush all your secrets to Colin over wine and then sob into the nut bowl, do men not do this? Astonishing!”

“The nut bowl?”

“Mixed nuts, the ones at the bars.” I sighed. “I’m a good listener, I promise, plus I kind of feel like you owe me an explanation for that bomb.”

“More like I owe you.” His face transformed into a grin.

“Don’t keep track, you’ll only ever be in debt.”

He coughed out a laugh. “Does this whole pillow-talk conversation mean you’re going to stop painting my walls?”

I was momentarily stunned by his deep laugh but quickly recovered. “I don’t know, are you actually going to buy milk?”

“That depends, are you going to turn my pantry into an Asian market?”

I grinned, my aunt would be proud. “You’ll change your tune after I start cooking.”

Bachelors. So. Easy. His face lit up like a Christmas tree at the idea of cooking, I could practically see his mind working.

“You win,” he finally said.

“I always do.”

He narrowed his eyes, shook his head, and then poured me a glass of wine and one for himself. “If you were Colin or anyone else I’d just say she was a manipulative witch that I didn’t want touching me, I’d say I didn’t want her whore mouth anywhere near my cock.”

I nodded. That’s what I expected. But something in his expression told me it was more. “I’m not Colin, or anyone else.”

“No,” he exhaled. “You’re not.”

“Fiancée.” I showed him my ring.

It made him smile at least, even though it was small, maybe even more like a grimace. I tried not to look deflated.

“The truth.” He wasn’t looking at me, he stared into his wine and exhaled again. “The truth is I don’t think she was ever really attracted to me as a man. She was attracted to my money, my title, my fame.” His voice lowered. “There was nothing else I had that she wanted.” He tilted the wine back. “God, it sounds worse saying it out loud than it did in my head. No man ever likes hearing from a beautiful woman that he lacks in areas that matter, that a woman as attractive as Vanessa didn’t want him.”

“Vanessa”—I said that woman’s name with venom—“is the ugliest person I have ever known. Ugliest.” I had to say it twice. I was ready to kick her ass and I wasn’t the fighter of the group, that all went to Blaire. But Jessie’s expression was so . . . devastated.

I’d never seen a man so willing to share insecurity.

So confident in every area of his life except one.

A big one. One that mattered, especially in a relationship.

“And I want to throw my stiletto at her Botox-injected face.” I gritted my teeth. “Honestly, she saved you by not touching you in that way, hell, she could have ruined blow jobs forever for you! Can you imagine?”

“That would be a travesty.” He finally looked at me, his eyes locked on with an intensity I’d never experienced before.

“Yes.” I squirmed in the chair. “World-ending.”

“Catastrophic.”

I grinned. “Her loss, Jessie.”

“You’re not just saying that because you’re my fiancée?” he probed, his eyes searching mine in a way that made my knees weak, even though I was sitting down.

“I’m saying that because it’s true. Your relationship ending was the best thing that could have happened to you. And you know it. What’s better is that you never let her lips touch you.”

He winced.

“What?”

“There’s more . . .”

“More?” Did we need another bottle of wine? What could he possibly mean, more?

He eyed the wine like he was contemplating chugging the whole bottle before he faced me again and said, “A year.”

“A year?”

“No sex for a year, not with her, not with anybody else.” He exhaled and then shrugged. “I couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even look at her some days.”

“You’re not the only one.” I took a drink of wine. “I still can’t look at her, and she never cheated on me, just made my eye twitch and gave Blaire hives.”

“I think she has that effect on most people,” Jessie joked, pouring himself more wine and taking a huge gulp.

“So today . . .” I just had to probe, didn’t I? “That was your first, uh, sexual encounter since—”

“Yup.”

“Oh.”

“You can wipe that grin off your face now, I’m right here.” He filled my glass while I kept smiling. “Oh hell, what do you want? An award? A high five? Do I need to tell you how good it was? How I felt my balls tighten so fast and hard that I almost passed out on top of you? Or that watching you drop to your knees was one of the most arousing things I’ve ever seen in my life? That it turned me on to see your tongue touch me? The warmth of your mouth—I don’t think I’ll ever get over or forget. Yes, Isla, to all those things. You did all those things. And I’m probably not going to sleep for a year because of it.”

My heart skipped a beat, stuttered to a stop, and then pounded as he talked. I opened my mouth to speak but had no words. So I just stared at him.

He stared back.

And that’s how we sat for a few minutes in each other’s company, drinking wine, stealing glances. My mind whirled, and my body wanted.

I felt his intensity.

I could feel it sizzle in the air, touch it with my fingertips.

It was insane.

“So,” I finally choked out, “should we keep watching American Gods?”

He cleared his throat and checked his damn watch.

My heart deflated a bit.

“I’m stealing time,” he whispered.

“What was that?” My head whipped in his direction so fast a flash of pain hit my neck.

“Time,” he said again with that same confident voice that oozed sexuality and made me want to lean closer just so I could feel the words hit my face. “I’m going to borrow from the day we made the agreement to get married, we never had our two hours that day. Technically they’re owed to me, and I’m adding them to today.”

“Is that your way of saying you want more hours?”

“Yeah.”

“You could have just asked.”

“You like rules.” He smiled. “And I like control, right? Both of us have our things . . . if I asked you for more time, if I went over today without explanation you would wonder, you’d analyze, you wouldn’t sleep, and you’d have to write it into your little calendar and then wreck yourself planning for the next day.” He grinned. “I’m just helping you out.”