Dangerous Exes (Page 25)

“That’s nice.” Sweet, thoughtful, wonderful. Stoppppp . . .

“I’m a nice guy.” His eyes fell to my mouth again. I licked my lips and nodded my head in agreement.

“Should you grab your laptop?”

“Oh.” I jumped to my feet. “Yeah, I’ll just be right back.”

I slammed my hand against my head once I made it to the guest room, grabbed my laptop, and rushed back out to the living room. Jessie had refilled my wineglass and turned down all the lights.

What’s worse.

He grabbed a blanket.

Didn’t he know I was already burning up?

I smiled and set the laptop up.

He put the blanket over me.

Sweet. Fresh. Hell.

I was going to end up leaving a sweat print against his leather, and I knew that wouldn’t go over smoothly.

He wrapped an arm around me and pulled me close.

So hot.

Burning up.

I yawned.

The last thing I remembered was a kiss to my forehead, but I must have imagined it, because when I woke up, I was in my bed with the blanket tucked up to my chin, and a smile on my face.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

JESSIE

Watching her sleep was only creepy if she woke up. I tried to take my eyes away from her face—but with her sleeping and her claws tucked underneath the blanket, it was probably the only chance I was going to get to really study her face, the place where her eyes meet her nose, the way her chin juts out just enough to show her sharp jawline, only adding to the sassiness I’d come to realize was just part of her personality. She inhaled deeply and turned on her side, pressing a hand to my chest and grabbing hold of my shirt.

The feeling that came with that hold.

With that touch.

Was entirely foreign.

I couldn’t categorize it, and that left me panicked in a way I wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t lustful, it wasn’t even love, it was something much more dangerous.

Trust.

It was a touch that said you’ll protect me, you’ll keep me safe, don’t hurt me, and I was the last guy she should be touching like that. With the past that I had, with the present demons I was fighting while trying to find myself again and destroy the very woman I blamed for taking everything from me.

It wasn’t her.

But her business was the tool that threw my life into the very chaos I’d always been so afraid of.

I was still spinning.

Still running.

Still trying to find my footing, and she made it so much worse—there was nothing calming or serene about Isla, she was as collected as she was fiery, a complete contradiction on a daily basis.

I had no way to categorize her.

And it bothered me.

Because my entire life I’d been able to categorize people.

Colin? Best friend, brother from another mother, loyal to a fault, and would kick my ass without thinking.

Blaire. She’d been the one who got away, the one I compared everyone to, the one who always came out on top. And then after seeing her again, the only feeling I’d ever really had for her had been desperation—I’d wanted someone to want me, and I knew she could.

But I’d never wanted her in that way, not really.

I’d just wanted an escape from my hell.

Which brings me to Vanessa.

Fucking. Vanessa.

She’d been the trophy I was so obsessed with obtaining. But up close, I saw the scratches, the flaws, the manipulations, the need to be the best at everything, to beat everyone. The world revolved around her and she didn’t have a place in her life for those who didn’t agree.

My OCD had gotten worse with her, not better.

Because I’d tried to control her as much as she controlled me, she helped me justify my need for perfection, she fed it, made me think it was normal to panic over having dirty floors, normal to yell at a waiter for spilling red wine on the pristine white table.

She made me feel normal for those feelings.

When deep down I knew it just made me an insecure jackass who cared way too much about what people thought of him.

I reached out and ran my fingers through Isla’s hair. It felt like silk. I wrapped a few pieces around my fingers, tugging them as I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Maybe my view of perfection was wrong—had been wrong all along.

It wasn’t the perfect house.

The perfect wife.

It wasn’t the perfect life or career.

It was moments like this, with a woman I would never understand or deserve, lying on my lap asleep, and me wishing I could hold on to the seconds a little bit longer.

Keep the moment for me and only me.

It was the moments that looked like chaos but felt like peace.

Perfection wasn’t my world.

Perfection was hers.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

ISLA

Breakfast was torture.

I typically did a bowl of oatmeal with my coffee, then, if I was still hungry, made an egg with my sweet Asian chili sauce, the only way to have eggs. But this morning was different.

I was in his kitchen.

Eating.

Cooking.

Sure, I’d painted his walls and raised hell, but things had shifted enough that I felt awkward.

I should have known it wouldn’t last long.

The awkwardness.

Our clashing personalities wouldn’t allow it.

So when I finally made it into the kitchen and plugged my ears because the Ninja blender was so loud, I knew I was in for a rude awakening.

The man didn’t do breakfast.

And he also didn’t clothe himself in the mornings.

No, I was greeted by two overly large pecs.

A six-pack that looked more like an eight if you actually stared hard enough.

The V women drool over whenever they watch Ryan Gosling movies.

And triceps that looked like they deserved their own zip code.

Who the hell works out their triceps that hard?

I gulped and nervously tucked my hair behind my ears as my heels clicked against the slate. “Morning.”

Jessie looked up and grinned.

It was a smile I could get used to, damn him. It was so much easier when he was being a creepy stalker jackass with binoculars. I almost rolled my eyes when he poured part of the gross green contents into his glass, only to have some spill onto that perfect chest when he took a long gulp.

It would be rude not to tell him.

Just like it would be rude not to volunteer to lick it off.

I kept my hands pinned at my sides.

The man made me crazy.

In all the worst ways.

I hated protein shakes.

“Made you one.” He grabbed another glass and poured while my stomach clenched with anxiety. It was green! I didn’t even see the label! I was into labels. He knows this! I at least wanted to know what I was drinking so I could decide for myself, but he made me breakfast—I winced—in his own jock way.

It was sweet.

I took the glass with a shaky hand and sniffed.

“Did you just sniff?”

“No,” I lied.

He leaned his massive body against the counter. “Liar, I saw your nose move. What? Don’t trust me not to poison you?”

“Actually I was more worried about what I was drinking, but poison brings this to a whole new level.”

“Arsenic typically does.” He moved and braced his hands on the counter. “Come on, just one sip.”

“But”—I looked into the glass and made a face—“it’s green.”

“And the licorice you and Blaire always eat is red. Coffee’s black, especially yours . . .”

I narrowed my eyes. “See all that with your binoculars, did you?”