Page 4 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
She twists and screams, kicking her feet, the Beetle rocking side to side like a carriage traveling a rocky path, as I fight for her phone. As soon as I have it, I shove it under my butt, my jeans so tight that they’re liable to split right down my crack. Ihad nothing but time to work out, work out, and work out some more while I counted down the days until my release, and my old clothes no longer fit. I grab the lever beneath the seat, sliding as far back as I can so I’m not sitting with my knees practically jammed into my chest, giving me a little breathing room with the button on my waistband barely holding on. This car wasn’t made for a man my size, but it’s better than what I have now, which is diddly squat after I sold everything I own to pay for my expensive attorney, trying my best to stay out of prison so I could be by my brother’s side when he left this earth.
“No more cops,” I say, carefully rejoining traffic, keeping strictly under the speed limit. “I’m not going back to prison. Once was enough, you hear me?”
Mirabeth swallows and crosses her arms.
Grinding my teeth, I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I said, did. You. Hear. Me?”
“I heard you,” she says in a tiny, hitched voice as she shrinks.
I clear my throat and soften my tone. She’s scared enough as it is. “I know you didn’t sign up for this, metaphorically speaking, but you did, in fact,sign up for this,” I stress, “when you signed those forms.”
“They didn’t give me time to read them,” she says with a little pout, lifting her feet onto the seat to sit cross-legged, her sexy, baby blue dress riding up her sweet, sweet thighs with a curious amount of claw marks running the lengths of her shins. “My mom tricked me.”
“Then lesson learned—if someone is rushing you, it’s better to walk away than to blindly sign your life away.”
“No kidding,” she says, dropping her arms, toying with the hem of her dress.
“So, no more running or screaming in my face. The deal is three years, and we’ll make the best of it. You don’t have to worryabout me. I’ll stay out of your way, and then we’ll call it quits. You’ll never have to hear from or see me again, got it?”
She drops her head forward, shielding her face with her hair, and nods. “Ok,” she squeaks.
Well. That was easier than I expected, and I tap my fingers on the steering wheel cover, relaxing back in my seat, enjoying the fresh air that isn’t laced with chemical disinfectant and a thousand men’s body odor. Mirabeth doesn’t speak for the remainder of the short drive until I pull into the narrow parking lot of the Castaway Paradise apartment complex.
“How did you know I live here?”
I ruffle my hair, then slip my ball cap back on. “Saw your address on the paperwork.” I make sure to grab it, since it’s my ticket to freedom, and I plan to hide it somewhere safe. “My brother used to live here.” It’s still hard talking about him, and I’m grateful she doesn’t ask me any questions.
Mirabeth is hesitant to step out of the Beetle when I open her door, but she does at least give me a tiny, “Thank you.”
“Now, where to?” I ask, scanning the two-story complex, which only houses a dozen units. With the sun starting to set, the sky is ablaze in oranges and pinks. It’s been ages since I’ve seen it without any bars or stainless steel mesh marring the view, and I can’t get enough of the sight.
“Number eleven.” She points up and trudges toward the stairs on the right side of the complex with her purse clutched to her chest like she’s afraid I’m going to mug her.
My eyes are glued to Mirabeth’s little round asscheeks as I follow her up the stairs. She’s still limping and dragging along her high heel, for which I feel partly responsible, having sent her running earlier. I’d like to help by hauling her up over my shoulder, but then I’d just end up rubbing myself against her legs. Since I’m wholly uninterested in accidentally knocking up arandom woman, I firmly plan to keep my hands—and my dick—off of her.
The second unit to the left of the landing has a sky-blue door and a sunny yellow, half-circle doormat painted to look like a lemon. Beside it is a two-seater outdoor wicker couch with yellow cushions, along with a three-tiered planter of cacti, the gentle breeze stirring the colorful wind chimes hanging above. My heart squeezes in my chest at how homey it is, a complete one-eighty from the “home” I just spent the last five years surviving. It’s what I gave up when I went to prison for helping my brother, even knowing that my fiancée would end our engagement. She told me she wouldn’t wait around for me, and she meant it, heartlessly moving on in less than a month with someone I never thought I’d have to worry about.
Instead of handing Mirabeth her keys, I unlock the door and push it open for her.
“Wait!” she says, grabbing the doorknob to shut it quickly. “I need to talk to him first before I introduce you.”
“He who?” I demand, my hackles rising. “You have a man your mom doesn’t know about?” Wouldn’t it be just my luck if the wife I’m given turns out to already have a suitor? “You tell whoever he is to get lost, or I will,” I say dangerously, bending low to get in her face, crowding her against the door.
“You’re just going to have to deal with each other,” Mirabeth says impudently, though she’s quaking in her one heel.
“No.” I refuse to share space with another man so long as I live, unless it’s my future son moving back home if he ever falls on hard times. “I can’t and won’t stop you from dating, even though our marriage agreement includes an infidelity clause, but if he wants to stay here, then he’ll have to wait until I’m gone in three years.”
“You try telling him that and see how far you get.” She falls back into the apartment when she opens the door and calls out, “Merlin?”
Adrenaline surges through my veins when Mirabeth spins and is back to screaming with terror again. She jumps up and throws her arms over my shoulders, her knees gripping my sides as she tries to climb up my body to get away from the threat, knocking my hat off. I stumble backward against the wrought iron railing, supporting her with my hands on the backs of her thighs beneath her dress.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she screams directly in my ear while twisting to look at the man at her back. “I promise I’ll never leave you again! Just don’t hurt me!”
The hell is going on?
This is the most human contact I’ve had with anyone other than a hug from my mother and sister during their visits, and my body responds accordingly. Apparently, going back to prisonissomething I’m willing to do, because I pull Mirabeth off, ready to step in and defend her.
Chest heaving, hands fisted, ready to grind someone into dust, I’m confronted by…a cat? The fat orange cat flicks his tail with annoyance as he sits like a good boy just inside the door.
