Page 100 of Two Wrongs
‘Please,’ I scoff. ‘No one likes a Bobby big balls, you know.’
‘A what?’ he half laughs, half asks.
‘A Bobby big balls? Someone who has to blow their own trumpet because—’
He laughs louder now. ‘Like you wouldn’t blow my trumpet given half a chance.’ His tone is as playful as his gaze. ‘And now you’re imagining it, aren’t you, babe?’
‘I so am not!’ I protest, swatting his chest with the back of my hand. ‘This isn’t much of a disguise, you know.’ My hand dips, rubbing the nearly black scruff across his jaw. ‘You really could do with a shave.’
‘You’re gonna need to get used to it. It’s for a project,’ he answers cryptically. ‘And you didn’t seem to mind last night.’ He trails a finger between my breasts, down over our baby bump, and farther still to between my legs. Heat prickles against my cheeks as he leans down and kisses my belly. ‘Morning, Not-Vlad. Cover your ears, little fella.’ Then he straightens a touch, whispering above me, ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure I could’ve fucked you at the front door without protest.’
‘Maybe I was trying to get used to the world seeing my bum.’
Dylan sighs, his brow furrowing. ‘I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’d like to get on the right side of your family when the time comes.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just, when you decide to tell them. I’d like it to be for the right reasons, Edera. Not because the world’s watching us fucking.’
‘Maybe they won’t hear about it?’
Worst-case scenario, I could warn Mac not to watch and hope the press doesn’t find out who I am. I sigh because I don’t want to think about it this morning.I don’t want to think about it any morning.
‘I’ve heard your brother has a mean right hook.’
‘And my dad has a gun. No pressure or anything.’ I laugh at his horrified expression. ‘But I’ll tell them—’
‘A gun!’ I laugh again. ‘Why would you mention that?’
‘Don’t worry. My mum won’t let him kill you; not the father of her grandchild. But maybe maim? Maybe I’ll protect you,’ I reply with a playful pout. ‘If you make it worth my while.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ His lips hover over mine, his soft breath tantalising my skin. ‘And just how would I do that?’
‘Well...’ I tiptoe my fingers down the middle of his chest. ‘You know that trumpet you were talking about?’
His eyes cloud with desire, and he breathes my nameright at the same moment ... I hear my mother calling the same.
‘Fuck!’ In a panic, I push at Dylan’s chest; only I push so hard he falls out of my tiny bed. His arse hits the floor with a loudthunkand a low curse.
What happens next is an issue all of my own making because, ordinarily, she wouldn’t enter my bedroom without knocking once at least, so I don’t know which of us is more surprised... shocked... desperate to turn back the clock as the door burst open and she dashes in.
‘Oh, my Lord!’ She covers her eyes and quickly turns away. ‘I thought you’d fallen. Oh, sweet baby Jesus! Mac, get out!’ She slams the door in my brother’s startled face.
‘Mum, what are you doing here?’
Feet planted wide, she pushes her back against the bedroom door as my brother begins hammering on the wood, quickly squeezing her eyes closed with a squeak. Because it seems at that exact moment, Dylan had decided to stand—very naked and semi-hard—to slip his jeans back on.
‘We thought we’d surprise you, not the other way around!’
‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ I protest.
‘No, not at all,’ Dylan agrees as my brother begins hammering the door with his fist, causing it to jump in its frame. He slides his hand out of his pocket, pulling out a necklace or a chain, his fingers fumbling with the clasp. It takes me a moment to realise what’s hanging from there, my mind flashing back to the last day I saw it.
The day we fucked in LA. It was hanging from a chain then, too. A chain around my neck.
Exactly one second before the door bursts open, Dylan grabs my left hand, sliding my wedding ring back where it belongs as he whispers, ‘I don’t want to be shot.’
‘What the feck is going on in here?’ my dad roars, my lovely ape of a brother beating his chest just behind.Okay, not really. ‘You!’ He points one blunt finger at Dylan. ‘Why have you got your hand on my daughter’s erse?’
