Page 119 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
I do, and he knows that. We’re walking a dangerous line here as it is.
“I won’t do anything to stand against Cat—unless I have to, in order to protect you, the other guys, Reba, Fem, or Grey. Does that work?”
The look that Crown throws me clearly says fuck no.
“You’re impossible,” he says, but he’s got that gleam in his eyes again, the one that says that, as annoyed as he is with me, he also loves this. It’s exactly how I feel about him. It feels good to be annoyed by this man. Crown studies me and then snorts bemusedly, reaching up to rub at his face. “I love the way you look, sitting on my bed like this.”
“Maybe you’d like it even more if you knew I wasn’t wearing any panties under this t-shirt?” I tell him, picking at the fabric of the oversized tee that I’m wearing. It’s basically a nightgown; it falls halfway down my thighs when I’m standing. But when I lean back in the pillows and move to spread my legs, Crown reaches out and grabs my knees, pushing them back together which is totally the opposite of what he should be doing. “Really? The guy who got his name from ending up drunk on a roof with a groupie sucking his dick doesn’t want to see my pretty, pink cunt?”
Crown stands up suddenly and throws a dark look my way.
“I never said that,” he starts, and then he’s slipping off one shoulder holster and then the other. Fem eyes the man from his position on the reading nook bench, curled into a ball with his fluffy tail resting over his nose. He’s starting to learn that we don’t need to attack the men at every given opportunity. I do still have to lock him in the bathroom in order to fuck in peace though. He doesn’t like the screams. “And anyway, the way you brought that up …”
He turns back to look at me, a slight smile on his usually stern mouth.
“You’re jealous.” It’s said like a statement rather than what it really is: total bullshit.
“I’m not jealous. That’d be ridiculous.” I shrug my shoulders. “You aren’t jealous that I screwed the school quarterback, are you?” I relax back into the pillows as Crown looks me over like he doesn’t believe me.
“Why do I doubt that a bourgeois boy like Trevone Hundley could ever excite someone like you?” he asks, slipping his wifebeater off and showing off that perfect chest and stomach. I find my eyes drawn down the length of his torso, caught on that sweet spot between his waistband and navel.
Shit, fuck, motherfucker. What was I supposed to be doing again?
I force my eyes up to his face, but he’s already grinning; he already knows. He’s proving a point.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, his voice dark but tinged with that hint of playfulness that I’ve seen on rare occasions, like that day he swam in our pool for, well, shit, God only knows the reason for that.
He was teasing me, I think.
'“How do you know who Trevone Hundley is?” I ask, but then, that’s a stupid question. “Never mind. Don’t tell me how Cat had you creepily stalk and research everyone I was hanging out with.”
“Mm. He only wanted to make sure none of your …” Crown trails off and then sighs. “Friends were involved with the mafia. Other than that, any stalking I did was on my own merit.” Our eyes meet, and my breath is just sucked right the fuck out of my lungs like I’ve been ejected into the vacuum of space or something.
“You stalked my boyfriend?” I ask, choosing that word with a very specific purpose in mind. I lean fully back, elbows out behind me, legs lifted and crossed at the ankles. It wouldn’t take much to flash Crown with a perfect view of … well, everything. “That’s creepy, Calder Reid. What sort of cop are you?”
“Not a very good one, apparently,” he says, his voice dry as he shakes his head with this low, masculine laugh that makes my skin pebble with goose bumps. “Did you know that I was hired to infiltrate DBD?” Crown slides a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and moves over to the window. He shoos Fem off the cushion without getting bitten which just blows my fucking mind.
I’ve never seen my dog respond to a man’s command. Fem hops onto the end of the bed as easily as if he still had four legs, and then curls into a ball with a sigh of frustration. Personally, I’m just staring at Crown, my legs falling to the mattress as I sit up and then turn to face him as he pushes the window open and perches on the sill. He, of course, makes sure to kick his boots off before putting his feet on the cushion of the reading nook.
