“Something tells me you’re a very deep man, Mr Vaughn,” she says with a grin as I push up off the bed.
Shaking my head at her and grinning, I walk into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear someone knocking on the front door and Presley padding on the carpet to answer it. I’m less than fucking impressed when I make out the voice of her husband. I’ve no idea if she’s heard from him since the charity dinner because I never asked her, and she never said anything else about him after that night. Thinking about him twists my gut with both anger and jealousy. I’m angry that someone like him treated Presley so bad, and jealous because he’s still in her life. And while I believe she’s done with him, that doesn’t cure it.
Fucking jealousy.
I’ve never suffered with it in my life. Ever. And I fucking hate that I am now. When that dickhead spoke to Presley last night outside the club, I was angry someone would talk to her that way, but, more than anything, I was jealous. And fuck if that didn’t rile me up even more.
I finish in the bathroom, pull on some jeans, and slowly make my way to the front door. My desire to give Presley her space leads me to wait in the hallway for her, but my insane possessiveness over her means I can’t drag myself away from their conversation.
“What are you doing here, Lennon? I thought I made it clear yesterday that I didn’t want to see you again.” The hurt in Presley’s voice is evident and that twists me up. I ball my fists and clench them as I think about her pain.
“I need to explain something to you. Something I think you may have misunderstood the other night,” Lennon replies.
“I’ll listen, but it won’t change anything between us.”
He sighs. “Can I at least come in?”
I have to restrain myself from joining their conversation and telling him to stay the fuck out of her home.
“No,” she says, and I almost sag in relief.
“I didn’t sleep with Van’s fiancé while you and I were still together. That happened after you left.” When Presley doesn’t reply, he adds, “You’ve gotta believe me, baby.”
That’s fucking it.
Stalking the short distance from the hallway to the front door, I make my way to where Presley is and I slide my arms around her and pull her tight against me. Glaring at Lennon, I growl, “That’s the last time you’ll call her that.”
Lennon’s gaze flicks me and his face hardens. “I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want to call her. She is my wife, after all.”
I fight the desire to punch the motherfucker. I want to, but I don’t. More for Presley’s sake than any other reason.
Presley shakes her head and mutters, “I told you yesterday that I’m only your wife on paper. And not to call me that anymore. Now, you’ve said what you came to say, so you can leave. I don’t really care when you slept with that woman because it doesn’t change the fact you were a bad husband.”
My hold on her tightens and I take a step back, pulling her with me. “Don’t come back here. In fact, don’t come near Presley again. She’s made it clear what she wants.”
Lennon opens his mouth to say something further but I silence him. “Save it, Lennon, she’s not interested.”
Presley turns in my embrace and whispers, “Thank you,” before shrugging out of my hold and walking back into the house, leaving me alone with Lennon.
I continue glaring at him, waiting for him to try and make another move on her. My fists are itching to get to work, and I won’t hesitate if he keeps at it.
We face off for a good few minutes before he finally says, “You’re an asshole, Jett, and she’s gonna figure that out soon enough, and then she’ll come straight back to me.” As soon as he has the words out, he turns and stalks away, leaving me standing there fuming. But it’s good to see the back of him.
He’s wrong, though.
I’m going to make damn sure Presley never goes back to him.
I shut the door and go to find her. She’s back in her bedroom, her back to me, and I put my arms around her and pull her to me. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” The anger and jealousy has been replaced with concern. I’d do anything to make sure she’s okay.
Turning, she gives me a smile. Even though it’s a weak one, I’m glad to see it on her lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for that.”
I kiss her, and the moment our lips meet, I feel the energy flow between us. She gives herself over to me, and I put everything into the kiss. I need her to know I’m here for her and that I’m ready to be the man she needs.
When I end the kiss, her eyes tell me she felt everything I felt in that moment.
We don’t need words.
I love that because sometimes words fail me.
“What are your plans for today?” I ask, not letting her go.
“I’ve still got some photos from your concert to edit. How about you? Are you working?”
“Nope, not working today so I’m all yours. Any ideas for what we could do?”
Laughter escapes from her lips and my dick jerks. God, I want her again. She pushes me away playfully and says, “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas for what we could do, but only one idea for what I will be doing. I won’t bore you with the details of what you’ll be missing out on, though.” She winks and turns to walk out of the bedroom.
A second later, I lift her from behind, carry her back into the bedroom and throw her onto the bed. Climbing on top of her, I bend my face to hers and growl, “How about I tell you what you’d be missing out on then?”
Shaking my head at her and grinning, I walk into the bathroom. A few minutes later, I hear someone knocking on the front door and Presley padding on the carpet to answer it. I’m less than fucking impressed when I make out the voice of her husband. I’ve no idea if she’s heard from him since the charity dinner because I never asked her, and she never said anything else about him after that night. Thinking about him twists my gut with both anger and jealousy. I’m angry that someone like him treated Presley so bad, and jealous because he’s still in her life. And while I believe she’s done with him, that doesn’t cure it.
Fucking jealousy.
I’ve never suffered with it in my life. Ever. And I fucking hate that I am now. When that dickhead spoke to Presley last night outside the club, I was angry someone would talk to her that way, but, more than anything, I was jealous. And fuck if that didn’t rile me up even more.
I finish in the bathroom, pull on some jeans, and slowly make my way to the front door. My desire to give Presley her space leads me to wait in the hallway for her, but my insane possessiveness over her means I can’t drag myself away from their conversation.
“What are you doing here, Lennon? I thought I made it clear yesterday that I didn’t want to see you again.” The hurt in Presley’s voice is evident and that twists me up. I ball my fists and clench them as I think about her pain.
“I need to explain something to you. Something I think you may have misunderstood the other night,” Lennon replies.
“I’ll listen, but it won’t change anything between us.”
He sighs. “Can I at least come in?”
I have to restrain myself from joining their conversation and telling him to stay the fuck out of her home.
“No,” she says, and I almost sag in relief.
“I didn’t sleep with Van’s fiancé while you and I were still together. That happened after you left.” When Presley doesn’t reply, he adds, “You’ve gotta believe me, baby.”
That’s fucking it.
Stalking the short distance from the hallway to the front door, I make my way to where Presley is and I slide my arms around her and pull her tight against me. Glaring at Lennon, I growl, “That’s the last time you’ll call her that.”
Lennon’s gaze flicks me and his face hardens. “I’ll call her whatever the fuck I want to call her. She is my wife, after all.”
I fight the desire to punch the motherfucker. I want to, but I don’t. More for Presley’s sake than any other reason.
Presley shakes her head and mutters, “I told you yesterday that I’m only your wife on paper. And not to call me that anymore. Now, you’ve said what you came to say, so you can leave. I don’t really care when you slept with that woman because it doesn’t change the fact you were a bad husband.”
My hold on her tightens and I take a step back, pulling her with me. “Don’t come back here. In fact, don’t come near Presley again. She’s made it clear what she wants.”
Lennon opens his mouth to say something further but I silence him. “Save it, Lennon, she’s not interested.”
Presley turns in my embrace and whispers, “Thank you,” before shrugging out of my hold and walking back into the house, leaving me alone with Lennon.
I continue glaring at him, waiting for him to try and make another move on her. My fists are itching to get to work, and I won’t hesitate if he keeps at it.
We face off for a good few minutes before he finally says, “You’re an asshole, Jett, and she’s gonna figure that out soon enough, and then she’ll come straight back to me.” As soon as he has the words out, he turns and stalks away, leaving me standing there fuming. But it’s good to see the back of him.
He’s wrong, though.
I’m going to make damn sure Presley never goes back to him.
I shut the door and go to find her. She’s back in her bedroom, her back to me, and I put my arms around her and pull her to me. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” The anger and jealousy has been replaced with concern. I’d do anything to make sure she’s okay.
Turning, she gives me a smile. Even though it’s a weak one, I’m glad to see it on her lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you for that.”
I kiss her, and the moment our lips meet, I feel the energy flow between us. She gives herself over to me, and I put everything into the kiss. I need her to know I’m here for her and that I’m ready to be the man she needs.
When I end the kiss, her eyes tell me she felt everything I felt in that moment.
We don’t need words.
I love that because sometimes words fail me.
“What are your plans for today?” I ask, not letting her go.
“I’ve still got some photos from your concert to edit. How about you? Are you working?”
“Nope, not working today so I’m all yours. Any ideas for what we could do?”
Laughter escapes from her lips and my dick jerks. God, I want her again. She pushes me away playfully and says, “Oh, I’ve got plenty of ideas for what we could do, but only one idea for what I will be doing. I won’t bore you with the details of what you’ll be missing out on, though.” She winks and turns to walk out of the bedroom.
A second later, I lift her from behind, carry her back into the bedroom and throw her onto the bed. Climbing on top of her, I bend my face to hers and growl, “How about I tell you what you’d be missing out on then?”
