The Perfect Wrong, page 10
I push her away gently and start walking, only stopping to look back over my shoulder and say, “Duty is one demanding bitch in my line of work. Sorry. I’ll pick up the tab.”
Trying to let her down easy doesn’t do much to sweep away that scolded look in her eye.
I take care of the bill like the anti-gentleman I am on the way out, grateful she’s too tipsy to come begging for my number.
On the drive over to home, unsweet home, I pound my fist on the wheel, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
Did I just give up guaranteed easy pussy for a teary-eyed talk with my prissy little stepsister?
I sigh, wondering if this cartel threat is digging deeper into my head than I feared.
At the gate, Jeeves gives me the same shitty sneer he wore the first time he saw me. I glare back until he punches the button to open up, then floor it up the long, hilly driveway.
Hell, even the entrance feels just as pretentious and alien as it was the first time.
Soon, I’m inside, standing under the big glass chandelier that looks like it was designed by Dale Chihuly himself when I text her.
Here.
Delia comes sailing down the wide marble stairs about a minute later, and my eyes pop out of my fucking skull.
Gone is the sleek, conservative crap I’ve seen her dressed in before. She’s traded it for a short pomegranate-red dress, cut low in all the right places to show off skin.
Perfectly grabbable tits foaming out of her top like cream on a latte.
An ass crafted to fight over.
Honey-brown eyes so bright and nervous.
My dick throbs, begging for release in her tight, wet warmth.
For a split second, I don’t know whether to throw on the only suit I’ve got and take her out or just rip that shit off so I can fuck her right here in our parents’ entryway.
She lights up with a smile when she sees me staring too long.
If I was a robot, right now I’d be stuck on a blue screen error with steam shooting out my ears.
When she finally stops next to me, I can’t help it.
I reach out, grab her around the waist with a spin, and fling her against the wall.
“You said you want to talk?” I growl, breathing on her neck.
“Um, yes?”
“And you come down here looking like that? Fuck. You’re not dressed for conversation. I think you know it, too, princess,” I rasp, slowly inhaling her, trying like hell to pull myself away from her hair.
She whimpers with surprise before I let up, and then she shimmies out from under me, an annoyed look on her face.
“Dude. I don’t even know what you mean. Would a hello kill you?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Would it? I’m giving you fair warning right now, Miss Delia—head games and cockteases do not jive with me. So unless you want to head upstairs and let me shred that dress into confetti, you’d better start talking now. That’s the only reason I’m still standing here and I’m not already in my room.”
She flushes cherry-red and holds up her hands.
“I’m not that kind of girl and you—you know we can’t.”
“Yeah?” I shoot her a dirty look. “If it’s so wrong, why can’t I peel my mind off it? And judging by the way you’re dressed, neither can you.”
She’s not entirely wrong.
I just wish I knew what she’s up to.
“Oh, please. I don’t just jump into bed with anyone. Definitely not you,” she insists.
Liar.
Devious, honey-eyed sex-on-a-stick liar.
“Whatever, sis. You want to talk? Maybe drop the paper good girl act first. I see right through it even easier than I see your tits through that thing.”
We stare each other down, silent for several seconds.
My eyes drop to her chest and soak in the view. I don’t even try to hide it.
That only makes her flush harder, paints her redder, a new kind of self-torture I never knew.
Call me crude.
I never hide what I want, especially when it’s right in front of me, beckoning.
I half expect her to turn around and flee, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame her one bit.
Delia’s a smart girl. That’s probably the wisest decision she could make right now.
“Will you just come outside?” she says finally, her eyes darting away.
She starts moving before I can answer.
I follow her like a hungry dog, watching the round globes of her ass bobbing in that skintight dress.
We stop off in the kitchen.
Her ass taunts me even more as she bends over, opening the thick glass door to daddy’s refrigerated liquor cabinet. She pulls out a bottle of something white and expensive.
My brain revolts.
Why do I see myself popping the cork and spraying it all over her?
Licking expensive Dom or whatever it is off her tits, tasting it on her pussy, cooling her sweat-slick skin with champagne before I burn her to cinders.
“Can you grab a couple glasses?” She smiles like an angel, gesturing to the crystal glasses hanging on a rack.
I grab two and follow her down the long deck stairs to the pool area below, overlooking a perfect view of the churning Pacific in the distance.
Yeah, a man could get used to fucking hard and often here.
And sooner or later, I know I’ll try if I’m able to drag her into that pool.
We flop down next to each other in these huge cabana chairs. Her cleavage torments me for the hundredth time after I get the cork off for her, watching as she fills our glasses.
That sparkling fizz sounds too wet for my one-track mind.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask. “Since you broke out the bubbly, I hope you’ve got something to celebrate.”
“More like an apology. I’m sorry last night was so awful,” she says. “I didn’t know Evie and Dad would tag team you. I don’t blame you for handling it like you did. I’d have stormed out too with that treatment.”
“Princess, stop,” I growl, taking a long pull from my glass. It’s sweet and warming. “Before you say too much, I don’t need family therapy. Somehow, I’ve got a feeling that’s not why you wanted to see me, either. Just spill it. Tell me why you called me back.”
She stares into her glass, giving it a little swirl in her hand.
“The night on the beach... I can’t stop thinking about what a disaster it was. We were so close to something so...” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Something unforgivable.”
Unforgivable?
Fuck that, I want to scream. The only thing that’s truly unforgivable is pretending we can’t.
“Whatever. You gonna tell me something I don’t already know?” I throw back my drink, gulping the rest of my glass and reaching for a refill.
She watches me with wide, shining eyes.
Maybe this chick is crazy after all, or just too stuck up to admit she wants a working boy in her bed.
I’ve fucked shy rich girls before.
They always play coy and this feels like the same sad game.
When she doesn’t answer, I lean forward, staring her down.
“Well? Now that you’ve apologized till you’re blue in the face, what else is eating you? Are you trying to work up to asking for some brotherly lovin’?”
Her mouth drops open, flustered as ever.
“Brotherly love, I mean. Secrets you can only share between siblings. Get your mind out of the damn gutter,” I whisper.
“Oh my God, this is too weird,” she rushes out. “I’m an only child, just like you. Mom walked out on us and my parents were divorced years ago. The stress was intense. I guess maybe this family friction just brings those bad memories back... I’m just afraid.”
I look her up and down.
“Afraid?” I echo, waiting for more.
“Afraid for Dad, for Evie, for you, Chris. If we’d messed up more than we did on the beach, do you have any clue how much worse this would be?”
I bite my tongue before I dare to suggest otherwise.
Her eyes are honest, but I’m not joining in the pity party just yet.
As far as I’m concerned, nobody needs to know about my own drama.
Not my old man and his fucked up days with my mom, or the endless mistakes of Evangeline Triton that came after.
I’m definitely not seeking comfort in this dark-haired siren who acts like she’s out for a therapy hug one minute and then the roughest night of her life the next.
“I’m no stranger to family bullshit, Delia. Sorry it upsets you so much. My mother’s always been a mess—I’m sure you’ve done your homework. You’ve read about how her career went down in flames.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry.” She gives me those puppy dog eyes and nods.
“I’m not,” I snap, sucking an angry sip from my glass. “Most of her bad luck was self-inflicted. The drugs, the men, the mania... I’m as sympathetic to mental illness as anybody you’ll meet, but fuck. At some point, you can only carry a person so far when they don’t want to help themselves. And Ma, she leaned on me for so many years it got stifling. I had to fucking carry her when I was too young to carry myself. Now that I won’t wait on her hand and foot anymore, that’s probably why she had to hook your old man. She’s alone and she wants a golden parachute to break her fall—and falling is all she’s ever done.”
I stop right there, knowing how bitter I sound.
How could I be anything else?
When you’ve lost at least five hundred nights of sleep in hospital rooms or terror at home, wondering if your own mother will stop breathing from her latest binge, bitterness is justified.
Bitterness shields your own sanity.
Delia’s eyes are wider now, deep and sad and staring.
I shrug, staring out at the ocean on the horizon. The thick clouds moving in before nightfall make the waves one large moving landscape of grey.
“I’m so sorry,” Delia whispers again, her hand brushing mine before she jerks away. “With Dad, I think it’s desperation. He’s kinda been a hot mess ever since Mom walked out. He’s been taking more of a back seat with company business the last few years, leaving him too much time to think. Too much time for trouble, too, I guess.”
I finish my second glass and top us off again.
“Yeah, I get it. Gotta warn you, though, I’m not exactly fit to be your shoulder to cry on. I’m not fit to be anyone’s. Not that I don’t mind trying. I’m just not around often enough, and my work is fucking complicated,” I add, staring deep into her eyes. “Is that why you really wanted me here or what?”
Maybe it’s the booze in my system, but I’m done playing around.
Uncle Sam taught me to be sharp and direct. You don’t get far in a SEAL team being anything different.
I want to get to the heart of what else she wants, and if she won’t play, I’m out for the night.
Venting only goes so far.
Dwelling on our family bullshit just pours acid on the soul, and I’m not interested in being worn down to nothing.
I swore there are three things I’ll never do with any woman a long-ass time ago.
No drama.
No therapy.
And absolutely no goddamned love.
“I just... I want to know you, Chris. You’re one of the more interesting people I’ve ever met,” she says, slapping her thigh. “I mean, it’s not every day you meet a Navy SEAL.”
“Ex-SEAL,” I correct. “Though the private gig I’m doing now isn’t too different some days.”
“Right.” Delia looks up, her eyes softer, more nervous. “So, there’s this project coming up for my senior thesis, the last thing I need to get through before I graduate. I’ve been stressing hard about it, aside from everything else going on. I figured I don’t need an estranged stepbrother too, you know? Part of the reason I wanted to talk is to clear the air, like I told you.”
She offers a hand, her small fingers trembling.
I’m not the touchy-feely kind, but hell if I’m passing on any opportunity to touch her again.
I reach out, thread my fingers through hers, and squeeze.
“Consider it sky blue. That’s not everything, though, is it?”
“Not quite,” she says, falling silent, her face an anxious mask.
“Relax, woman. This isn’t the inquisition; I just want to know what’s on your mind. You’re in a weird place in your life, one step away from making it on your own. I’ve been there too,” I say, stroking my chin. “You’re a little younger than me. You haven’t started your life yet with stuffy dickhead reporters and selling pretty pictures off for insane amounts, but I promise you it’s coming.”
She blushes when I mention the painting.
“Oh, no. The 'pretty pictures' are just a little hobby of mine. I’m definitely not cut out to be a starving artist or whatever...”
“It’s your life.” I shrug. “I promise you this shit gets better when you’re finally out on your own. Even the family crap. You want some brotherly advice? Here it is. Finish school. Find a good career. Leave this shitty freak show of a family behind. My mother is a drama-bomb with a facelift, and you can’t be your dad’s rock forever. Eventually he has to man up and deal with his mistakes. All you can do is live and try not to make too many of your own, Delia.”
She sniffs hard.
Oh, shit.
Is she trying not to cry?
“It’s...it’s not that simple. You’ve had more action in your pinky than I’ve had my entire life.” The sadness in her eyes fades when she looks up, curiosity flickering in her big brown eyes. “What’s it like out there? Tell me what you did when you traveled...”
I lean back in my chair, mulling it over.
“The first rule about being a SEAL is you don’t talk about what happens when you’re a SEAL,” I tell her.
She slides off the chair and stands, causing her plump tits to bounce.
“Come on, Chris. There must be something you can tell me. I’m not a spy and I’m not asking for supersecret details. How did it make you feel?”
I don’t like her hovering over me unless she’s about to fall into my lap.
My hand darts out and I grab her, pulling her down.
She crashes against my chest with a squeal. My hand slides lower, aiming for that grippable ass.
When I squeeze her ass cheek, she gasps.
As long as I’m breathing, I’ll never get sick of hearing that sound.
“You wanna play truth or dare? Is that what this is?” I rumble in her ear.
She works to wiggle out of my grasp.
But she doesn’t bolt like before, settling against me, resting her head on my shoulder.
Her breath quickens, pushing those gorgeous tits flush against my hard muscle, kindling primal fire in my veins.
“Maybe I do. I just want to know you, mostly. I don’t need to know who you’ve shot at or why. I just... I want to know what it’s done for your life. The good, the bad, the ugly. Do you even like your job?”
Surprisingly loaded question.
I think seriously before answering.
The little tease has got her thigh dangerously close to my hard-on now.
There’s no way she can’t feel how hard I am every time she moves.
It hurts not to pull her legs apart and sink down inside her.
“I wouldn’t have kept re-enlisting for more if I didn’t like it, princess. Somebody’s gotta protect this country. Home is home, even with its warts and all. I needed the structure, and the Navy gave me that. Working for Enguard helps keep it. In case it wasn’t obvious, I don’t give two shits what my mother thinks, even if she’s right about the danger sometimes. There’s nothing I’d rather do than wake up and drill, ready to mobilize when someone needs the best muscle money can buy.”
“Interesting.” She looks up and her breath falls against my lips.
We’re in deadly territory now.
“That’s really noble,” she says. “I’ve always respected military guys. And, um, I read about your last big mission—the one with that disgusting trafficker. Oh my God, I can’t even imagine...”
“You can’t,” I clip. “And for your sake, you don’t need to because I did my job. He’s done and those girls are home.”
I just wish it was over, all wrapped up with a pretty bow.
My brain flashes back to the cartel hit men, the real reason I’m back here.
“FYI, we’re not all prima donnas looking for constant praise. I don’t need you to fawn over me, thinking I’m this big damn hero who only shits gold. The discounted drinks at the bars on vets’ nights are thanks enough. I don’t do this because I want my ego jacked off.”
She giggles, pushing this bubblegum noise in my ear.
Guess she’s just that sheltered, and my coarseness amuses her.
“Then why?” Her cheeks glow vivid red. “Is there anything else you’d rather do with your life? Like when you get older and it’s harder on your body?”
“If it ever gets to that point, I’ll probably join a greyhound rescue or something.”
She cocks her head. I’ve said too much, clearing my throat.
“You’re a dog lover?”
“I’ve got a soft spot for deer dogs, specifically,” I admit. “Ma dated this guy briefly who took in a lot of retired racing dogs. They’re smart as hell and faster than rabbits, whenever they don’t turn into seventy-pound lumps. Still, I remember thinking how much those dogs deserve a comfortable retirement after people use them like workhorses. If I can help with that, so be it.”
She smiles so wide I think it’s about to slide right off her face. Her eyes twinkle like amber, happy that she’s pulled a big secret out of me, even if it’s some hazy future dream.
I hate that she sees how much I’m afraid I might have in common with those dogs someday.
“For now, that’s not on the radar,” I say. “Playing hardass and getting paid well for it suits me just fine. It’s like anything else—a calling. You don’t walk away from that shit, no matter how many times it tries to kill you.”
I’m getting tired of these questions. I glide my hand up her lower back before sweeping it to the edge of her ass again.
