Chapter 17
Blaine
I hadn’t really thought about what would happen after I gave Mira that horse.
Originally, I’d gotten it because she had saved me an arse load of money—along with my reputation. Okay, so I saved my reputation as someone not to be messed with when I burst into Gerald’s home with six other, heavily armed men and demanded he draw the contract back, but without her, I wouldn’t have known it was needed until it’d been much too late. And to top it off, I’d gotten to see Gerald nearly wet his pants as he pleaded with me to spare his miserable life.
I had, of course—if I’d killed him, my dad would undoubtedly have found out how close I was to getting fucked out of forty million pounds, and that was not a road I particularly wanted to travel down. I might have outgrown the belt, but he had other, much more unpleasant means of punishing his employees. Lose the family that kind of money and I’d sure as hell not be worth more than a second-rung employee to him, blood be damned.
So I’d given Mira a horse, because I remembered how she’d looked when she talked about how desperately she’d wanted one as a kid. She might have meant it as a snarky commentary on what she thought I did wrong with my life, but the wistful expression in her eyes had betrayed her true desires. And I’d paid a pretty penny for it too, not so much because I cared about equine pedigrees myself, but because I wanted her to know I valued what she’d done for me.
Sure, I had some measure of ulterior motives behind that decision—mainly that she was going to sit in on all my business deals from now on, whether she wanted to or not—but also just because if I gave someone a gift, I wanted it to be good. It didn’t happen that often, after all.
What I hadn’t expected was the change in Mira after we came home from the stables. It was so subtle that it took me a few days to catch on to something being different, but when she knocked on my door the next afternoon to ask if I wanted anything specific for dinner, I knew something was most definitely up.
“You’re making us dinner?” I asked, my eyes narrowed in suspicion at the curvy woman in my doorway.
“Yes,” she said, wrapping her arms around her midsection in that way she did when she felt defensive. “Or, I’m making me dinner. You don’t have to have anything if you don’t want to. I’m not your mother.”
The catastrophe that was Lasagna Night and when I’d made her cook for Leo and Gerald aside, we hadn’t eaten together since the pizza that first night, and her asking me what I wanted her to make for me was definitely a first. I bit back my urge to ask her why she was suddenly being nice—and that’s when I realized the small changes that had happened for the past few days, since we came back from the stables. She’d made tea and told me there was still some left in the pot when I came in the other night, she’d initiated a few small conversations when we met in the hallway, and—more noticeably—she’d smiled at me once or twice.
I blinked as the past few days’ interactions suddenly slid into a new light.
Was she… trying to be genuinely friendly? Because of the damn horse?
“So, do you want anything, or are you just going to stare at me until I starve to death?” she snapped, effectively ripping me out of my dawning realization.
I smothered a snicker. Clearly, my snarky little wife hadn’t lost her bite just yet.
“Yeah, thanks. Whatever you’re in the mood for would be nice.”
“Soup, then,” she said, before spinning around on her heel and walking out of my room, presumably to go cook.
I resisted the urge to follow her down to the kitchen to watch her. The thought of how overwhelmed with memories of my childhood I’d become when coming home Sunday to the smell of dinner cooking and Mira rummaging around with pots and pans was still in fresh recollection. But she was right—she wasn’t my mother, and I didn’t need to delve deeper into whatever fucked up Oedipus complex was happening whenever I saw her in that apron. ‘Cause I’m not going to lie, I’d spent more than one night wanking to the thought of bending her over the kitchen counter and fucking the living daylights out of her while she was wearing nothing but the apron and the messy bun she usually had her auburn hair up in these days.
My cock stirred at that thought, and I sighed wistfully. If only her sudden onset of friendliness would transform into an equally sudden, acute desire to let me get between her thighs. How many horses would that take, anyway?
With another sigh I slid my hand down my pants to alleviate the increasingly uncomfortable pressure in my cock. If nothing else, hopefully I’d get over my borderline obsession with her soon, so I could at least find other women to slake my desires with. I hadn’t spent this much time masturbating since I was thirteen years old, and the novelty was quickly beginning to wear off.
* * *
“Blaine!”
The sound of Mira’s irritated voice came from inside my bedroom.
After getting off to yet another fantasy of kitchen sex with my bitchy little wife, I’d headed for the shower to clean off and calm down. It had apparently taken longer than I thought, judging from the annoyance in Mira’s voice.
I briefly wondered how long she’d been calling me for as I grabbed a towel to wrap around my midriff, but such contemplations came to an abrupt halt as a devious idea sprung out.
Much as she wanted to pretend like it wasn’t the case, I knew for a fact that the little prude got nice and turned on from seeing me naked. And I was really fucking tired of being the only sexually frustrated person in this house.
With a devilish smirk I dropped the towel on the floor and sauntered into my bedroom.
“For God’s sake, I’ve been calling y—” Mira turned toward me, hands on her hips and undoubtedly gearing up for a longer tirade. However, the sight of my naked body stopped her cold.
My smirk hiked up higher when her eyes traveled down my body until they got to my crotch. A furious blush rushed to her cheeks, but she kept staring at my cock as if mesmerized.
Yep. She wasn’t anywhere near as uninterested as she’d spent the past few weeks pretending like she was.
“See anything you like?” I shifted my hips a bit and saw her tongue slip out to wet her lower lip as her eyes followed the movement. Nice. Having her look at me like this made my cock swell in no time.
Mira made a half-choked little noise and finally found the will to snap her attention away from my rapidly growing cock.
“For fuck’s sake, Blaine! Put that away!”
“Why?” I grinned, taking a few steps toward her. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”
Mira retreated backward toward the door, as if fleeing from a prowling predator. She did everything to look anywhere but at my now fully hard dick. “Just—just stop it! God, why do you have to be such a prick! I mean jerk—oh, God!”
I laughed out loud at her flustered sputtering. It turned into a full belly laugh when she seemingly gave up on winning the argument and turned around on her heel to flee down the stairs.
“Hey, wait up, what were you going to tell me?” I called after her. “Is dinner ready, or what?”
No reply came from downstairs, apart from some loud banging of pots from the kitchen.
I was tempted to follow her down without putting my pants on, but figured it might not be the best idea if I ever wanted her to cook for me again. Besides, my cock was already uncomfortably hard. Seeing her all flustered and trying desperately not to look at it while we were in the room most of my fantasies about her played out in would likely torture me more than it would her.
Sighing, I walked to my closet to find some clothes.
* * *
When I came down the stairs, Mira sat at the dining table, already eating what looked like tomato soup. She’d set a plate out for me as well, and a bottle of wine.
“Smells lovely,” I offered as I sauntered in to take my place.
Mira didn’t look at me, but I could see her cheeks turning a delicious pink again.
I grinned. “Oh, come now, love. I’ve put pants on—it’s all safe.”
She made a huffy little sound, but finally raised her head to level me with a glare. “I really didn’t need to see that.”
“Oh, on the contrary—I think you did.” I winked at her and grabbed a chunk of bread to dip into the soup. “Gotta give you a bit of material for those late night self-loving sessions. I am your husband, after all.”
Her cheeks went from light pink to a tomato red that rivaled the soup in seconds. “Thanks, I’ll manage!” It came out as a hiss, but her flaming face spoke its own truth.
My grin widened. So she did, in fact, use me as her source material to get off? Hmm. I popped the bread into my mouth while I enjoyed her squirming in her seat, no doubt regretting that she didn’t just eat in her room. As much as I wanted to continue needling her, just to see how far I could take it before she snapped, I reined myself in. I did need to talk to her, and I’d rather not do it with a faceful of wine.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you—how often are you right when you assess people like you did Gerald?”
Mira’s eyebrows shut up, probably in surprise at the change of subject. “Most of the time. Body language is pretty universal and hard to control. Why?”
“Because I’ve got a…” Best make it sound optional to avoid resistance. “...business proposition for you.”
Her mouth flattened into a disapproving line. “I’m not going to come with you to poker games, if that’s what you’ve got in mind.”
“Always think the worst, huh? It’s got nothing to do with gambling. I simply want you to come along for my business meetings. As an adviser. You can sit in while I meet with potential business partners, and give me your opinion of them after. It would be a good way for you to get out of the house. Since you’d be with me, you’d be safe.”
Mira frowned, a somewhat conflicted look passing across her pretty face. “I… I don’t want anything to do with illicit affairs, Blaine. If the day ever comes where I need to explain to the police how much I knew about your activities, I don’t want to have to lie to tell them I had no involvement.”
I nodded. That was fair enough, given how she’d tried her best to get away from this world. “It’ll only be above-board dealings. You won’t be privy to anything less than kosher.”
“And after these meetings, we’ll go somewhere else for a little bit?”
I raised an eyebrow at the excitement she was clearly trying—and failing—to hide while she attempted to negotiate with me. I might not be as skilled at reading body language as she was, but I knew I had this one in the bag. She was way too desperate to not be cooped up in this house to turn me down. However, I didn’t see the harm in letting her think she had some pull.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just… browsing a few stores, some window shopping… stopping for an ice cream if we fancy. Normal things that normal people do. A museum visit once in a while, perhaps?”
I grimaced. “How about we skip the museum and catch a movie instead?”
“Can it be French?”
“No.”
Mira sighed. “Fine. But no explosion-y action flicks, either.”
I laughed and reached my hand across the table. She sure did drive a hard bargain. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Tentatively, she reached out her own hand and put it in mine. It was small and soft, and the touch of her palm sent a pang to my needy cock. “Deal.”
I wrapped my fingers around hers for the briefest of moments, under the guise of shaking on it, but really, all I cared about was feeling the touch of her skin. Why, why was I so desperately attracted to her? From the first time I saw her I’d wanted to bed her, but after our drunken night together, the urge to be inside of her hadn’t diminished. Quite the contrary. I’d never been with a woman who made all others seem completely uninteresting, even for a short while.
Reluctantly, I let go of her hand. “What types of movies do you like? And don’t even bother listing any artsy shit.”
“Oh, the usual stuff. Dramas, rom-coms, an occasional psychological thriller. How about you?” She raised a teasing eyebrow at me. “And don’t even bother listing any action-y shit.”
I laughed at her cheek. It was nice to have a normal conversation for once, even if it was just about cinema choices. Everything had been such a battle from day one, it felt good to just have a relaxed moment together. It made me bold enough to suggest, “Why don’t we see if we can find something we both can agree to? I saw you got us Netflix, and we haven’t even broken in the couch yet.”
Mira looked downright shocked, her mouth hanging slightly open at my suggestion. “What, so… watch a movie together? Here? Now?”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t until I saw her reaction that I realized what I’d suggested. Dinner and a movie. Not only would this be the first time outside of meals and taking her to see her horse that we’d voluntarily spend any time together—it also sounded an awful lot like a date.
“Just a movie,” I hastily interjected. “No ‘Netflix and chill,’ I promise.”
She laughed when I crossed my heart. “Alright then. But I’m warning you, I’m a crier.”
* * *
She was.
Mira sobbed her way through what was meant to be a “great, romantic drama,” which I found so tedious I nearly dozed off midway through. She even cried through parts of the Jim Carrey comedy I put on next in an attempt to stop her tears and my boredom.
“It’s not sad!” I repeated for the fifth time when the credits finally rolled over the flat screen TV she’d bought for the living room—and which should have been at least twenty inches bigger—and she dabbed at her eyes with a much-used tissue and sipped more wine from the glass she’d been nursing through the past hour and a half.
“His wife left him,” she protested with a sniffle. “And he raised those boys all on his own.”
I didn’t manage to smother my eye roll. “That was at the start of the damn movie! I’ve literally never known anyone who could cry at a Jim Carrey movie. Is it that time of the month or something?”
Mira gave me a reproachful look from behind her tissue. “Three hours is your max capacity for not being a jerk, huh?”
“Pretty much. I’m going to put on Alien vs. Predator, and if you shed as much as one tear, our movie-deal is off the table. Got it?”
She wrinkled her nose at me, either at the choice of movie or my threat I didn’t know, but didn’t bite back. I took that as acceptance. A choice I soon came to second guess.
“I thought I said no action crap,” she moaned about fifteen minutes into the movie. “This is so boring.”
“I sat through The Notebook. I will hear no complaints. And if you’re bored, at least you’re not crying.”
“You’re such a jerk.”
“We’ve established that. Now, shush—someone’s about to have their head ripped off.”
Somewhat to my surprise she did quiet down, albeit with a semi-rebellious mumble, and I became so engrossed in the movie that it took me nearly forty-five minutes to realize she’d not said a word since. When I looked back at her, she was fast asleep, all curled up against the backrest of the couch with her head in an uncomfortable angle.
Her glasses still had salt stains on them, and a piece of her hair was stuck to the side of her face. I reached out to brush it away and she murmured in response.
“Mira?” I whispered, testing to see if she was awake. No response. She was still out cold.
I looked at her sleeping face and felt something odd stir in my chest. She looked so fragile and innocent, completely at odds with the snarky bitch I knew her to be. It made me want to protect her, even if there was nothing to protect her from at the moment.
I frowned, somewhat confused by the ridiculous notion. I’d only ever had protective feelings toward my family and, to some extent, my crew. And only when there was an actual threat to them.
Perhaps it was because she was under my care. She lived in my house, and it was my money that kept her warm and fed—even if she resented it.
I reached out to stroke her cheek without knowing why I felt the urge to.
She murmured again and pressed her face into my touch, much like a cat would. My heart took a couple of extra beats in response, but it felt good. Hmm.
As carefully as I could, I reached out to wedge one arm underneath her head and the other under her hamstrings, slowly shifting her until she was resting in my lap with her head leaned against my shoulder at a more comfortable angle.
She made small sounds of protests while I moved her, but seemed to quiet down quickly enough once I had her settled in my arms.
The press of her body against mine felt good too. She was warm and soft and solid, and she smelled like wine and woman. My cock stirred predictably, but I ignored it. Holding a woman like this, with no expectation of it turning sexual, was a new experience, and I found I liked it.
A lot.
* * * *