Mad Jack (Men of Action #3) Read Online Ahren Sanders

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Men of Action Series by Ahren Sanders
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Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 118780 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 594(@200wpm)___ 475(@250wpm)___ 396(@300wpm)
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“Yeah, and in order to get that ball rolling, I need my money.”

Her face twists weirdly, and she chews her lip.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I have money from the sale of my house and expected to put it toward the new build.”

I roll my tongue through my mouth, giving myself a second before I lose my cool. “We’re not using your money.”

Her eyes narrow and flame with irritation. “Why not?”

“Because it’s your money.”

“I could argue the same point.”

“No argument, it’s done.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Then the house is off the table until we can come to an agreement.”

My jaw ticks and blood heats. “I’m done waiting. You decided what we wanted, it’s time to move.”

“Not unless you see reason.”

“I see reason perfectly clear, and that reason is this is a bullshit conversation. I have the money.”

Her face flames, the rim of her eyes going almost black. “I will contribute, or you can build your own home without me.”

Wrong thing to say.

My heart roars in my ears, and I make it to her in one long stride. She struggles against me until I pin her to the sofa, trapping her body with mine.

“No fair! You’re stronger.” She wrestles to get free.

Her knee grazes my dick, which lurches at the contact. She freezes, her face taking on a look of shock. “You can’t possibly be ready to go again.”

“You wriggling your body against mine with fire in your eyes, I’m definitely ready.”

“We aren’t having sex while fighting.”

“This isn’t a fight. It’s a discussion.”

“Discussion? You declaring self-righteously that I can’t contribute to our house is not a discussion.”

I tuck her hair behind her ear and cup her face gently, taming the inner urge to throw her back on the bed and slam inside her. “You are the contribution.”

“That makes no sense,” she clips.

“I’m building the house, but everything else is about you making it ours.”

The flames of irritation dim and her lips part.

“Rowan, I’ve been fortunate in my life. But this is the first time I get to do it all on my own.”

“You don’t have to do it on your own.”

“It’s important to me that I take care of you.”

It’s easy to catch the way she misinterprets my meaning.

“Before you twist that in your head, this is me. It’s who I am. Giving you everything your heart desires forever.”

“I need nothing but you.”

“Then don’t fight me on this. Will you let me build you the house of your dreams?”

The battle in her dies instantly, her bottom lip trembling.

“What about you? Your desires and dreams—how can I return the sentiment?”

At this moment, it’s all clear. The thoughts filling my mind for months rear up in force.

I’ve never hidden my feelings or intentions, but I was always holding back, giving her time.

Since that first night, seeing her fierceness and knowing someone laid a hand on her, she’s owned a piece of my heart.

Now, she’s mine and I’m done holding back.

My fingers drift into her hair, and she picks up on my thoughts. Her hands curl around my neck. “Ford—”

“Spent years in the Marines, lived through hell and made it to the other side. Met my brothers who became my family. Never once did I feel my life was missing something. Learned I was wrong. You are what I was missing.

“You want to make my desires and dreams come true, baby?”

She nods ever so slightly, her eyes wide and glassy.

“Marry me.”

30

ROWAN

“She’s back,” Shelby sing-songs as I enter the salon. “And she’s glowing so bright I need glasses.”

“Stop being dramatic.” I duck behind the desk to hide my flush.

She’s not wrong. The little sun I soaked up settled nicely. And even though Ford and I acted like sex-starved animals, there was much more. We ate, drank, talked, slept—no distractions, no interruptions, no work. Nothing impeded us from being… us.

Except for maybe one thing—Marry me…

His expression as he spoke the words stopped my world.

It wasn’t a question; it was a declaration.

My state of shock wore off and my brain waged a war with itself.

Say yes!

It’s too soon.

This is Ford Whitman. Say fucking yes!

Then the ounce of sensibility reared from its Ford-sex-fogged state.

I told him it was too soon, we needed time.

Even to my ears, I wasn’t convincing.

He read through me and accepted my evasion easily. Too easily.

We went back to our bubble of bliss, blocking out the world.

A tinge of disappointment overshadowed my mood, but I forced through.

Ford is the love of my life, which is why I’m terrified to make a hasty decision. Even with things as amazing as they are, why rush? We haven’t had our first fight yet.

My analytical brain told me we needed more time.

Doesn’t mean that those two words haven’t been on replay in my head constantly.

“Sun and sex agree with you, boss!” Farah, another stylist, calls out, and I bang my head against the desk.

A cup of coffee is slid into my line of sight, and I grumble my thanks, cringing at the sly grin on Shayla’s face.


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