Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 187(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
I've never been in a relationship. I haven't been on a date since my fucking senior prom. There have been plenty of opportunities, don't get me wrong. Women take one look at me and decide they want to know what it's like to fuck a man my size. But all it takes is one look at them for me to know they aren't who I've been looking for my whole life.
I should ask Fifth for guidance. He's the only one of my brothers who won't give me shit for not knowing the rules.
"How old is he?"
"Who?" I growl, eyes narrowed as white-hot jealousy courses through me. If she's thinking about Fifth, I will spank her.
"Crash?"
Oh, right.
She can't read your mind, idiot.
"Six months."
"He's so big."
He's not the only big thing around here, Mischief.
"He's a Rottweiler."
"I never would have guessed. I thought he was a Chihuahua."
I growl at her, which makes her laugh again.
And then she yawns.
"Are you hungry, Mischief?"
"Not really." A smile dances across her lips. "Callum bought me a sandwich on the plane."
Jealousy pings through me again. I may have to kill my cousin. It's unfortunate, really. He's my favorite cousin and a damn good business partner. Killing him will be all kinds of inconvenient for me. But it's inevitable at this point. He made my woman smile.
Her expression falls into an annoyed frown. "Of course, that was after he ate my plane snacks." Her gaze comes to me, her brows furrowed. "He reminds me of my little brother."
Ha! Yes. I don't have to kill my favorite cousin. He's in little brother territory. There's no leaving little brother territory once you enter it. Desire never even enters the fucking picture in little brother territory.
"Come on, Mischief." I hold out a hand to help her up. "Let's get you settled in so you can get some sleep."
She gives Crash another scratch and then allows me to pull her to her feet. Once she's steady, she immediately tries to remove her hand from mine. I link our fingers together instead, refusing to let her go. There's no time like the present for her to get used to me touching her. I plan to do a whole fucking lot of it.
She scowls at me and then mutters under her breath. I'm guessing it's not complimentary, so I choose to ignore it. My reality is far more pleasant than hers, anyway. In mine, she can't keep her hands off me. It's not a fantasy. It's just a future that we haven't quite caught up to yet. We're getting there, though. One step at a time.
I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and then lead her through the house, heading for the stairs with Crash following obediently behind. Bella gapes around her as if she's shocked that I don't live in a cave with pizza boxes spilling out of the damn trashcan or something. I don't. The furniture is modern and comfortable, and the art is expensive and tasteful. This house isn't a bachelor pad. It's a luxury safehouse designed to keep the rich, famous, and threatened nice and comfortable while they're in my care.
"Surprised?" I mutter to Bella.
"No," she lies.
I laugh quietly. "How much did your dad tell you about me, Mischief?"
"Not enough." The grumble in her voice makes my dick weep. "He didn't tell me that you live in a freaking fortress in the middle of the woods. Or that you're bigger than Goliath. And he definitely left out all the parts about you being bossy."
"This place isn't a fortress, but it's close," I admit. "If anyone comes looking for you, you'll be safe here. There are panic rooms on both floors of the house. The windows are bulletproof. I have security cameras and floodlights on the property, and my MC is located about two and a half miles away. The property is gated, and no one gets in or out unless I want them in or out."
"Okay," she whispers.
"I've been doing this a long time, baby. If I'm bossy, it's because I take your safety seriously. It's also because I know what you need, and I'm going to make sure you have it." I lead her up the stairs, stopping briefly at the top to point out which rooms are which. "You aren't a prisoner here, and I'm not a prison guard. This is your home now, and I'm the man willing to die to keep you alive."
"Because my dad is paying you," she mutters, her gaze sliding from mine. But not before I see the momentary flicker of emotion in them. Gratitude and distress chase one another through those baby blues as if she can't quite decide if she's grateful for my help or distressed at the thought of losing me.
I lead her down the hall to the primary bedroom. Anyone else would go in the guest suite, but I want her in my room. I want her head resting on my pillow and her curvy body wrapped in my sheets. When she sleeps, I want her surrounded by me, dreaming of me. I want my scent all over her, driving her fucking crazy every moment of the day.