"You said you wanted one as a kid. I assumed you likely still did, since you brought it up."
With a start, I realized he was referring to the time he'd saved me from that group of thugs and walked me to the train station. That he had actually remembered a detail like that, and put it to use to … to what, reward me for being useful? I finally managed to tear my gaze from the horse to look over my shoulder at Blaine. He looked as calm and arrogant as ever as he stood with both hands down his front jeans pockets and the black leather coat zipped all the way up. But past the façade, there was more than just the bad boy mafia son. I wasn't sure if I only just noticed it now, or-more likely-he finally let down one or two of the shields he usually kept up. Either way, I suddenly, and with a warm flood of confusing emotion I didn't dare decipher, knew that the real Blaine was in there underneath all the swagger and smugness. And he might just be a man I'd like to get to know.
*
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.