Dangerous:Made & Broken (A British Bad Boy Romance)(22)

"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.