Page 3 of Straight, No Chaser
I roll out of bed and head into the bathroom. Only gagging once as I brush my teeth, swallowing back down the whiskey and self-loathing threatening to drown me. I pull on my running shorts and grab my shoes. Yep, bastard it is. Always have been, so no reason to change now.
Jogging down the back stairs two at a time like a man with a ghost on his ass, if not his conscience, I focus on my path. Through the butler's pantry and dining room to the patio doors. Then I'll be free.
I skip the last step, gaining speed as I turn the corner — my goal in reach. Only a few more steps. A flutter of silver fabric flashes in the mirror above the wet bar but I'm unable to stop in time.
Molly.
"Fuck!"
“Oh!”
Her petite body is no match for my size and momentum, and she stumbles back, unable to keep from falling on her cute little ass. A casserole dish slips from her hand crashing to the tile, littering the floor with slices of French toast. She blinks a few times before looking up, and fuck me if her huge blue eyes aren't filled with tears. Uncertain if they're from pain or embarrassment. It doesn't fucking matter. Either way she cries because of me.
Before I can think, I scoop her up. Her body’s rigid and unyielding under my touch. But then I feel it. For that split second her gaze meets mine and her chest lifts from the deep intake of breath. Her delicate hand rests on my pounding heart. She’s not afraid.
And I'm almost fucking delirious with happiness. An emotion I haven't felt in too damn long. I just stare at her fucking beautiful face. Savoring this gorgeous woman I never expected to have wrapped in my arms. If only for a moment.
Her long blond hair brushes over my forearm, making goosebumps rise on my blazing skin. The little pulse in her throat races like my throbbing cock. Instinct kicks in, and I curl her tighter against me. It would be so fucking easy to nuzzle her neck and breathe in her sweet scent. God I fucking need this girl in my bed. "I didn't—"
A sharp gasp breaks the spell, and she pulls her eyes from mine, nodding toward her bare feet. "I'm bleeding."
Blood.
Fire singes my pounding chest. A line of scarlet sneaks across her heel, with thick drops falling to the grey porcelain like a rich merlot.
Nothing like the blood that covered my hands.
And her face.
Tyson's bare feet from running to Rachael crumpled on the floor.
While I just stood there like a dumb ass. Too shocked to do anything but watch her life spill out onto the concrete.
Fucking shit. I shake my head, forcing away the memories erupting in my brain, and focus on Molly. She clutches me, pinching my skin when I jerk toward the kitchen. Glass shards crunch under my Nikes as I race away from the reminder of my selfishness.
Eli’s fork clatters from the sudden descent to his plate. His wide-eyed gaze jerks from me to the woman we both love. Not sure if I’m jealous or relieved that he cares more about her than me. But the fear furrowing his brow jabs my gut like a punch. Ty and I might be assholes, but we’d never lay a finger on a woman, and Eli needs to know that straight up fact right now.
“She cut her foot on broken glass. Don’t go back there. I’ll clean it up after we take care of her.”
Eli looks to her, seeking her confirmation. She gives him a confident smile, relieving his doubt, and my shoulders relax as his body softens. Yet shame still swills in my stomach from him not believing me. Fuck me for letting our relationship get to the point where he trusts his nanny over his own fucking brother. I've got to fix that shit in a fucking hurry.
I shove the heaping platter of scrambled eggs and bacon out of the way and gingerly set her on the marble top. Already missing her silky skin warming my bare chest. Pushing down the thoughts of what it would be like to lay her back and strip off the tiny thong I know she wears. Nothing makes me fucking harder than when the satin ribbon peeks out from above her jeans when she bends over to pick up Eli's toys and games.
He hops off his stool and bounds down the hallway toward the bathroom. "I'll get the first aid kit."
Damn, I fucking love that kid. So fucking smart. I can't help but smile at his desire to help.
"I'm sorry, Luciano. I didn't see you on the steps."
Luciano.
Nobody but my mother and her can get away with calling me that. And it's like lightening straight to my balls every time my full name rolls off Molly's sweet lips. How she slowly tested each syllable on her tongue after I introduced myself during our interview. So earnest trying to ensure she pronounced it correctly. I never set her straight. Even though Ty and Eli call me Luc she never does. And I'm not sure I ever want her to. "It's my fault, angel. I need to slow down."
She flushes from my term of endearment and fuck me if the pink bursting on her ivory skin doesn't make me rock hard again. I'd fucking love to see her body respond to the other words I'd whisper in her ear as she sprawls naked underneath me.
Eli runs back in, clutching a yellow box to his chest, yanking me out of my pussy ass daydream. Thinking like a motherfucking idiot that there could ever be anything physical between me and her.
He lays the plastic container on the table, and with a reverent touch his fingers slide open the clasp. I rummage through antibiotic ointment and tiny scissors to grab some gauze and show him how to apply pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. His little head bobs, absorbing every word and direction with the seriousness of a surgeon saving a life.
