His Nasty Virgin

VIVIAN

The guest bedroom was nice. Lavish. More than what I was used to. The bed’s silk sheets and goose-down duvet felt like lying on a cloud. After the exhausting day I had, I should have been able to drift off without a hitch.

Instead, I tossed and turned all night, unable to still my mind.

I thought about Molly, and how terrified she must have been. I wondered where they were keeping her if the cartel had hurt her if she was even alive.

I shuddered, hiding my face in my hands. The thought was chilling. What if they’d killed her just because she pointed out an error in the books in my place? It should have been me. It should have been me who marched into Arty’s office. It should have been me who had to suffer the consequences, not her.

I thought about Wally. I didn’t mean to drag him into all this. He was the only friend I thought I could turn to, the only one I believed would listen. Now I’d exposed him to the cartel, as well. What if they decided to go after him, too? What if they took him like they took Molly?

Guilt churned in the pit of my stomach.

And then there was Jesse.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him. How powerful he was. How he’d fended those men off long enough for me to come to my senses and help. I was adamant about staying hidden, about running, just like he ordered. But hearing him struggle, fight for not just his life, but mine… I couldn’t cower in the bathroom like a frightened little girl. I knew I had to do something.

And that something was grabbing the heaviest thing at my disposal and knocking the daylights out of a man who looked like he was two seconds away from murdering Jesse. His reaction to the whole situation was frighteningly sexy.

I pressed my face into my pillow and groaned. That was not what I should be thinking about. I should be thinking about how grateful I was that he was there, not swooning over how devilishly handsome he looked with his messy hair and sleeves rolled up to the elbow. I shouldn’t be thinking about how good he looked, fresh from the fight and sweat covering his brow.

He smelled musky, but only in the best of ways. He smelled like strength and something feral and strong. Jesse looked at those men with fury in his eyes, like he wanted to rip them apart. But when he saw me…everything about his eyes changed. He looked at me like I was something precious, something to hold and care for and be tender with. Even his posturing was different. Relaxed. Cautious, like I was a deer he was afraid of spooking.

When he held my hands, I almost lost it. We were so close, gravitating toward one another, stuck in each other’s orbit. I never wanted him to let go. His hands were rough from the fight, but oh-so-delicate while holding mine.

The duality wasn’t lost on me. I knew he could feel it, too, whatever this electricity between us was. I just didn’t know what to make of it, if I should act on it. There were so many unspoken questions up in the air, but I was too overwhelmed to ask any of them.

I rubbed my knees together and nibbled on my bottom lip, remembering how Jesse leaped into action. God. Nobody had a right to look that sexy. Even when he was upset at me afterward, he spoke in a low tone. He was keeping it together for my sake, refusing to raise his voice despite his obvious disappointment.

A warm ache bloomed between my legs.

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I groaned, frustrated and tired and distressingly turned on. Now was most certainly not the time to be thinking dirty thoughts about a man who was doing me a favor by housing me and keeping me out of harm’s way.

Rolling onto my side, I glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table.

5:34 a. m.

“Fuck,” I grumbled.

I threw the covers off and swung my legs over the edge of the mattress. Maybe a glass of water would help calm my thoughts.

Padding down the long hall, I noticed that a light was on in the kitchen. I approached quietly, not wanting to disturb, sticking as close to the wall as possible. Jesse was seated at the kitchen island with his laptop open. He was typing away, a pair of reading glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. I liked the way they made him look. Distinguished. Intelligent. Charming.

I rubbed my knees together, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Seriously? What had gotten into me?

When Jesse moved to rub the back of his neck, I spotted several bruises running up the length of his forearm and bicep. They were large and red, purpling at the edges. My heart twisted in my chest, realizing that he must have gotten them in the fight. His knuckles were bruised, too, and his jaw was a little swollen from taking a punch or two to the face.

He was engrossed in whatever he was working on, typing for a good minute or so before he finally looked up and noticed me. “How long were you standing there?” “Not long.”

“Need to get you a damn bell.”

“Sorry. Just wanted something to drink.”

He moved like he was about to get out of his seat, but I noticed the way he winced. Jesse must have been in more pain than he was letting on.

“Let me,” I insisted. “Where do you keep your glasses?”

He exhaled softly. “Cabinet above the sink.”

I moved swiftly, retrieving two glasses and filling them at the fridge’s water dispenser. “And your ibuprofen?”

He arched a concerned eyebrow. “Cabinet to your left there. Why? Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, retrieved the medicine, and walked to him, tapping two small pills out onto my palm. I handed them directly to him. “They’re for you,” I explained.