Distraction: An underground kings novel (9 page)

“N… No, I’m not,” I choke out in distress at the idea.

“You are, and if you even think about going anywhere but my penthouse, I will track your ass down and drag you back with me.”

“Sven, don’t be stupid.” His penthouse is nice, really nice, but it only has one bedroom, and his couch isn’t even one you would want to sleep on if left with no choice. It’s modern and edgy, but in no way does it say ‘come sleep on me’.

“Do we need to go to your place to get some stuff?” he asks, ignoring me.

“I’m not staying with you,” I repeat.

“You are,” he says, storming out of his office. Digging my compact out of my bag, I look at myself in the mirror. I thought I had done a good job covering up the bruises, but apparently I hadn’t.

“Mags.”

“What?” I huff, looking up from the computer once more when he storms back into the office.

“Get up. We’re meeting with a realtor in thirty minutes.”

“Pardon?”

“You’re right. My place now doesn’t really have space,” he grits out as he walks over to the bathroom and shuts the door halfway then continues talking through the small gap. “We’re going to look at a few houses,” he says, and I can hear him flush then the water turn on before the door opens and he steps out. “Do you need anything before we head out?”

“Are you crazy?” I ask, frowning and standing from the chair I’m sitting in.

“Nope,” he denies, walking toward me. Taking my elbow, he stops at the door and grabs my bag then pulls me with him out of his office, down the stairs, and through the club. He then leads me to his SUV and sets me inside, yelling for me to put my belt on as he slams the door.

“Put your seatbelt on,” I mimic under my breath as I slide it around me, locking it in place.

Crossing my arms
over my chest, I glare out the windshield. Five hours ago, we met up with a guy named Don, who I learned moments after meeting him was a realtor. Don seems like a nice enough guy, but since meeting up with him, we have seen ten houses—okay, not houses,
mansions
—and now we’re on our way to view another.

“You haven’t even attempted to appreciate any of them,” Sven grumbles, and I turn my head and transfer my glare to him.

“Do you know how crazy it is to buy a house that you don’t even want?” I ask, really wondering if he understands how ridiculous this is.

“I want a house,” he says, shifting in his seat, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

“For what, Sven?” I ask, holding up my hand and ticking off my fingers one at a time. “You’re single, you don’t have a wife or kids, and you don’t need more space.” I sigh, placing my hand back in my lap. “You’re talking about spending millions of dollars just so I have a room to sleep in for a few days. That is the definition of crazy.”

“Do you want to sleep in my bed with me?” he asks, and this time it’s me who shifts uncomfortably. If I was to ever be honest with myself, I would like to sleep next to him, but what red-blooded woman wouldn’t want that?

“Let’s just go buy a comfortable couch if it’s that important to you, and I’ll sleep on it,” I tell him, but then stop talking altogether when we pull down a street with kids outside playing on sidewalks and front laws, and families talking and visiting with their neighbors. Spotting a for sale sign in one of the yards, I feel a smile on my face for the first time in hours. The two-story terracotta stone house with curved windows and doors, and a wooden shingle roof, looks like something out of a fairy tale and is my dream home.

“You like that house?”

Looking from the house to Sven, a feeling of disappointment hits me as we drive past it. “It’s a cute house,” I murmur, looking over my shoulder one more time as he turns onto another road then another until we’re pulling up in front of a house that looks like all the others we have seen today.

Completely atrocious.

“Wait here.” Getting out of the car, he walks toward Don, who is standing on the front porch. They talk for a brief moment before Sven walks back toward me.

“What’s going on?” I ask when he gets in behind the wheel.

“We’re skipping this one,” he mutters, looking over his shoulder to the street behind us.

“Bummer,” I say sarcastically, watching as his lips twitch as he backs out of the driveway. Looking out the window, I realize we are heading back toward the neighborhood we drove through earlier, and when we pull into the driveway of the terracotta house, I sit up a little taller in my seat.

“You like this house?” he asks, surprised, looking at the house in front of us. It’s not a mansion, but it is a really beautiful house in the perfect little neighborhood. The kind of house I wish I had grown up in.

“Some people strive for normal,” I say, getting out of the car and walking through the thick grass in the front yard then up to the large bay window, where I put my hands to the glass and press my forehead close so I can see inside.

“Mags, you don’t need to peep through the window. We’re going to go inside,” Sven says, and I feel his warmth at my back and his fingers curve around my waist.

“You want to view this house?” I ask doubtfully.

Ignoring my question, he pulls me from the window and leads me toward the front of the house, where Don is unlocking the box attached to the door handle. Pushing the door open, he motions for us to go inside. The moment I step into the foyer, I’m in awe. It’s beautiful, with high ceilings and natural light. To the left is a large library, and the right, a sunken living room with comfortable couches that make you want to kick off your shoes, grab a book, and hang out awhile. The kitchen is in the back of the house, with a long island, and a breakfast nook that is surrounded by windows. Upstairs are five bedrooms, including a master with a walk-in closet and a bathroom bigger than my bedroom at home, plus a bonus room the pervious owners set up like a theater.

“You’d be happy in a house like this, wouldn’t you?” Sven asks, and his eyes go from where he’s looking outside to sweeping over me as he shakes his head. “Most women want bigger, Mags, and then there’s you.”

“I don’t want to be like most women,” I tell him, feeling like I need to defend myself.

“I know,” he says quietly, stepping away from the window and coming to stand in front of me. “I fucking hate these bruises.” He whispers running his eyes over them before meeting my gaze again. Looking into his eyes, my body leans into his as his fingers wrap around my jaw and his lips touch my forehead in a spot that I’ve decided is his. Closing my eyes, I only open them back up when I hear his voice in the distance yell, “Come on, Mags. We have a house to buy.”

“What’s happening to me?” I ask the empty room, but gaining no answer from it, I follow him down to the first floor, where the realtor is waiting.

Wrapping his arm around my waist as soon as I reach his side, he tells Don, “We’ll take it.”

“Are you sure? This is kind of small.” Don frowns looking around.

I have no idea in what world five-thousand square feet is small, but the way he’s looking at me and Sven gives me the impression he really believed this house was far too small for anyone to live in.

“How long until we can close?” Sven asks, ignoring Don’s comment and pulling me closer to him as I struggle with his fingers, attempting to remove them from my waist.

“The average closing time is about a month right now.”

“See if we can rent it from them until closing. Also let them know that if they agree to my terms and can close within the next week I will add ten-grand on top of asking price.”

“Sven,” I hiss, swinging my gaze up to his.

“You love this house, Mags.”

“You can’t just throw money around, Sven.”

“Sure I can.” He shrugs then turns me with him toward the front door. “Send the offer and get back to me by the end of the day,” he tells Don while leading me out of the house.

“I’m pretty sure you may be insane,” I tell him as we drive back toward downtown.

“The most important thing my father taught me is you never let an opportunity pass you by, and this is one opportunity I wouldn’t dream of missing out on.”

“That makes no sense,” I tell him, studying his profile.

“One day, Mags, I guarantee you that it will,” he says quietly, pulling on a pair of sunglasses and turning up the stereo.

Looking from him to the windshield, I wonder why I feel so relaxed, why I’m not stressed about this, and why I actually feel happy.

Maggie

The morning after

I
’m pretty sure
he’s trying to torture me
, I think as Sven comes into the kitchen, using his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and chest. Tearing my eyes from him, I wait for my toast to pop up while silently praying he puts the shirt on. It’s been three weeks since we moved in together, and every day feels like torture. Not that things have been bad. Things have actually been really great. But working together, having meals together, and seeing Sven half dressed in the mornings and at night is messing with my head.

“Morning,” I hear him say, but I don’t turn to look at him as I reply quietly,

“Morning,” while staring at the toaster, hoping I can make it through one morning where I don’t drool all over him.

God, give me strength.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Good.”

“Are you mad?” he asks sounding concerned.

Tugging my eyes from the toaster, I look at him then regret it when my belly dips and my mouth floods with saliva. Sven in a suit is a sight to behold. Sven in jeans and a tee is mouthwatering. But Sven shirtless, his hair mussed from sleep, and his eyes soft on me is completely unhinging.

“No, why?”

“Just wondering.” He grins then takes a step toward me and places his thumb on the corner of my mouth and swipes it under my bottom lip. Watching his eyes grow darker, I feel my pulse speed up. “Toothpaste,” he grunts, dropping his hand away from me but staying in my space.

Licking my bottom lip, I take a step back and wipe my mouth, feeling my cheeks heat. “Thanks.”

“I have a couple friends coming into town tonight. Do you mind picking up some groceries?”

“Not at all.”

“Meat, Mags, not tofu.” He smiles, and my belly does that dip-drop thing again and gets warm.

“I already know that,” I grumble back, rolling my eyes at him. Then I turn back toward the toaster and take my bread out, pulling down the peanut butter and slathering both slices. Taking my plate with me, I go to the table in the breakfast nook to sit down then take a moment to appreciate him while he moves around the kitchen.

“Do you want coffee?”

Feeling my cheeks heat, I pull my gaze from his abs and raise them to meet his eyes.

Busted again.

“Orange juice,” I mumble, covering my hand with my mouth as I chew. Nodding, he pours me a glass of juice then comes to sit across from me, holding his cup of coffee in his hand.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replies, studying me, and then runs his hand over his jaw. “So tell me about your modeling. Why did you stop?”

Great
. This is something I had hoped he forgot about since he never asked me about it after Ace brought it up. Apparently, I couldn’t be so lucky.

“My first job was actually for a friend of mine, who designed her own clothing line when she was in college. She asked if I would do some pictures wearing her clothes for her website. Two months after she launched her line, I got a call from an agency and they wanted to represent me. I really didn’t take it seriously at first, but then I got my first paid job, and like they say, the rest is history.” I take another bite of my toast.

“Why did you stop modeling?”

“I didn’t exactly stop. I just haven’t had a job in a few months. When things happened with Morgan, I knew I couldn’t risk leaving her alone, so I told my agency that if the job was out of town to pass it on to someone else.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he questions, taking one of the slices of toast off my plate, taking a bite, and then setting it back down.

“It was fun. When I was younger, I loved it because it gave me a chance to travel, but I don’t think I would have done it for much longer. Staying in hotels and being away from home was getting old.”

“Do you have any of your pictures?”

“A few, but not really. I’m sure you could Google me and see some.” I shrug then watch horrified as he pulls out his cell phone from the pocket of his sweats.

“What name did you use? I tried searching before, but nothing ever came up.”

“You tried looking me up before?” I whisper.

“Yes.” He raises a brow smirking.

Sighing, I mutter, “Star Laurence, my middle name and my grandmother’s name.” Typing into his phone, his hand holds the cell tight in his grasp as he swipes his finger across the screen.

“Jesus,” he sits back in the chair then looks me over.

“What?”

“You’re half naked.”

“What?” I ask, grabbing his phone from his hand then paling when I see that he’s come across some of the photos for a plus-size lingerie line I did a year ago. Feeling suddenly embarrassed, I exit out of the web browser, set his phone down on the table, and then take my plate to the sink. “I’m gonna go get ready. What time are you leaving?” I ask while avoiding looking at him.

“Mags, you looked beautiful.”

Looking up at the sound of his quiet words, I wonder what I should say.

“Honestly, beautiful,” he says earnestly.

“Thanks,” I whisper, dropping my eyes from his, focusing all my attention on scrubbing my plate.

Putting some more soap on the sponge in my hand, I wash out my cup then jump when I feel his arm slide past me so he can set his mug in the sink. “I’m gonna leave for the airport in about an hour.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later,” I tell him, or tell the sink, when I pick up his cup and wash it out as well. His lips touch the top of my head then he’s gone. Letting out a breath, I set the dishes in the drainer then head up to my room and plop myself down onto my bed, covering my face with my hands. I don’t have body issues. I’m totally comfortable in my skin. My parents may not have been the best parents, but there was never a time I was made to feel less beautiful than my sister, even though I was a few sizes bigger than her. We were taught there was beauty in all shapes and sizes, but Sven seeing me half naked wearing close to nothing isn’t something I’m exactly okay with, especially when I didn’t have the courage to look into his eyes to see what he thought. Groaning against my palms, I get up and go to the bathroom in my room and get into the shower, figuring I can beat myself up about it later after I go to the grocery store.