Some Like It Charming - By Megan Bryce Page 0,59
me. We don’t.”
“Then why are you sleeping with him? Is that part of your agreement? Is that what the million dollars is for?”
Mackenzie jerked her head back as if she’d been slapped. Then took a deep breath.
Christine held up her hand to stop Mackenzie from saying anything. “I think you’re a liar. I simply can’t decide if you’re lying to him, to me, or to yourself.”
Christine turned to leave and Mackenzie bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood.
Christine closed the front door softly behind her and Mackenzie picked up the screwdriver and threw it across the room.
Nine
When Ethan came home, Mackenzie was pacing around the living room. He walked in and she nearly shouted, “Here’s why I’m sleeping with you. Because I like it.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“And because I can.”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“And it’s not for your goddamn money.”
“That’s not really what I’m paying you for. That’s illegal.” She stopped her pacing and looked at him. He said, “Besides, I think you should be paying me.”
Her mouth fell open, and then she snapped it shut. “You’re not that good, O’Connor.”
He smiled slightly and took a step forward, sensing the danger was over. “No?”
“I’ve had better.”
He shook his head. “No, you haven’t.”
She sniffed and put her nose in the air. “How do you know?”
He took another step closer, reaching for her hand. “Because I’ve never had better. And I’ve had more experience than you.”
“Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s always like that for whoever I’m with.”
The thought made him a little light-headed. “Is it?”
She didn’t answer him and he started breathing again. He nodded to the new hole in the wall. “Redecorating? Or did I interrupt you hiding your stash?” He pulled her toward him. “I’m not going to be able to find it in the walls.”
“I threw the screwdriver after your mother paid me a visit.”
He murmured, “The screwdriver. Should have got rid of that as well.”
He’d known his mother had visited; the doorman had informed him on the way in. Ethan had tipped him handsomely for the heads-up.
Mackenzie said, “Why don’t you get rid of your mother? Send her on a cruise for the next week.”
“I don’t really mind you two fighting. There are some side effects that work in my favor.”
“I mind.”
“You’re just trying to get out of dinner.”
She blew out a breath. “I’m not going to dinner with that woman ever again.”
“I’ll let you bring the screwdriver.”
She pursed her lips and scowled at him. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m mad.”
“No. You were mad. Now you’re a little bit horny. And wanting to get back at my mother.”
“Oh, is that what I am?”
Ethan nodded. “All that energy needs to go somewhere. I’d prefer it go into my bed and not my walls.”
She shook her head. “I’ve wised up. I’m not getting into your bed again because of your mother.”
“So when I get you into bed tonight, it will be because you want to be there?”
She cocked her head. “I can admit that. You’re pretty good in bed.”
It was the first he was hearing about it, but he kissed her lightly. “Be sure and let the Enquirer know that in your exit interview.”
She laughed, missing the droop in his face, in his body. She said, “That won’t help keep women away from you. Isn’t that what you’re paying me for?”
“I’ve honestly forgotten what I’m paying you for. I thought it was the sex.”
She groaned. “That’s what your mother thinks.”
“And we’re back to my mother.” He pulled her toward the door and took a large manila envelope out of his briefcase. “Let’s move away from her and on to your intrusive relations.”
She sucked in a breath. “Has he been bothering you?” She looked at the lacerations on his hand. “Did you hit him?”
“Haven’t heard a peep from him. I had him looked into.” He looked at his hand, wiggling his fingers slowly, and grimaced. “And my hand met with an unfortunate accident this morning at the gym.”
She grabbed his hand, pulling it up and inspecting it. “What happened?”
“Just a deal gone bad. I got angry.”
“Not WestCon? Does that mean I can buy some now?”
He glared at her. “Not WestCon, and no you can’t buy any.”
“Then what could have possibly made you so angry? You’re a lover, not a fighter.”
“Was that an insult?”
“No. It was. . . the truth. You wouldn’t ever hit anybody. I didn’t even think you would imagine hitting somebody.”
He smiled coldly. Remembering how he’d imagined beating her father’s face into a pulp.
He said, “I will admit it’s never