Virgin Fix (The Virgins Book 1)

by Monica Rush

  I’ve thought about fucking her every day since.

  Which is why I stayed away. She’s my boss’s kid in a roundabout way and, up until today—about ten minutes ago, in fact—I always thought she was off-limits. She’s still off-limits, actually. But now things have gotten a whole lot more complicated. I don’t need complicated. I sure as hell don’t want it. I live for the open road, the only place I’ve ever felt free.

  But if I take Paddy’s offer…all that goes away. Shit.

  I don’t miss the way Paddy is watching the entire scene unfold, observing us like we’re on display. Every time Bobbi and I cross in our untimely reunions—and it’s always untimely—we end up staring at each other like sworn enemies, waiting for the other to back down. I never do. Then again, neither does she. It’s one of about a million things that drive me wild about her. That’s not a bad thing, I suddenly realize.

  She’s got an incredible body. I’ve got an incredible body. Together, we’d do incredible things to each other’s bodies and have incredible sex and feel incredible and—

  I stop myself before I get swept up in all the incredibles. The incredibles between us will never happen.

  For one thing, Bobbi is Paddy’s ward—someone to protect, not lust over. For another, she hates me, which is more than obvious by the way her bright green eyes are now shooting daggers at me, despite the fact I finally handed her dog back to her—as much as you can hand over a small pony. But Bobbi’s always worn her feelings on her sleeve. You know where you stand with her, which is refreshing. Refreshing and—hot, I decide. Way too fucking hot.

  “Always good to see you, Bobbi,” I say, offering a truce. Paddy has a soft spot for the scatterbrained live wire and, truth be told, so do I. I realize that now. So even though she’ll make me absolutely crazy in more ways than one, I’ll find a way to make this work. “Still taking in strays, I see.”

  “That seems to be something Paddy and I have in common,” she retorts and spikes her eyebrow. My pulse spikes in response. Damn it. My reaction has nothing to do with the bomb Paddy dropped on me seconds before Bobbi and the giant mutt literally slammed into me. As if learning my boss wants to leave me everything and move to Arizona isn’t enough of a shock—why not add in the one metric fuckton of a stipulation to really throw me off my game.

  I get the house, the cool couple million in the bank, the multiple properties, even my own division of O’Malley’s Construction. It’s a lot. It’s insanity, is what it is. Fifteen years I’ve worked for the man and not once did I think he’d ever do something like this. But with one snap of his fingers, it’s all mine.

  There’s just one catch—because there’s always a catch—Bobbi is part of the deal. If I want any of Paddy’s gifts, I have to agree to stay and take care of Bobbi for the rest of my days, or until she gets married to a guy I approve. My boss is insane, but he’s clearly thought about it—there’s an entire document he’s drawn up and notarized, making it all official. All I have to do is sign. Oh, and let’s not forget the caveat—because there’s always one of those, too—she has to move into this house with me. Which, given the way I want to take her right here on the kitchen floor, ain’t gonna happen.

  Honestly, I should say no to Paddy right now. I’m an open road kinda guy, more at home looking for the next horizon than I’ll ever be living in a house like Paddy’s. Me and settling down…it ain’t gonna happen.

  I stare down Bobbi across the kitchen, her hair sticking out every which way, her chest heaving as she labors her breathing like she’s debating running away again or jumping into my arms. I expect the first option but would much rather the second. It ain’t gonna happen. “You know, you’re kind of a train wreck.”

  “Oh yeah?” she steams right back. “You’re not all that great just because you’re so big and strong and, and—” she slams her mouth shut, so adorably at a loss that it’s everything I can do not to grab her.

  It ain’t… ahhhhh, shit.

  Because now Bobbi’s eyeing me with the same curiosity now coursing through my veins, that same wide-eyed innocence she eyed me with when she walked in on me in the shower. She feels it, I know she does, this building heat between us, hard and demanding and damned near making me blind. Did Paddy already tell her about the deal? Is that why she’s here? Or is it something more?

  The way Bobbi’s studying me is unnerving, like she can see past the leather jacket, the torn jeans that may not make it through another wash, the wind-blown hair I haven’t been able to tame in my thirty-plus years, and I step back. It makes no sense, me retreating from a girl, but Bobbi isn’t a girl, not anymore. Now, she’s all woman.

  A woman I have this overwhelming need to make mine, never mind that her idea of the open road is any stretch of pavement that leads to the pound. Bobbi, of all the idiotic ideas. But there you have it. The cock wants what it wants.

  “So, how long are you back this time?” Bobbi’s accusing tone cuts into me, both pissing me off and convincing me she doesn’t know about Paddy’s offer. But why does she instantly jump to the worst possible conclusion? The urge to pull her to me, to devour her lips until she forgets how to speak—let alone the question—nearly consumes me. Why does it matter how long I’m back? I’m here now and I’ve never wanted her more. Hell, with Paddy’s too-good-to-be-true offer, it would be all to easy to make her mine.

  I want to drag her out of the kitchen and into the room my boss keeps for me, tear the clothes from her body, and feast from her flesh. I’d start slow, lick the dewy sweetness from the folds protecting her sex, her cream dissolving on my tongue and becoming a part of me. Once I made her nice and wet, I’d mount her, cover her body with mine, and finally slide my cock into her pussy, deep and true. I can almost hear her cry out in pleasure as I fill her tight little hole with my girth.

  Double shit. I had to go there, too. When the fuck will I ever learn to stop picturing this pretty little spitfire under me, writhing as I thrust into her over and over until she screams—

  “Are you through?”

  Her question pulls me from the fantasy I didn’t even realize I was having. “Through?”

  “Staring at my boobs, perv.” She crosses her arms up underneath her breasts, not over them like I expected, drawing my attention. The hard tips tent the fabric of her wet shirt and my saliva glands activate. I swallow and turn my head, fighting the urge to return my gaze to her chest, to once again imagine her naked, her legs open, my body positioned perfectly to thrust deep inside her—

  “Hold up,” she says and I’m a little lost in the sound of her voice. She then does something I don’t expect—she peels her wet shirt off her body, leaving her in a thin bikini top that does nothing to hide her hard nipples.

  “What the hell, Bobbi?” I immediately remove my leather jacket and cover her, feeling like a complete shit for staring at her as long as I did before looking away, especially in front of Paddy. If we were alone, I might’ve already torn the rest of the clothes from her body. There’s a time and place for everything. Right here, in front of the man who took her in so many years ago, is neither the time nor the place for us to have it out.

  But we will. As long as there is breath in my lungs, we will fucking have it out. I see it in her eyes. She’s gunning for me. And, truth be told, I’m looking forward to finally putting this little frenemies game we’ve been playing to rest.

  “Oh, whatever. I figured I’d give you a chance to get the gawking out of your system. God, you are such a guy.” She rolls her eyes and for some reason, I even find that sexy.

  “Because I am a guy,” I fire back, pushing hard to transform the need now flooding my soul into other feelings I’m used to whenever I’m around Bobbi. Annoyance. Irritation. Frustration. Today, I get the great pleasure of all three of them assaulting me at the same time.

  Fucking awesome.

  “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your business meeting.” She slaps her thigh. “Come, Mr. Doolittle.” The dog whines as he bounces his
attention between us. He then leans to my leg and whines again.

  I grin. “Looks like he wants to stay with me.” I scratch behind his ear.

  “Oh, hell to the no,” Bobbi protests. “That is so not how this is going to happen.”

  When she reaches for him, I grasp her wrist and pull her away from the dog. “How what is going to happen?”

  “Um, th-this.” She stumbles, so I wrap my arm around the small of her back to stabilize her, using my body to hold her up.

  “This?” Our gazes lock as our bodies melt together. Curiosity heats her expression and she lifts her chin. I lower my head in response. She licks her lips.

  And…I’m gone.

  Chapter Three

  Bobbi

  I don’t know who moves first—but I’m pretty sure it’s Dean. I mean, it has to be Dean, right? I’m totally not the kind of person to rip my shirt off in front of Paddy. And I’m certainly not the girl to make the first move on a guy I just totally embarrassed myself in front of, especially a guy who thinks he’s about to—

  Ohmygodheiskissingme.

  The touch of Dean’s mouth on mine starts like the soft kiss in those perfume ads, where the models’ faces drift together as if the other person might break, but the instant our lips connect I make this weird sort of sigh deep in my throat…and it seems to be the right thing to do. Dean growls in response and grabs my waist tight. Then he hauls me into his body and my soaking wet bikini top is absolutely no barrier to the sensations swamping my body, shooting straight to the center of me and exploding in a hundred million directions. I realize my eyes are shut for some stupid reason and I blink them open immediately, because there’s absolutely no way I’m going to miss this. But what I see practically makes my legs turn to noodles beneath me.

  Dean’s eyes are closed, his face rapt with intensity, as if there’s nothing in the world that he’d rather be doing than kissing—kissing me! Then a new and unfamiliar sensation jolts me yet again and I gasp as Dean’s tongue presses past my lips, plundering deep. I’ve been kissed before but never like this, and the intimate touch makes my heart pound and my breath hitch. I want to get even closer to him, so up close and personal until I’m practically wearing his skin.

  Then Dean’s hand slides down my ass and my eyes practically cross as his fingers spread wide, cupping me against him. He’s hard—ohmygod he’s so hard! I half turn in his arms, leaning back to snatch a breath before going under again, so deep under this ocean of need and want and excitement that I may never come out and—

  My gaze sweeps the kitchen and in a flash I see Mr. Doolittle—and then Paddy—both of them staring at me like slack jawed yokels.

  Horror flashes through me. What am I doing?

  “Oh my god! What the—Oh my god!” I thrust myself back from Dean’s arms as I practically scream in his face, and I can tell the moment I do that he knew—knew I’d have this moment, that I’d realize what an idiot I’ve been making of myself and then he’d have a good ol’ laugh at my expense. I don’t mind Paddy laughing at me—well, I do mind, but this guy—

  I’m never going to live this down.

  “Argh!” I cry out as I realize I’m still wearing his jacket on top of everything else. I try fruitlessly to rip if off me but it takes three solid attempts before I’m able to fling it in Dean’s direction, stupid heavy jacket. Then I grab up my soggy shirt and whirl on Mr. Doolittle. The excited dog is practically dancing in place but I thrust my hand out, daring him to think it’s merely his turn at tug of war, and give him the order to follow.

  “Mr. Doolittle! Now!”

  To my desperate relief, the mastiff seems to catch my intensity and urgency. He immediately bounds after me as I bolt for the door. I hear Paddy calling out behind me, but right after that I hear Dean, and as I expected there’s laughter in his voice, laughter and the half-choked sort of cough that usually precedes the kind of guffaw that I will never unhear.

  I have to get out of this house!

  I blast through the front door and down the steps, lengthening my stride as Mr. Doolittle easily keeps up with me, totally not caring that I’m dashing across my yard half-naked. The big, bounding dog has no idea I’m upset, he’s simply happy to be out and running in the open air, the sun still managing to peek through the building clouds that presage yet another storm tonight. Well, the dogs will be safe from the storm at least. That’s why I brought so many of them home from the shelter today. They’ll be safe in my little house, never mind its crap water pressure and shaky electricity and sketchy roof. They won’t be scared about the rolling thunder and, hey—with all the dogs around, I won’t be scared either.

  The little red and white clapboard house appears neat as a pin against the blanket of grass and profusion of flowers I’ve planted around it. From the outside, it looks idyllic, even I have to admit. Never mind that inside, the house is in ruins, with barely enough water pressure to wash a fork, let alone a Tibetan Mastiff mixed breed fur monster—which is why I impose on Paddy whenever Mr. Doolittle rolls in something.

  I let out a shuddery laugh as I trot up the steps to my cottage, pausing to drift a hand along the clematis blooms that are even now closing up, tensing against the storm. “We’ll all be okay,” I promise the delicate flowers, and push through the door.

  Chaos greets me, dogs gyrating in their crates, desperate to be let free. There’s Lady K, who’s the sweetest little pregnant dachshund you ever could meet, Ranger, her gallant defender, and the little ball of fluff I just call Poof. I dart into the bedroom for a fresh shirt and then, through the skill of long habit, I’m able to get them out of their crates and through the back door of the cottage, where they clamor with excitement at getting to play with their friends in the tiny, fenced-in yard. The wind is already beginning to pick up, cooling my overheated cheeks. Standing outside the house, I’m at least somewhat protected from anyone seeing me…except maybe Dean, and he won’t be looking.

  “Oh, Mr. Doolittle, what was I thinking?” I moan, and the dog leans against me, woofing deep in his throat as he trains his adoring gaze skyward. I laugh ruefully, scratching his head. “Well you danced with him too, you know. I was only trying to take my turn and it got out of hand. You can understand how that can happen, can’t you?”

  Another woof, and Mr. Doolittle licks my hand, his tail wagging madly.

  “Go,” I laugh and the dog leaps forward to join the much smaller animals in a playful frenzy, all of them bouncing and barking and jumping into each other in a paroxysm of pure, unadulterated doggy joy.

  I lean against the pillar of the back stoop—the solid one and not the one about to crumble from dry rot—and give myself over to my own goofy grin. Despite the creeping mildew in the bathroom and the scatter of mice that show up every time the seasons change, the fact that this place has a little fenced-in back yard and isn’t attached to Paddy’s house makes it perfect. Paddy-O already controls enough of my life. This dump of a cottage is just about the only thing I have that’s truly mine. Well, it’s a rental, so it’s only sort of mine. Nevertheless, it’s my rental.

  My landlord won’t lift a hand to fix anything—but at least I have a roof over my head. At least I have Paddy right next door if I need anything. And at least I have a place to bring these beautiful dogs—some of them happy, some of them frightened, but all of them seeming to recognize that this is a safe haven where they can run and play.

  That’s all I ever wanted, was that safe haven. Even when I was a kid being bounced from babysitter to babysitter while my dad was out on a job, I managed that. Usually. It’s been enough. More than enough. Now Paddy still takes care of me even though I can take care of myself, probably out of guilt more than anything else. My dad was working a job for Paddy when he fell six stories to his death. I don’t blame Paddy—I blame my dad for not wearing his safety harness. Still, ever since Paddy delivered the news of my dad’s death, he’s kept his eye on me. He even bought that giant house next to my crappy cottage because he wanted to
keep watch over me…which is super sweet. Ultimately, though, he’ll move on too. Everyone does.

  I sigh, glancing up to watch the storm clouds roll in and feel the first drops of rain on my face, and for just a moment, I let myself remember the feel of Dean’s hands on my waist, his mouth covering mine, his thick, urgent shaft pressed up against my belly, leaving absolutely no doubt of his interest in me. He’ll be back on the open road by the next morning, totally having forgotten me, but dammit, I’ll always have that kiss. I’ll always have that moment. And I’ll always have the memory of what he looked like in that shower. No one can take it away from me.

  It will be enough.

  Chapter Four

  Dean

  It’ll never be enough.

  I lick the taste of Bobbi from my lips as I lean against the windowsill, studying the tiny cottage she calls home. From the looks of it, that roof has seen better days. It won’t last another rainy season, which is right now in the ass end of Florida.

  And I’m back to my original question. What the actual fuck?

  How did a literal run-in with Paddy’s crazy sexy ward transform into me wrapping her up in my arms and trying to inhale her? And leave me dying for more?

  “Well, I guess that’s that.” Paddy grabs his coat and slips it on. “Should you need me, I’ll be in Arizona.”

  “Whoa. Hold up.” I push off the sill and face my boss, pulling my hands from my jeans. “You can’t just leave after what you said. We need to talk about this.” Jesus, please. If he leaves, there’ll be nothing to keep me from drilling Bobbi to the floor the next time she flashes those bright green eyes at me. She claims to hate me, but that kiss...