Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security 3)

“You left the condom wrapper on the floor,” Sasha says, her voice so close to my ear it startles me.

I have to pull my head back in order to not smack our cheeks together when I turn to look at her. She’s glaring at Preston, leaning into the space of my own lounger.

“That’s disgusting,” she adds.

His cheeks turn pink. “S-sorry. That was rude. I didn’t see a trashcan.”

“It’s in the—”

I drown them out, grimacing when Kyle walks across the pool deck. I swear he acts like he’s on a camera reel in slow motion with the way he tosses his hair back and forth like some damn Disney prince. Does he think all eyes are on him?

He circles around the lounger, not interrupting Preston who is taking a verbal lashing from Sasha and leans over the back of mine.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

I tilt my head up to look up at him, and of course his eyes are on my chest and not my face.

“Kyle,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Wanna go someplace a little quieter?” His finger trails down my arm, cold chills—and not the good kind—sweep down my arms. “We could—”

Kyle yelps, and I sit up quickly, stopping the argument between Preston and Sasha as I spin around to see what’s going on.

Flynn shoves Kyle into Brooks’ chest in a practiced move before he lifts me up over the top of the lounger like I weigh nothing.

“What the hell are you doing?” All the air leaves my lungs when he tosses me over his shoulder and carries me away from the pool.

What is going on? There is no way I’m upside down, staring at the backs of his legs. This happens in ignorant movies, not real life.

“You’re out there showing everyone your ass,” he hisses.

“I was sitting on my ass until you put it on display!”

I open my mouth to tell him to let me go, but then his big hand comes down in a slap on the exposed skin of my ass, and the only thing I can do is yelp.Chapter 19Flynn

I’ve memorized everything about this woman, including the roster of men who’ve been in her life. That douche Kyle has been pictured with her more than once, several snapshots taken by paparazzi where they were so close to one another, sliding a piece of tissue between them would’ve been impossible.

Seeing him touch her made me lose my damn mind, but as I carry her up the stairs toward her room, I have no idea what I’m going to do with her. Normally, I’m a planner, knowing what my next ten moves are going to be before moving my feet. Right now? All I want to do is give her luscious ass a punishing squeeze.

I have no damn business pulling her away from her friends, or a guy that shows interest in her, but here we are.

I don’t let her get far once I step into her room and place her back on her feet after kicking her door closed with my foot.

“Have you lost your damn mind!” she roars, her tiny fists making absolutely no real impact on my chest as she slams them against me.

“He touched you,” I hiss with just as much ire as she’s displaying.

“And?” Her arms cross over her chest and I have to look away, the swells pushing up almost indecently.

That’s a very good question, but telling her I hated the sight of it shows my hand, and I’ve barely kept control over myself since I stepped foot in this house. They must pump pheromones or something through the damn HVAC system because I’ve never walked around with a chronic erection before. The damn thing is always on alert these days.

“You don’t control my life!”

She shoves me again, but I stand my ground.

“You’re not my damn dad!”

Another shove, only this time I grab her arm and drag her against my chest, her harsh breaths dragging her nipples up and down.

Shaking her isn’t an option. The stubborn brat wouldn’t do anything but dig her feet in and fight me more.

“No, Remington. I’m not your dad.”

That’s a different kind of story, sweet girl.

“But maybe missing out on having a good one is the reason you’re such a pain in my ass.”

Speaking of pains in the ass, I hold her close as I cross the room, tossing her over my lap as she tries to get away.

With her head turned to the side, she watches me, her body calm and unmoving.

“What are you going to do?” She shoots daggers at me but doesn’t flinch or try to escape when I glare down at her.

“Spank your ass.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, pretty girl. Do I love a challenge.”

She swallows, her lean neck bobbing under my threat.

My rough hand skates down her delicate spine, goosebumps following its path.

“Did you like him touching you?”