My parents are far from being a good example, but they never yell. I have been trained in the way to firmly communicate an order without raising my voice.
“Never ceases to amaze me. She can handle what my teen throws out,” Ice mumbles as he brushes past me. He kisses Brooke on the top of her head before going to the coffee pot.
Not being certain that he was actually talking to me, I blankly stare at the man in front of me. His low slung sweat pants only accentuate the clearly defined muscles of his body. The pants barely stay above his butt, which is both firm looking and also nice and round. For the first time in my life, I have the overwhelming urge to grab a man’s ass, and it disturbs me; as a result, I focus on another body part in the hopes that the sensation will go away.
Moving my gaze over his flexing triceps, my eyes widen a bit as I realize the man’s arms are huge. I swear his biceps are bigger than my thighs. The intricate work of his tattoos draws me in. I can’t exactly make out what is on his upper arm without moving in closer, but it looks as if it is some sort of skull wearing a green beret.
With his back to me, I am able to take in the large tattoo that covers it. A large eagle with his wings out on display holds a sword in his grasp. Above the eagle’s head in bold letters is the word ‘Regulators’. As he moves around, filling the coffee pot with water and ground coffee, the muscles in his back ripple. In all my life, I have never analyzed a man’s body enough to know they could be built in such a way, and now I realize I have been missing out. Backs built like Ice’s are sort of beautiful and might just be my new favorite body part.
“Morgan’s gonna stay here until we get Madyson back,” Ice states matter-of-factly while pushing the button on the pot to brew. I seriously need more than coffee to take in what he just said.
“Excuse me?” I question, flabbergasted while Brooke simply smiles. “I thought I was only staying for the night!”
“You haven’t been sleeping well. Stay here so you can feel safe and not be lost in your thoughts. Brooke will talk your head off and be a good distraction.” He gets his coffee cup out, sets in on the counter, and then continues to move around the kitchen as if ordering me and my life around is an everyday feat for him.
“You make it sound so simple. I have a home of my own, ya know.”
“Save the Ms. Independent bullshit for when your sister comes home. For now, you need to eat. As much as I like fitness, I like a woman with curves, and sweetheart, your curves are disappearin’. We can’t have that. It would be fuckin’ criminal to let that ass of yours waste away. You need to sleep. You also need to let me do my job, and part of doing my job means looking out for you, too. I can do that better if you’re in my house. Your car is in the garage with a remote opener in the console. Take Brooke, get some shit, and settle in.”
What the hell just happened?
Somehow, I feel as if I have been pulled in a little more into Ice’s world when I barely finished promising Brooke I would stay firmly away.
Chapter
15
Ice
I should have kept my ass upstairs. Watching Morgan handle Brooke with kindness, compassion, understanding while remaining firm—damn, just damn. I am a man who can recognize a good woman, and Morgan Powell is a good fucking woman. Too good for me.
Do I send her away? Nope. I love to torture myself with exactly what I want yet can’t have.
My phone rings, providing me the exact escape I need from the estrogen filled kitchen. After too much time around Morgan Powell, I feel the need to reach down, grab my dick, and make sure I still have my balls. Not that I am too worried about her giving me sass. The woman likes to throw her no nonsense prim and proper attitude around when she feels the need to get bossy; however, that doesn’t mean I will stand here and take it.
She may have enough attitude to try and tell me off, but I have no problem with simply throwing her over my shoulder and finding some really creative ways to show her who holds the reigns around here. The problem is, I shouldn’t want to get that sort of creative with her. That sort of creative means naked body parts, time with her, and me caring about showing her just how much of a man I am. Therein lies the problem—caring means I am getting attached. I have no business caring for a woman like her.