God, just the thought of her little tush shaking while I slam in and out of her soaking wet pussy…it’s a thought I really need to stop having, unless I want a picture of me with a boner to make the front page tomorrow morning.
I take the handle of my suitcase and exhale long and steady before pushing out of the truck.
“Captain Du Pont, why did you throw a mattress out of your window this morning?”
“Broken spring.”
“Are you officially living with Addison Potts?
“Yes.”
Flashes go off.
“How long have you been seeing each other?”
I don’t answer that one, because “last night” doesn’t sound like the right answer, even though that’s when we officially started to date. I’m not so sure I haven’t been seeing her since I moved into her apartment, though, and fooling myself into believing we were just friends. We are friends. Best friends. But that doesn’t explain how often I’ve thought of her, fantasized about her, how my heart would kick up into my damn throat every time she answered the door.
Holding on to the memory of Addison framed by Christmas lights, I push through the fray, keeping my features carefully schooled.
“Are you dating Clemons’ cousin to get back at her for canceling the wedding?”
“Addison Potts’ mother was the mistress of Naomi’s father. There’s some talk he might be Addison’s father, as well. How—”
“How does the Clemons family feel about you dating Miss Potts? Are you telling us this is all a coincidence, Captain Du Pont?”
“Is she pregnant? Will there be a rushed engagement?”
Christ. I’ve already arranged for Addison to be escorted to and from work by a security detail, but even two armed guards can’t keep these ridiculous questions from being hurled in her direction. She’s not accustomed to them like me.
“Naomi Clemons is back in town. Have you spoken to her?”
Okay, now that one I wasn’t expecting. I check myself for some kind of reaction and find nothing more than…mild surprise. I’m glad Naomi is all right, returned to her family, and I hope to apologize someday for going through the motions as we got closer to the wedding. Or possibly since the beginning of our relationship. But I’m more concerned about Addison having to field this question from reporters. If she was insecure about the bed I destroyed, how is she going to feel about Naomi being back in Charleston?
Can’t we get through one day together without something trying to disrupt us?
I set aside the news of Naomi’s return and focus on getting through today. Being with Addison, holding her, ignoring anything that makes us question our relationship—that’s how to deal with disruptions. Having made it to the door, I turn and nod to the reporters, several of whom I catch trying to film my ass. “What would I do without you all being so concerned about my love life?” I wink at their ripple of laughter. “If you’re so invested in its success, send Addison flowers and tell her they’re from me. I need all the help I can get.”
They all go off like car alarms as soon as I leave, throwing questions at me through the door, but I only wave back at them while passing through security. Something about the tension in the lobby tells me my father is upstairs and that theory is confirmed a few moments later when I pass Preston in the hallway. Being that there’s no love lost between us and I have no intention of faking otherwise, I start to pass him with a tight nod. I’m forced to slow, however, when he addresses me.
“I guess it’s safe to say Addison won’t be needing my tour guide services.” He checks his phone, then slides it back into his suit pocket, tapping it into place with a finger. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to showing her around.”
Red bleeds into the edges of my vision. “You’re not on a first-name basis with her. Miss Potts will work just fine.” I step into his space, satisfied when he drops a few shades of tan. “Not that you’ll have the chance to call her anything.”
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll run into each other sometime.” He backs away from me with an infuriating wink. “Charleston is a small world.”
When Preston disappears down the stairwell, it takes all of my willpower not to go after him. I manage to calm the boil of my blood by recalling Addison’s sex-limp body in bed, the feel of her fingertips tracing the knots of my spine. Her breath on my neck. She’s my woman. Preston could never be a threat to that. He’s pissed about not being asked to join my advisory council and is just trying to get under my skin—and jealousy over Addison is his only effective tool. No way I’m going to let him threaten the contentedness I left the house with this morning, though. Not happening.