Page 75 of Damaged Protector
“Nope, I’m making it up as I go along. Will you try it?” Her big eyes blinked up at me, and why the fuck is she so compelling when she looks at me like that?
When I nodded my reluctant agreement, she grinned, her lips stretching wide across her face. “Okay, so press this part of your ear down so the only thing you hear is the rumble of your own voice.” Mallori demonstrated, tapping at the little piece of cartilage and flesh in front of her ear canals. “Inhale the deepest breath you can, and then you just growl as it slowly releases through your nose. Oh, and close your eyes and keep your mouth shut.”
Feeling like an idiot, I followed her directions and performed her little exercise. When I opened my eyes, I frowned. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing,” she said indignantly as the pink on her cheeks ripened.
“Your cheeks are the color of cherries,” I contended, and she rolled her eyes.
“Fine! I read certain romance books, and they’re always talking about the guy growling. It’s supposed to be hot, but I’ve never seen the appeal.” Then she glared at me. “Until now. I guess you’re a decent growler.”
My face almost cracked in two with my smug-as-hell grin. “Aww, does Little Bee think I’m hot?” I poked her in the belly and she squirmed away.
“Oh, hell no. You’re hideous with all that dark hair and your brooding eyes and big arms.” Her hand waved up and down my frame as her nose scrunched adorably. “And the abs… blech.”
Grabbing her by the ankle, I dragged her closer to me and lowered my voice, purposely allowing a slight growl to scrape the words from my throat. “You didn’t seem to mind last night.”
She tilted her chin up haughtily, but I noticed her pupils dilate at the memory. “Well, I was in the mood to kiss someone. It was either you or Scotty P., and you won. Congratulations.”
I narrowed my eyes as I shifted to my knees and leaned over her, tugging on one of her braids. “And what’s my prize, Mallori?”
Her breathing hitched at my proximity, and then she leaned forward, her warm breath gusting against my ear when she whispered, “I’ll let you make me breakfast.”
Pulling back, I tried to fight my smile. “That’s quite an offer.”
“I know,” she said, scooting from beneath my hovering body to stand gracefully before patting me on the head. “I’ll have toast and eggs.” And she walked imperiously from the room, leaving me staring at her fine, tight ass encased in those shorts as she departed.
Then I got up and made breakfast for my roommate.
“All right, so Axel and Blaire’s daughters are Carrie and Danica? And the triplets are Dex, Max, and Rox?”
“Yep,” I answered, pulling into the gated community where the Broxtons lived on Saturday afternoon. I rolled down the window, and the security guard lifted his hand in greeting before hitting the button to open the gate. I was here enough that they recognized me on sight.
“Are they identical?”
“No, though Max and Rox look a lot alike. You can tell them apart because Max is loud as hell, and Rox is a bit quieter and shyer. Dex is like a mini version of Shark, in looks and attitude.”
“So, the scariest five-year-old imaginable,” she said wryly.
“Aren’t all five-year-olds scary?” I flipped on my blinker and turned right at the corner. “You’ve met Charli and Shark’s little ones.”
“Yes, Harper at the office and L.J. one day when we had lunch together.”
“So, I guess the only other ones you haven’t met are Bode’s family.”
“His wife is Landree, and the kids are Katie, Mia, Mason, and uhhh…”
“Sophia,” I filled in. “She’s the youngest and Bode’s biological daughter. The other three are Landree’s, but they’ve both adopted each other’s kids now.”
“Are their exes in the picture?” she asked, and I shook my head.
“Nope. Landree’s dickhead ex is in jail, and Bode’s ex passed away a short time after she dropped Sophia off at his house.”
“Awww, that’s so sad,” she said, turning to look out the window at the passing houses. “Holy hell, these houses are huge!”
“Well, Axel is an NFL superstar and Blaire’s an orthopedic surgeon. They can afford to live here.”
When I pulled up to the Broxton house and turned off the vehicle, Mallori gaped at the enormous red brick structure with thick white columns. “I’m completely underdressed,” she fretted, twisting the hem of her red sundress in her fingers. “I feel like I should be wearing a cocktail dress and heels before I enter this house. Do they have a butler?”