I smiled to myself. She was fucking jealous. Jealous I could work with. Jealous meant she still fucking loved me.
“Where are my mother and I staying?”
“Upstairs. Follow me.”
“Prospects. Go get their bags and bring them upstairs.” I held out my arm to my wife, who might not legally be my wife anymore, but she would be. I already had Justin working on getting my life reinstated. Once I was legally alive again, I could marry this woman a second time and keep her tied to me forever.
She shook her head and linked her arm with her mother’s. “Lead the way,” she said with a smile.
She had been living here for a week, and I was dying. She was killing me. Morgan walked around the clubhouse in jeans that looked painted on her ass and tank tops.
Okay, sure, it was fall, and the weather could be unpredictable. And maybe she started out with a sweater in the morning, and when the temperature rose throughout the day, she’d have to take the sweater off to cool down.
Hormones, she called it.
Bullshit is what I called it.
She was trying to kill me. Torture me by showing off her creamy skin that I wasn’t allowed to fucking touch.
My men touched her.
They passed her in the kitchen and placed a hand on her back so they didn’t bump into her. Or their fingers brushed as they handed her a drink she’d asked them to get.
She had them eating out of the palm of her hand like sappy fucking puppies.
Don’t get me wrong, I was glad they liked her and even happier she liked them. It was important for my men to love and trust my old lady. But this shit was getting out of hand.
“PROSPECT!”
The prospect holding my wife’s hand dropped it quickly and stood up. “Yes, sir?”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Jude—” Morgan started, and I held my hand up to her. I knew it was rude. I knew it would piss her off, but better she was pissed at me for being rude than pissed at me for saying shit I shouldn’t.
“Um... uh...” He looked at Morgan for help.
“Brian was letting me rub a new lotion on his hands,” my wife said, defending the prick.
“A new what?” I asked, not understanding.
“A new lotion,” she repeated, standing up. “Zombie helped me set up a spot in the basement to work.”
“Work?” I asked, sure I heard her wrong. “Why are you working?”
“Because I have a spa that I will eventually return to.”
“You don’t have to work, babe.”
She stared me down, and that was when I knew I had fucked up.
Again.
“I don’thaveto work, Jude. I choose to work. I love what I do, and you know that.” She turned to Brian. “When your shift is over, come find me and I’ll give you that massage.”
“Like fucking hell you will!”
I heard the snickers around the room, followed by Ambush’s whispered, “Abort,” as he walked by me. I ignored them all while Morgan glared at me.