Home > Man Card (Man Hands #2)(7)

Man Card (Man Hands #2)(7)
Author: Sarina Bowen


I’m going to maim him. I wonder what the sentencing guidelines say about maiming?

My gaze swings in the other direction, and I’m wondering if I shouldn’t lead the VanHeimlichs out the back way, toward the porch. But there’s a suspicious pile of magazines visible by the door, and I’m terrified to learn what’s on their covers.

The dining room it is, then. “Step right this way,” I say, my sensible pumps clicking on the flooring tiles. The VanHeimlichs are right on my heels as I throw on the switch for the ultramodern chandelier.

Mrs. VanHeimlich gasps. I know the place is beautiful, but come on, that’s a little dramatic.

Then Mr. VanHeimlich mutters “Dear God, it’s an abomination!” I know something is very wrong when he whips off his jacket and tosses it over his wife’s head. That would make sense if the room were filled with bats and he was trying to protect his wife. I mean, bats burrow into hair, I’m pretty sure.

There aren’t any bats though. The dining room looks totally gorgeous. It’s all glass and marble and giant framed art posters.

Wait a minute.

Every poster has been replaced with a portrait of…Braht. I gasp too, but damn if I’m going to let Mr. VanHeimlich cover my eyes with a jacket because I want to keep looking and looking and looking at…

At…

“Holy hell,” I breathe and do a 360. There must be six different poses, each one sexier than the next. Beautiful, chiseled, hairless Braht in a variety of sexy, bulging poses.

But it’s the one of him stroking himself on the velvet settee that makes me pass out.

Literally.

 

 

4 Going All Outlander

 

 

Braht


Thanks to modern security technology, I see my girl go down like a brick wall, right there on Tom’s dining room floor.

And what does that dickhead VanHeimlich do? He steps over her and leads his wife out. I’m speechless, although I’ll be giving him a piece of my mind later. Just not yet. I’m running out the back door of my house, leaping over Mrs. VanDanbunk’s lilac hedge and running toward Tom’s place. It’s only a quarter mile away, because it was me that convinced Tom to buy a place in the same posh neighborhood where Casa Braht is located. I’ve gone the back way, which means I’m setting off motion-detecting lights and sensors like crazy, but I don’t care.

Because Ash.

Good thing I ran track in high school, before I discovered golf.

I’m there in a flash, racing through his yard to the walkway in back, then pound around to the front. Vaulting up the stairs I arrive in the dining room just as Ash is struggling to sit up.

“Oh, fuck,” she says, rubbing the back of her head. “I don’t think I made the sale.” Her eyes seem to come into focus. Then her gaze rakes up my body, from my legs to my, well, most excellent bits. Then up to my face. She frowns. “This is your fault.”

I squat down beside her. “Yeah, it is. I didn’t expect you to react quite that dramatically. I’m flattered, though.”

“You absolute dick.” Her beautiful eyes narrow. “I could have sold this house! You robbed me. You robbed us both? Who does that?”

“They weren’t going to buy it.”

“You don’t know that!” she yells.

Except I do. “They have a similarly sized home just a half mile away that they’re trying to sell so they can move to Bermuda. Theirs is priced too high, so their realtor suggested they stop in and do a comparison.”

“Fuck!” Ash says, sounding even grumpier. “You set me up for no reason?”

“For fun,” I say, feeling sorry. “Those VanHeimlichs are assholes, baby. I wanted to shock them. I should have let you in on the joke. I, uh…” It isn’t easy to get my mouth to make the words. “I’m sorry. Truly.”

Ash’s face softens the moment I say it. Note to self: Ash appreciates a good apology.

She still looks a little woozy, though, and my ego isn’t big enough to assume it’s because of my hotness. Well, not all because of my hotness. “You might have a bump on your head. Let me help you up.” I grasp her under the arms and lift her right to her feet.

“Oh,” she says softly. “Thank you.” I keep an arm behind her back, because she’s still a little unsteady. Her eyes wander to the largest poster, the one of me on the settee. It’s a masterwork, if I’m honest. Everybody, no matter how humble, likes to look his best. (Not that I’m humble. What’s the point of that?)

And Bramly really delivered the goods on these photos. Looking your best is 70% confidence, 20% raw material, 10% imported photographic lenses and 5% lighting. Pay no mind to the total of more than 100%, because in my case that’s what you’re getting. The poster is 105% awesome.

Ash’s eyes roam the photo, and she sort of sags against me.

“Come hither, Ash.” I steer her toward an upholstered dining chair. At the last second I sit down first, so that she lands in my lap.

“I’m still mad at you,” she says as I swing her long legs across my lap and wrap my arms around her.

“Okay.” I run a hand down her back until I reach her plaid-covered rump, and I give it a nice, dirty squeeze. “I kinda like the naughty schoolgirl look you’re rocking today. The shoes should really be sleazier, though.”

“Fuck right off,” she says, but her body angles closer to mine, and her breathing accelerates. Her lips brush over the scruff on my jaw. “You’re so prickly.”

“That’s usually my line.”

She huffs out a laugh, and her breath on my neck gives me goosebumps. “I mean your face. Never saw you with whiskers before.”

“It works for you, doesn’t it?” The fact that she’s noticed lights me right up. My hands are full of Ash, and my cock begins to feel nice and thick beneath her weight.

“Scruff is less pristine. More macho.”

“Hmm.” I run a hand down her sleek hair. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? You tell the whole world you want to run the show. But what you really want is for me to throw you up against the wall like a scene from Outlander.”

Her breath hitches. “You watch Outlander?”

“They had it playing at the place where I get my manicures,” I lie, just to push her buttons.

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