Thief: A Bad Boy Romance (40 page)

W
hat the
…

I frown as I try and push open the secret door into Maddie’s room via the bookshelf, only to confirm that it’s just not opening. I narrow my eyes at it and try shoving with my shoulder, but the damned thing is fucking
not
moving, like it’s accidentally locked or something. Of course, that’s not true, because I happen to know it doesn’t lock. And that can only mean there’s something holding it shut, and something suddenly tells me that there’s nothing
accidental
about it.

Which means she’s purposefully keeping me out.

Well, shit
.

I stop pushing at the door and sit there fuming in the dark with my cock half-hard in my pants and my plans of burying it deep inside Maddie’s pussy vanishing in the air around me.

It’s been six hours, tops, since the explosive afternoon in the Oval Office. I’m trying to wrack my brain about anything stupid or out of line I may have said or done since then, but I actually haven’t even
seen
her since then.

What, did she want me to send fucking flowers or some shit?

I let out a long sigh as I frown once more at the closed door before I shake my head and go back to my room.

* * *

T
here’s
something strange about seeing the President of the United States in a bathrobe. It’s like seeing your teachers outside of class as a kid, or watching the Santa Claus in the mall take his fake beard off to light a cigarette. It’s a little weird.

I’ve been at the breakfast table with Eleanor and my dad before, but that was before this was all public. I mean, I’m sure people had their hunches and their guesses, but dad and her still made a point of keeping things as professional as possible, which, I have to say, I can get behind.

But the cat’s out the bag now, the media is devouring the story, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ve seen my dad this happy in a long fucking time. They’re
both
in bathrobes, actually, drinking coffee, reading the
Post
, and generally acting like a couple. I’m even about to say something nice about it, when Maddie walks in looking like the ice-queen herself.

She doesn’t even glare at me, or shoot me a look, or say
shit
to me. She flat out ignores me, which is even more obnoxious since I still don’t know what the fuck crawled up her ass.

She grabs a mug of coffee and drags a section of the paper over to the far end of the counter, where she slumps onto a stool.

I give it about three whole seconds before I roll my eyes and move down towards her.

“Suddenly a Nationals fan?”

She looks up with a scowl on her face as I grin and nod at the sports section in her hand.

“Not a great season to jump on that bandwagon, you know.”

She sighs and snatches the paper away from me, turning her back to me.

Ooookay.

“Look, were you expecting flowers or something?” I hiss into her ear, glancing towards our parents who are lost in some sappy grinning conversation on the other side of the kitchen.

“I was
expecting
the impossible, so, jokes on me,” she mutters under her breath, sneering at me.

“Gonna have to translate that one for me, doll.”

“No problem, how about ‘you’re a fucking shithead’? You get that okay?”

“Yo comprendo,” I mutter back, furrowing my brow at her. “Look what’s your fucking problem?”

“
You
, Hunter;
you’re
my fucking problem.” She snatches up her coffee mug, scoots the stool back, and breezes out of the room.

“Oh, are you a Nationals fan, Hunter?” I jerk my head up to see Eleanor smiling at me in her bathrobe as she pours more coffee into her mug. “Terrible season, isn’t it?”

* * *

I
corner
her at the top of the stairs by the doors to both our rooms, and she jerks her arm back when I grab her.

“
What
, Hunter?”

“You better not have anything on under those PJs, you know.”

She rolls her eyes, but this time, it’s not that cute little embarrassed flirty eye roll. It’s a ‘fuck off’ eye roll.

“Go away, Hunter.”

I frown, but as she turns to open her door, I grab her arm again and pull her close.

“How about we put that big bed of yours to the test, princess,” I growl into her ear. “And you can show me
exactly
what I hope you really slee—”

“Hunter,
fuck off
,” she says with a snarl as she yanks her arm back and shoves her door open. She turns back to glare at me as she steps inside, giving me just the slightest shake of the head, her jaw set, before she slams the door shut.

So, that’s where we’re at, apparently. I’ve gone from “Oh God, I’m going to come, Hunter” to “you’re a fucking shithead, Hunter.”

Fuck me, huh?

Part of me wonders if it has to do with the announcement, as if somehow that reality has finally caught up with her and now she’s shutting down with me. It’s like now that things are out in the open — well, relatively speaking — she wants nothing to do with me. Like the publicity surrounding our parents makes it all too real.

Or possibly it’s because of what happened yesterday; maybe us actually fucking again jarred her later on or something, or embarrassed her.

Except that’s fucking ridiculous.

In any case, Maddie’s shutting me out, and if I have any pride or sense, I’ll do the same with her. If she wants nothing to do with me, or if she’s pissed about what happened, I should do the same. Self-preservation or some shit.

And besides, what the hell
is
it between us? So we had this sort of crazy, pent up attraction, and we acted on it. Big fucking deal, it’s not like it makes us boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like that. And it’s not like there aren’t a hundred other women out there I could be and
should
be fucking. I mean, war vet? Wounded in battle? And now I’m the fucking President’s stepson? Yeah, getting laid was
not
a problem before, but it’s going to be like fishing with dynamite now.

Except the idea of going out and fucking someone new just does
not
appeal to me, at all.

I growl as I shut the door to my room and lean back against the door, frowning at the floor. What the
fuck
is wrong with me? I try and push her out of my head — to forget her like I’ve done with a hundred other women — but I fucking
can’t
.

Because all I can think of is her sitting there in the kitchen just now; disheveled hair, pajamas, sipping coffee with that cute little scowl on her face. She’s not some dolled-up club girl, or a Senate intern with a wardrobe from daddy’s credit card, she’s just
her
; plain, perfect, sitting-at-the-breakfast-table-in-pjs
her
.

And it’s sexy as fucking sin.

Sexy, untouchable, sin.

“
U
m
, so can we
talk
about your new stepbrother now?”

Can we not?

Jessica whistles on the other end of the line, a line that’s much clearer than the last time we talked now that she’s back in L.A. “Girl, he is sex on a
platter
.”

I roll my eyes. “He is
not
.”

“Oh please, it’s not like he’s your real brother, you can admit it he’s hot, Mads.”

“He’s…” I trail off. “He’s a jerk.”

“Jerks are hot, Mads.”

“
Not
this one.
Particularly
not this one,” I add, feeling the rage building inside me and picturing Anya’s stupid
stupid
face. “He’s so
cocky
and domineering, and a
total
manwhore. And he thinks just because he’s got a big dick that he’s God’s gift to women.”

Shit. Oops.

“
Giirrrrl!
”

I cringe at Jessica’s squeal, burying my head in my hand.

“Okay,
what
do you know about his dick?!”

“Nothing!”

“Well what was that supposed to mean then!?” she says, giggling.

I feel my face burn hot, “It’s nothing! I just heard it was big, okay? Some stupid White House rumor.”

Jess snorts. “Well, that’s a way better rumor than I thought went on in that place.”

I swallow thickly. “Yeah, my PA mentioned it, I think.”

My PA who was fooling around with someone I still haven’t identified, I might add.

“Okay, so let’s just recap then. Not your real brother, hot, sexy as fuck, war veteran, cocky, domineering and likes to fuck? Oh, and he’s hung?” Jess laughs into the phone. “Maddie,
what
is the problem with any of that?”

“
Um,
national scandal? Embarrassment? Ruin of reputation?” I’m ticking them off on my fingers as I spit them into the phone, as if I’m keeping tally myself.

“So, you
have
thought about it.”

I groan. “Oh my God,
no
.”

“Fine, then when I’m
finally
allowed to come visit you, I’m
certainly
jumping on that.” Jess snorts. “Literally.”

For a second, I see
red
. The very
idea
of Jessica with Hunter like that gets me suddenly furious, but I stuff it deep down inside. But that little piece of rage is enough to have me sitting there on the edge of my bed thinking of him and his ex, and that gets me even madder.

Oh, excuse me, “Anya”, the apparently very much NOT ex.

Anya, who I want to hate, but I know I may have played a part in her being cheated on. The first daughter, and the second girl.

Ugh.

And then I start thinking of Harry back at school, and how fucking
shitty
it felt to be in those shoes, and I squeeze my eyes shut and drop back onto the bed, somehow feeling even worse.

“Jess I have to go, something’s come up.”

“Is it Hunter’s big cock?”

I snort and grin in spite of myself. “Good
bye
, Jess.”

“Put in a good word for me, okay?”

I laugh as I hang up and then slump back onto the bed, letting the myriad of thoughts in my head flood over me.

Because if Hunter is nothing, and just this ‘thing’, then why does the thought of him with anyone else in the world get me so mad that I see red?