Accidental Protector: A Marriage Mistake Romance Page 30

  Our breathing goes ragged. Our eyes never leave each other’s. Neither one of us wants to miss a moment of this.

  I know what's next, even before my body goes off in that familiar cascade, the hottest crescendo of my life.

  Noah's eyes go wide, his nostrils flare, and I shout out his name as my pussy tenses, milking him, a split second before my whole body convulses.

  Coming!

  Becoming one. Lost in the sultry heat of his lips, his raging growl, the swell of his cock as he hits my depths.

  Noah explodes like a wild animal, grinding his whole being into me, this mass of gorgeous muscle and man spilling everything. Owning my rippling depths. Claiming what's his in full.

  Tonight. Tomorrow. And forever.

  His hips jerk one more time, then slam against mine, remaining there while his balls empty, putting so much fire and love and soul into me.

  We're sharing the greatest pleasure on earth, and the aftermath that leaves us both glowing.

  “You're one hell of a woman, Mindy Bernard,” he gasps, rolling off me only when he has to.

  “Well, we do need to match. Because you're one big, strong, sexy, and heavenly hell of a man, too,” I whisper, blissfully spent, giving him another drawn-out kiss.

  I don't think he's ever tasted sweeter. “One hell of a hero, protector, and husband. And Mr. Bernard, you're hella mine.”

  Thanks for reading Accidental Protector!

  Curious what happens to Noah and Mindy after the wedding?

  Get their ultimate Happily Ever After in this extended epilogue chapter. - https://dl.bookfunnel.com/jkt7licuf5

  Then read on for a preview of another bestselling marriage mistake romance by me, Accidental Hero. FREE in Kindle Unlimited.

  Accidental Hero Preview

  I: Walking Masterpiece (Izzy)

  I have to bite my lip at how the silence excites me.

  This is exactly what I’ve dreamed about for years. A room full of talent. Bright eyes and young souls eager to impress, bleeding creativity.

  Every student deep in concentration, glancing towards the drawing on the easel next to my desk only long enough to confirm the next swoosh of their pencil. I hadn’t known what to expect when I accepted this position, other than it would bring me one step closer to my goal. Plus a little more money.

  Oh, and it's the perfect escape from the weekly family dinners. Losing those gossip-fests is worth more than the income boost any job brings.

  Working with this room full of remarkable young artists is way more fun than listening to mom's tongue-in-cheek 'encouragement.'

  Or entertaining cousin Clara's dire warnings about how I'm destined to wind up with a house full of cats and die in my eighties, still a virgin.

  That’s my future. Isabella Derby. AKA crazy cat lady.

  The fact that my family believes that’s the path I’m on and insists on reminding me so often never fails to piss me off. No matter how many times I hear it.

  This is the twenty-first century. Supposedly. I don’t even own a cat, and I’m twenty-three.

  Twenty. Three.

  Not fifty-three, and pining about what might have been. I have years before I need to worry about getting married. I have ambitions. Always have.

  If only everyone else in my life would see that and leave me the hell alone.

  If only they'd notice accomplishments besides landing men and wracking up babies.

  “Ms. Derby?”

  I rise from my chair and walk around my desk, happy to have something else to focus on besides my sad, nosy relatives.

  Stopping next to her, I look down at the girl and smile. “Yes, Natalie?”

  She’s what some would call a child prodigy. Only ten, she has the talent of some people five times her age. Not just in fine arts either.

  Her enrollment papers says she’s in eighth grade. Most kids her age are still fourth graders. I kneel next to her. “What's up?”

  She gestures to my drawing at the front of the room. “Um, I just noticed...the dog you drew doesn’t have any eyelashes.” Her shy voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it all right if I add some on mine?”

  “Of course! Your personal muse is always welcome in this class.” I look at the drawing on her easel, picturing exaggerated Minnie Mouse eyelashes.

  Wrong idea.

  My breath literally stalls in my lungs at the detail in her creation. This little girl wouldn't be caught dead making anything unrealistic. The collie she’s drawn looks like it's ready to leap into the room. Just like everything she does.

  It's more like a black and white photo than a drawing. Especially one done by a child.

  Every feathery line she's sketched brings the dog to life in ways I can’t even describe.

  Hell, it's almost better than mine. And it took me a Master's degree and years practicing to get where I am.

  I glance between her dog and mine. Forget almost.

  Hers is far better. A masterpiece.

  I choke up as I watch the eyes on her dog come to life as she carefully pencils in a few soft lashes. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job!”

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  The way she’s biting the tip of her tongue demonstrates how fully she’s concentrating. I smile again, then stand, making a round of the whole room.

  Only six students here this evening. The others are all high school kids. Natalie’s dad had to pull some strings to get her into this class, meant for kids at least in their freshmen year.

  That’s what I was told. Since this is my first year with the district, I’m as unfamiliar with the students and their families as I am with the staff. That'll change in time, I'm sure. We’re only three weeks into the school year.

  The other five drawings look much like I expect. They demonstrate passion and promise, but honestly, there isn’t another one that comes anywhere close to Natalie’s.

  I wonder if her talent comes from her father. The man I try hard not to think about every time she steps foot in my class.

  If the last two weeks are anything to go by, he’ll be here soon. A good twenty minutes before class ends. He'll stand in the back of the room with a spiral notebook, open it up, and let his big, rough hands touch the paper.

  The first night, I thought he was making a list or notes. But last week, I had a strong feeling he was drawing. Sketching right along with his daughter and the rest of the class.

  We’d started the dog last week, drawing the base after I'd gone over my quick anatomy lesson for animals. Tonight, I showed the students how to make the fur have shades of white, black, and gray.

  A small, senseless part of me wonders if Natalie's dad will join in without even hearing my lesson. An even crazier part wants to see his drawing.

  It could be a masterpiece like hers.

  He certainly is. And that's the problem.

  Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding is every forbidden male archetype stuffed into one ripped package.

  Mysteriously sexy by default. Imposing by gravity. Protective by virtue.

  He's the kind of man I'd love to bring to a family dinner.

  Just once.

  That’s all it would take. He'd render Clara speechless and end mom's needless sympathy looks in one blow. He'd shut them down and then some.

  Every Derby woman would be too busy gasping for breath and fanning themselves to give me any crap.

  Honestly, I know the feeling. It was my reaction the first time he walked in. And the second.

  At least I hid it well.

  The military patches on his black leather jacket were no surprise. He has that air.

  Straight back, chest forward, chin up. Disciplined. Hard.

  Every move he makes, every glance, has a purpose.

  Remember what I said? Every forbidden archetype.

  The ones good girls are warned about, but never stay away from.

  God. I shouldn't be having these thoughts.

  Not about a student's father. He's probably married. A
nd if he isn't, why the hell not?

  But I didn't see a mother listed on Natalie’s emergency contacts. That makes me feel slightly less guilty about the impure thoughts stirring in my head. It also concerns me.

  I hope she isn’t being pushed beyond her limits. Flogged on to greatness by a headstrong father who believes his child should succeed in everything, no matter the cost.

  I know the burden.

  Just as I arrive back at my desk, the hair on the back of my neck tingles. It's almost like there's a sixth sense before the Walking Masterpiece shows up. I close my eyes briefly, preparing myself for the sight I’ll see after the door creaks open.

  My heart jackhammers by the time I turn around, air stalling in my lungs.

  Right on time. Sure as shit.

  It’s him.

  Brent Eden. His hair is the same wavy black as his daughter’s. Natalie has his eyes, too.

  Emerald green.

  His are colder, though. More seasoned. More cautious.

  His features add to his presence. A tiny faded scar here, an inked muscle there, a calloused hand. Things a normal person wouldn't notice unless they're gawking at him like me.

  Beautifully rough finishes for a man cut from Heaven's most twisted fabric.

  The thick trimmed beard circling his jaw must feel as dangerous as it looks. Delicious torture on any woman’s skin. Especially mine since it’s as virgin as the rest of me.

  Fucking-A. Last week's after-dinner talk with Clara clearly messed with my mind.

  Left me focused on things I’ve never worried over before. Namely, finding a man to take home to mother. And maybe to bed while we're at it.

  What the hell am I doing? I pinch my thigh. Ogling a man who's nothing but trouble, apparently.

  He eases the door shut and quietly moves along the back wall, taking the exact same spot where he’s stood the past two weeks. Leaning against a desk, he unclips a pen from his notebook's cover and then flips it open.

  Look away, Izzy.

  I sense he’ll look up any second. Naturally, I can’t. It's like someone telling you to not think about a pink elephant.

  There’s too much gorgeous mystery in front of me. Too much temptation.

  The heat rushing to my cheeks tells me I’ve been caught staring even before my eyes travel all the way up to meet his. Damn!

  “Ms. Derby?”

  Tad Gomez calls my name, one of the older students, but a snail could beat me turning around.

  Brent’s gaze is intense. Heated. Almost like he's challenging me not to look away.

  I'm not a daring person. I just don't want to lose this staring contest. But duty calls.

  Lifting a brow, I rip my gaze off his, and scuttle towards Tad’s seat.

  I'm grateful for the few seconds I have to find my voice. “Having trouble?”

  “Yes, ma'am. I can’t get the nose to look 3-D. Not like yours.”

  I point towards Tad’s drawing, which is good, but as he said, a little flat. “It's the angle. Here, let me show you.”

  He nods, handing me his pencil. I lightly outline how to angle the nose downward in order to give it depth. “See? One little change works like magic.”

  “Yes, Ms. Derby. Yes, I do. Thanks!” He takes his pencil back and continues filling in the outline.

  “Light strokes, remember. They'll flesh it out even more.”

  Barely touching the paper with the edge of his pencil, he nods bashfully. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Tad. Keep it up. You're off to an awesome start.”

  He pushes his thick glasses up his nose. “I really like this class, Ms. Derby.”

  Such a sweet boy. How could I do anything but smile? “We all do.”

  The door squeaks again. This time, it’s Ester Oden’s mother. She works as a custodian at the school and stays late in order to drive Ester home after class. I smile at her as I make my way around the room, checking on the progress of each student, offering a helpful hint and words of encouragement.

  It feels good to do my job. And to find a perfect distraction from the man I shouldn't be staring at.

  “Five more minutes,” I say, once I'm back at my desk.

  There are no audible groans, but I can sense each student’s disappointment, knowing this week’s class is almost over. I’m honored they don't want to leave.

  This, right here, is the reason I sunk a lot of time and money into getting my credentials. It's why I spent years doing every part time job in the known universe. It's what I've dreamed about, working at the most prestigious academy in the Phoenix area.

  “Ms. Derby?”

  “Yeah, Ben?” I reply. Ben Pritchard is a typical teenager. Tall, thin, and a bad case of acne.

  “Is it all right if I snap a picture of your drawing at the end of class so I can work on mine later?” he asks, holding up his cell phone.

  “Go for it! But no Snapchat filters on me, and you'd better believe I'm watching. Only warning I'll give.” I bite my lip and shake my finger, making them laugh.

  I nod towards the others in the class and step out of the way, assuring them they can all take pictures. I hear the digital click-click-click of their phones and a few snickers.

  Then my gaze, all on its own, drifts to the back of the room. Brent's head is down this time, thankfully.

  He's sketching again. Furiously.

  I have a different reason to bite my lip. This time, not so playfully.

  There's something admirable in his focus. Something sexy.

  I'm waiting for him to look up, after the older kids are done taking pics. At ten, I doubt Natalie has a cell phone. I assume he’ll want to get a picture for her.

  He never looks up, though. Never throws his eyes my way. Even though I sense him wanting to behind his determined, subtle smirk.

  I suck a deep breath and hold it, hoping it eases the heat coursing through my system. I glance at the clock and then smile at my students. “Okay, guys and gals! Time to start putting your stuff away. Please bring your completed drawing back to class next week.”

  Every student, except Natalie, finishes taking pictures of my drawing, either before or after they’ve packed up their belongings. While saying goodbye to each of them, I start gathering my things, too, but leave the drawing on the easel.

  What gives? Why isn't Brent getting her a picture?

  He’s still lost in his own world. Sketching quickly. Frantically. Like he's desperate to finish something before leaving. My curiosity turns into pure adrenaline.

  I can’t stop myself. “Mr. Eden? Would you like a picture?”

  When he looks up, his gaze is so intense my heart nearly stops mid-beat.

  “Oh, I'd like that! Please, can you, Daddy?” Natalie asks, turning to him.

  I'm glad she doesn't witness me melting into a puddle of nerves.

  His bright eyes shift. The smile transforming Brent's face is for his daughter, but it steals my breath.

  I’ve watched lots of men smile. I've seen it, sketched it, noted how a thin quirk of the lips can change a full appearance.

  But this man, this beast, goes from hardcore army badass to giant teddy bear in the blink of an eye.

  He can't hide the adoration lighting up his eyes the second Natalie calls him Daddy.

  At least I've learned one thing tonight: this man lives for his daughter.

  Guilt twists in my guts again when I remember my earlier worries about him being overbearing. Not now. It just doesn't seem likely.

  “Sure, sweets. One second,” he says, closing his notebook.

  My heart starts working again. It beats harder with every step he takes toward the front of the room.

  I’ve been this close to him before. Once. The first night, when he’d dropped Natalie off and introduced himself.

  I tried like crazy not to freeze up, and failed miserably, barely muttering my name.

  Can't let that happen again. I won't embarrass myself a second time, no matter how many feels this handsome
enigma shoots through me.

  Pretending I'm unfazed by his presence, I say goodbye to Ester and her mother before they walk out the side door. Then, in my scattered state of mind, I accidentally knock a stack of papers off the corner of my desk.

  “Oh, f – fiddlesticks!” I say, catching myself.

  God. I'd nearly dropped an f-bomb in my flustered state. My tongue is my biggest vice sometimes. I'm still sanding away the rough language I picked up too much of in college.

  Natalie shoots forward. “I’ll help, Ms. Derby!”

  I kneel down beside her and start gathering the papers. “Thanks, Natalie. I certainly can be clumsy sometimes. Must be getting late.”

  Must be. Or else I'd totally have to admit I've been drooling over her father for the better part of the last ten minutes.

  “We all have accidents,” she says. “Don’t stress.”

  I smile, nodding slowly. This girl sounds far too old for her age, which causes me to glance up at her father.

  He's raised her to be polite. Kind. Intelligent.

  He shrugs when he sees there isn't room to step in and help, walking over to pick up the backpack she's left on the floor.

  I take the papers Natalie collects and stack them on top of the pile I've formed. “Thanks for your help again, Natalie. You're too awesome.”

  “Ready, sweets?” Brent asks.

  “Coming!” Natalie flashes a big grin. “See you next week, Ms. Derby. Can't wait to finish my drawing.”

  “Looking forward to it,” I answer, flinching slightly at not being able to come up with something more original.

  Brent nods at me while laying a hand on Natalie’s shoulder and guiding her towards the door.

  I nod back. I think. I'm too embarrassed to say for sure.

  Woof. I'm so ready to slump into my chair before I leave the building.

  I need five or ten. Just a few precious minutes to let my body, mind, and pulse find their baseline.

  I doubt there's any time. This is the only evening class near closing time. Oscar Winters, the janitor, who doubles as our evening security guard, is already waiting for me to leave so he can lock up and go home.