Broken (Manhattan Ruthless Book 1)

It’s been a little over two weeks since our wedding, and despite our shaky start, we’ve settled into something of a routine. Nathan’s working hours are pretty much the same as mine, so he and Tedward drop me at work most mornings and often pick me up after. We flirt, and electricity sizzles beneath my skin every time our hands or arms brush. I constantly wonder whether I should just go for it and kiss him, but I always stop myself just in time. I’m sure he must feel the sexual tension simmering between us too—at least I hope it’s not all one-sided. But if he does, he still behaves like the perfect gentleman.

Tonight, Nathan’s driver picked me up alone after work, and the smell of garlic and tomatoes greets me when I walk inside the penthouse, making my mouth water. I head to the kitchen to find Nathan standing at the stove, dressed in gray sweats and nothing else. Now my mouth is watering for an entirely different reason, and I take a moment to drink him in.

I could tell from the way he fills out his designer suits and shirts and the feel of his solid chest beneath those clothes that he had a good body. But in the flesh … Damn. And I only have a view of his back. Muscles ripple across his broad shoulders as he stirs something in the pot.

By some miracle, I let go of the doorframe and don’t fall over. “You’re home early,” I say in a breezy tone, despite the way my legs are shaking.

He spins around, and I grab onto the counter for support. Those sexy gray sweats hang low on his hips, revealing a set of chiseled abs beneath his defined chest. I allow my gaze to drift lower—to the area which gray sweatpants were specifically designed to accentuate, and nobody will ever convince me otherwise. Yeah, just as I suspected, he has a huge appendage.

I quickly avert my attention to his face, but I’m not quick enough. He smirks at me, his dark eyes flashing. Dammit.

Fortunately, he’s too much of a gentleman to point out the fact that I was very clearly just eye-fucking him. “My trial finished early, so I decided to cook dinner.”

“It smells delicious. What are we having?”

“Paprika chicken and patatas bravas.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Sounds fancy and delicious.”

He shrugs, turning back to the stove. “It was a recipe of my mom’s.”

“She was Spanish, right?”

“Sí. My father met her in Valencia.”

I perch myself on a stool and watch him cook, noting how at ease he seems in the kitchen. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“Sí, señora. Pero solo cuando estoy enojado …” He winks at me.

Wow. Does he have to be so perfect at everything? “I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded hot.”

His laugh is comforting but sexy, and heat blooms in my chest. “I said. Yes, but only when I’m mad or …”

“Or?” I press my lips together.

He glances over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.” His growly tone makes my core contract with need. I can’t help but wonder what he didn’t say and whether that has anything to do with the sudden spike in sexual tension in the room.

“You’re in a very good mood, Mr. James. Did you win your trial?”

He remains focused on the food. “I always win, Spitfire.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

The heavenly flavors of garlic, tomatoes, and paprika burst across my tongue as I savor the first mouthful of potato. I’m pretty sure I moan when the hint of spice kicks in. “This is absolutely incredible.”

Nathan offers me his usual half smile in response.

I pop another cube of potato into my mouth and chew. “Are you just naturally good at everything you do?”

He arches an eyebrow at me, and I feel the flush creep over my cheeks. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see, Spitfire.”

Holy fuck. I’m not sure how much longer I can put up with the constant flirting before I end up throwing myself at him. “I mean you’re an amazing cook,” I add, trying to keep the conversation about the delicious food.

“My mom taught all of us boys to cook. She said it was an important life skill.”

“Mmhmm, she’s not wrong. How old were you when she died?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “Twenty-six.”

“I’m sorry. It sucks to lose a parent.”

He nods his agreement and tops up our wine glasses. “You were thirteen when your dad was killed?”

I swallow down a knot of guilt and sadness. “Yeah.”

“That must have been rough on you all.”

“It was. Ash was only three, so she doesn’t even remember him. At least I have lots of memories, although sometimes I wonder if that makes it harder, you know?”

“I do.”

“But if I had to choose, I’d rather have the memories and the pain of losing him than not remember him at all. I feel bad for Ash that she’ll never have that.”

He takes a sip of his wine and eyes me over the rim of the glass. “Is that why you’re so protective of her?”

His question blindsides me. “I don’t think I’m overly protective of her. She’s my baby sister.” I hear the defensiveness in my tone, but he’s touched a nerve. I don’t want to think about my overcomplicated relationship with my family right now. Or ever, if I can help it.

His eyes narrow, and he sets down his glass. “It’s not a criticism, Mel. But when I asked you why you were marrying me, one of your reasons was you wouldn’t have to worry about your sister. I get the sense you’ve always been the one to look out for her, that’s all.”

I stare into his deep brown eyes and wonder how a man who’s known me for such a short time can understand me better than my own family—with the exception of Tyler. “I guess. My mom was never really hands-on. It was always my dad who was good with the parenting stuff. And then after he died, she kind of fell to pieces, and Bryce—” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I guess he took over for Dad in her eyes, and what little love she had in her heart, she reserved only for him. It felt like it was me and Ash in our own little world a lot of the time.”

He nods, his jaw ticking, and I wonder what’s going through his mind.

“So yeah, I guess I’m overprotective of her because there was no one else around to keep her safe.”

“And who protected you, Mel?”

I frown. “I didn’t need protecting like she did. She was a baby.”

“You were only thirteen. Still a child yourself.”

I’m blown away by his insightfulness. I feel like he can see me in a way nobody else can. “I don’t know. Tyler when he was around, I guess. We were both kids, but we looked after each other. His mom was our dad’s sister. She was never around much, and he practically lived at our house, but Bryce stopped him from visiting after Dad died. He’s never really liked him.”

Nathan’s expression darkens. “So you lost your dad and your best friend around the same time?”

“I still saw him every day at school, but yeah, I guess I kinda did.”

He tilts his head, and his eyes burn into mine. “I guess now I know how you became such a spitfire.”

Regret and loneliness overwhelm me at the memory of my teenage years. Being stuck in that house with Mom and Bryce, feeling invisible and alone. It’s no wonder I fell head over heels with the first guy who showed me anything akin to kindness when I went to college. But those memories are even more painful, and I almost choke on their bitter aftertaste. “It must have been fun growing up with four brothers,” I say, desperate to change the subject.

He gives me another half smile. “You could call it that. I’d call it chaos.”

“You’re close to all of them though?”

He nods.

“Even Maddox?” I know he hasn’t seen him for a long time, and after what he told me, I haven’t pressed for more details on why his youngest brother left.

Sorrow washes over his face, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “Yes. Especially him.”

“I hope to get to meet him some day.”

He nods, but that quiet grief returns to his eyes. “I’m sure you will.”

With the dinner dishes washed and dried, I lean against the kitchen counter and watch Nathan put them away. His strong forearms and the powerful muscles in his shoulders flex as he moves deftly around the kitchen. I lazily drink him in, no longer attempting to hide it. If he’s going to walk around this penthouse shirtless with the body of a demigod, he brings it all on himself. And it’s not like I don’t see the way he looks at me. The way his eyes darken when I’m wearing anything remotely fitted, and the way his gaze lingers on my ass and boobs when he thinks I’m not looking.

When he’s done, he walks over to me with that sexy-as-hell half grin on his face. “You enjoying yourself there, Spitfire?”

I sigh. “I mean, I was.”

He gives a single shake of his head and takes another step forward until our bodies are tantalizingly close and his eyes are locked on mine. “Looking at me the way that you do is going to get you into a whole mess of trouble someday, Mel.” His voice is low and husky, and it melts me to my core.

I tilt my head to the side, my gaze remaining fixed on his face even as his rakes up and down my body. “Maybe I could use a little trouble.” Sᴇaʀch Thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and tips his head back on a groan. When he looks at me again, his eyes are blazing with so much fire that my breath stutters in my throat. He bends his head, his lips dangerously close to my ear. “I bet you could use so much more than a little trouble, Spitfire.”

He slides one hand to my hip, his fingers digging into my flesh in a bruising grip. A shiver of anticipation runs the length of my spine. I place a hand on his chest, my fingertips flexing over his solid pecs. His lips brush mine, and I whimper, acutely aware of the ache between my thighs at the mere memory of this man’s kiss.

He takes a half step closer, and our bodies are flush. Heat coils in every cell of my body. His breath is warm and heavy on my lips as he continues taunting me with the promise of his kiss. I tangle my fingers in his hair. He grunts and rocks his hips, pressing every solid inch of himself against my abdomen.

I gasp.

“You feel what you do to me?” he groans.

I jolt when vibrations shudder through my hip. With a grumbled curse, he looks down, breaking the spell between us as he fishes his phone from his pocket.

He holds it to his ear, his hand still on my hip and his impressive erection still pressed against me. “What?” he barks.

I can hear the muffled voice on the other line but can’t make out what they’re saying.

“Right now?” Nathan sighs. “Then have the jet ready.”

He ends the call and lets out of a string of curses. “I really have to go.”

“Right now?”

He licks his bottom lip. “Believe me when I tell you that I know this is the worst timing in the history of the world, but I’ve been expecting that call for weeks. I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. This is your job.” I step back, taking some much-needed air and space from his dizzyingly impressive erection.

His grip tightens on my hip, and he yanks me back so our chests collide. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

His expression is pained. “Don’t pull away from me.”

So many emotions shuttle around my body, and I don’t know how to process them all at once. What I do know is that I need to get the hell away from him before I lose myself. I suspect that once we cross this line, I will fall for him completely. And I’m going to fall hard. “You’re the one who’s leaving, Nathan.”

His jaw ticks, and I hold my breath. Oh, fuck it! Just kiss me and tell me you’ll be back soon. He does neither. He takes a step back. “I’ll be gone for a few days. Will you be okay here alone?”

I draw in a shaky breath. “I’ll be fine.”

Clearing his throat, he takes another step away from me, putting enough distance between us that I can no longer smell his cologne or feel the heat from his body. “Well, this is your home now. If you want to invite some friends over, you don’t need my permission.” He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I probably won’t be reachable, so if you need anything, Teddy will take care of it.”

A knot of sadness wells in my throat, and tears sting my eyes. Why do I feel so rejected by a man I just pushed away? Because he didn’t pull me back. He’ll never need me enough to pull me back. “When will you be home?” I ask, in spite of myself.

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. A few days. I have to go pack.”

Then he walks out of the kitchen, leaving me aching and needy, and most of all, feeling invisible and alone.