Infatuation:A Rebel Stepbrother Romance(27)By: Phoenyx Slaughter
“He’ll try to ruin you. Because of us.”
“Let him. Let anyone judge us. I don’t give a fuck. What we have isn’t wrong. Anyone who thinks so can go straight to hell. Are we clear?”
Finally, everything sinks in, and she flings herself against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and clinging tight to me. “I can’t believe you . . . oh, Flynn.”
My hands rub circles over her back. “I love you, Ella. I’ve always loved you. I want to be your protector and your provider. Can you handle that?”
She sniffles and draws back. “I think so.”
“Hmm . . . we’ll need to work on that.”
I pull her into my arms, and we hold each other for a while. She yawns, and I squeeze her one last time before letting her go. “Did you get any sleep last night?” I ask.
“Come on, let’s put you to bed.”
She eyes me skeptically, as if I won’t be able to keep my hands off her.
Okay, it’s a valid concern.
“Let me take care of your hands first.”
Sweet and tender, my girl cleans and bandages the worst of it. I’m thankful she didn’t ask me to explain in greater detail what happened. I don’t want those images in her head. She’s suffered enough, and I only want happy things for her from now on.
I don’t consider myself bloodthirsty by any means, but I can’t deny that a certain thrill takes over me when Flynn explains how he handled his father.
It’s the only justice I’ll ever get. I hate that Flynn had to stoop so low, but I’m also grateful.
“I’m not tired anymore. Could we go out together?” I ask.
He smiles down at me and rubs his hand over my cheek. “Sure. Any place special in mind?”
His smile turns into a wicked grin. “I brought my bike. Are you feeling adventurous?”
Am I? “Yeah. That sounds like fun.”
“Ever ridden before?”
“Only with my dad when I was little. Before . . . ” Well, duh. Before he died.
He has me dress in jeans and boots. Then he digs through my closet until he finds an old leather jacket I never even wear any more and hands it to me. “It’s a little warm for this, isn’t it?”
“Trust me, you’ll want it.”
Once we’re on the road, with the wind whipping against me, I admit to myself he was right. The bike cruises beautifully along back country roads, and after a decent amount of miles, I’m able to relax and enjoy the scenery.
I’m more than a little confused when he turns onto a long driveway lined with rows of grapevines. We pass under a large sign “Masterson Vineyards.”
“What is this?”
“You own a vineyard? Since when?”
“Since last year. It was a distressed piece of property my father bought for the location. But then he didn’t think it would be profitable enough, so he sold it to me when I took over my trust fund.”
“Wow. So is it up and running?”
“Yup. Five hundred acres. I’ve got a wonderful tour guide. We do tours on the weekends. And we’re going to start up production of olive oil within the next year.”
The genuine pride in his voice melts me. “I’m impressed.”
“I didn’t bring you here to show off. I want you to see that I can stand on my own two feet without my father or his money. Well, without any more of his money.” He flashes a quick grin.
My hand rests on his arm. “Flynn, I know you. I know how capable you are.”
His lips curve into a smile. “I also have a redevelopment project in the city I’ve been overseeing that’s independent from his corporation.”