Falling For The Wrong Twin

Between my thigh

Gia

“Oona,” A painful wince escaped me. “What do I do with you, Oona?”

I thought the micro bikinis were worse, but this sleepwear took the crown. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, at the two-piece pajama set that clung to my figure. The top hugged against my breasts, the thin straps digging into my shoulders while the soft fabric outlined every curve.

This wasn't even my size.

The short was also another disaster in the making. It sat high on my hips, barely covering half of my ass. How was I supposed to walk back into the room, knowing that Maverick’s predatory gaze would follow me around and the worst part, he wouldn't let me hear the end of it.

I went around the aisle in the middle of the walk-in closet and grabbed one of his shirts from the rack. He wouldn’t have an issue with me taking one, right?

I slipped it on, and traces of his expensive cologne still lingered. Oud and a masculine scent that was uniquely his. Intoxicating too.

Although the shirt didn't totally solve the situation happening at the back, it was still slightly better. It only showed the curve of my ass beneath the shorts.

What was Oona even thinking?

Maverick and I were nothing for me to wear something this provocative around him.

I reached for my phone and sent her a text.

“f**k you, Oona”

‘Hahaha. Just got off work. Love you’ she replied quickly.

I smiled, packing my hair into a messy bun, and tried to tug the shorts down one more time. When I realized how hopeless it was, I gave up and returned to the room.

Maverick held a lowball glass of whiskey to his mouth, fingers slowly unbuttoning his shirt as his eyes cut to mine before raking down my body, drinking every inch, taking in every curve.

Heat crawled up my neck, my steps faltering as he shifted his gaze. “Send them to my email, Cedric,”

“Cedric?” I sank into the chair.

“My assistant. You are wearing my shirt, Gia,”

“Want me to take it off?”

“They look perfect on you,”

Something curled low in my stomach as I cleared my throat, steering the conversation in another direction. “So which do I call you, Ian Markovic or Maverick Delwanosky?”

His eyes smiled as he set down the glass. “Which would you prefer?”

“Maverick?”

A low growl of approval rumbled in his chest. “Call me whatever you want, Gia. I’m not like a certain someone who reacts to being called a muffin,”

A scoff escaped me as I curled my legs beside me. “Why did you go with Ian for your business name? Why not Maverick?”

“My grandma gave me the name Ian. Markovic is in honor of my mum. I guess you have your answer.” He turned his back on me. His muscles flexed as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a cascade of dark ink spreading across his back and ending just above his waist.

Where Mitch hated tattoos, Maverick embodied them.

They were beautiful.

Then his fingers slipped into the waistband of his grey pants and alarm bells went off in my head. “W-What are you doing? You are not the type to sleep naked, right?”

Maybe I should have just opted for another room.

He glanced towards me, surprise unfurling in his eyes as he raised a brow. “Do you want to see me naked, Gia?”

I shot up immediately. “No. I just don't understand why you are removing your pants,”

Maverick straightened, a smile curling his lips as he loosened the rope and pulled down his pants anyway. He had boxers on. Boxers. Get your head straight, Gia.

“Because I want to take a shower?”

“Yeah…shower,” I whispered under my breath.

He took his clothes, folded them nearly as he faced me. I had to keep my eyes fixed on him and stop them from wandering down the perfectly carved lines of his pecs and abs that were begging me to look. Pleading for me to run my fingers through them.

This man was beautiful.

It was unreal.

“Gia, I would never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I’ll only do whatever you dare me to do?” A mischievous smile curled his mouth up. “Remember, be careful,”

Maverick walked past me while I released a long deep breath.

What was wrong with me?

I picked up his glass that still had whiskey at the bottom. A sick idea kicked in and I brought the glass to my mouth, tongue tracing the exact part where his lips just left.

I tossed the rest of the liquid into my mouth and my throat burned.

I opened my laptop, trying to check my work email when my heart stopped. Mitch sent me an email. And worse, he sent it two minutes ago?

I was at a loss for words for a second before clicking it open.

You blocked me, Gia. I could only reach you here. We need to have a serious talk. Come outside.

Shit!

I forgot to block him here.

Nerves danced in my stomach when a familiar whistling sound reached me. I rose from my chair and peeked out the window—and there he was, standing on the lawn, his eyes brightening in the dark.

He waved for me to come downstairs.

I shook my head and mouthed, “No!” before quickly sliding the curtain shut, shutting him out of my sight.

“Gia! Gia! Gia” I heard him shout silently.

I plugged my AirPods in and drowned out his voice. Then I blocked him too. By the time I pulled the window to take a look, he was gone.

I sucked in a deep breath, removing the plugs, and at the same time, the bathroom door opened.

One glance at him was all it took for saliva to pool in my mouth. A black towel hung low on his hips, pellets of water glistened on his skin before disappearing into the defined V lines of his towel.

“Are you checking me out, muffin?”

I scowled. “Why would I check you out, Maverick?” I set aside my laptop, fixing him with a glare.

He laughed and sauntered over to the closet, and by the time he returned, he had changed into a pair of loose black pants while my eyes followed his every movement—from the moment he picked up his glass of whiskey, smirked at me with eyes that told me he knew what I did, to when he finally sat on the bed.

I reached to grab the pillow when he c****d a brow.

“Where are you going?”

I pointed to the macamré hammock suspended between two sturdy points by the window. “To sleep?”

“Why would you sleep there, when the bed is big enough for two people?”

I hugged the pillow to my chest. “Maybe some of us aren't comfortable with sleeping in the same bed with people they barely know. And more importantly, someone like you, Maverick,”

He huffed a laugh. “Suit yourself, Gia. Good night,” he turned off the lamp.

The moment I settled into the hammock, it snapped, sending me tumbling to the floor. Before I could register the pain that shot up my elbow, Maverick stifled a laugh, a heat of embarrassment flooding my cheeks.

“Are you okay?” I could hear the mockery in his voice, laced with an undertone of concern as he moved from the bed and helped me to my feet.

“Hurt anywhere?”

I shook my head.

“This is what happens when you don't listen. I’ll sleep on my side of the bed. You will sleep on yours. Satisfied? Can you walk?”

“I can. It’s not a great fall,”

We both lay on our sides, two pillows nestled between us as I stared into the dark, heart pounding in my chest. I could hear the waves rolling at a distance.

“Is the pillow even necessary?” Maverick’s voice cut through the silence.

“Yeah. To make sure you stay on your side of the bed,”

He let out a laugh, sheets ruffling as he turned. “You are a very interesting woman, you fascinate me,”

“I do?”

“A lot,”

Something crashed into me like the waves as the word ‘fascinate’ kept circling in my head until my breath evened out.

No one had told me that I fascinated them.

I was back in Massachusetts. In the backseat of that Taxi.

Brown hair was buried between my thighs, a soft hand gripping my hips firmly, my back almost arching off the seat. He ate me out until I was grinding my p***y on his face, moaning and crying.

“Mitc—”

He raised his head and the words died in my throat. My juice glistened on his jaw, a smirk creeping at the corner of his mouth. That scar. Those eyes.

Maverick.

I jerked awake.

What were these stupid dreams? Mitch and I didn't even do all of that. It didn't even last ten minutes.

A groan slipped past my lips as I pressed my eyes shut and hugged my pillows tighter—except they weren't pillows. Pillows weren't hard. They didn't have a heartbeat.

Panic slowly settled, fear making my heart slam against my ribcage as I forced my eyes open. I was gathered against Maverick’s chest, my leg wedged between his thigh as something warm, rock-hard nudged at my entrance. My n*****s pebbled against his chest.

What have I done?

He was on his side of the bed. I was the one who crossed the pillow barrier. Oh My God.

I steadied, my breathing—careful not to wake him up and as I tried to remove his hand draped around me, his drowsy eyes opened and met with mine.