Wrecked (Dirty Air Series Book 3)

I still hate New York in winter. But I officially live here now, so I guess I have to suck it up and deal.

“How many more boxes of books do you have?” Daniel asks, sounding a little irritated after carrying the latest one up to his apartment. Our apartment now.

Since my lease was up and Carly moved in with her boyfriend, I figured there was no better time to move to the city…and move in with my own boyfriend. Pretty sure he’s regretting the invite already.

I shrug, eyeing the stack that remains in the moving truck, wishing we could be inside and curled up together instead of standing on the filthy, snowy streets and freezing our asses off. “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Maybe a dozen?”

He groans. “Dios mío, Selene. You’re supposed to use the third bedroom as an office, not a library.”

I flash him a grin and put my hands up in an exaggerated shrug. “Por qué no los dos?”

Daniel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then lifts a finger to stop me. “First of all, don’t you dare quote a taco commercial at me. Second, don’t think speaking my first language will put you in my good graces.”

I pout and frame my face with my mitten covered hands. “How can you be mad at this face?”

“Selene.”

“Okay, okay,” I huff, picking up a box. “See? I’m helping.”

“You could have helped by hiring movers instead of putting your stuff in a U-Haul and driving it up here.”

“But isn’t it hot as hell that I did this all by myself?” I prompt. “I’m a strong, capable woman who can drive a big truck on major highways and through a city.”

“And you’re cheap too,” he says, rolling his eyes as he turns back toward the building where the doorman is laughing at us.

“Not all of us are billionaires!” I call to Daniel’s retreating back.

“I’m not a billionaire!”

“Keep lying to yourself!”

He groans, then disappears into the building, and I wander over to Mick, who’s holding open the door now.This text is © NôvelDrama/.Org.

“Thanks for putting up with us,” I say, still grinning. “I annoy him, but I promise he loves me.”

“You two are the best entertainment I’ve had in ages,” he admits, taking the box from me to set inside the atrium. “I’m glad you’re finally moving in. My wife keeps hounding me to get your autograph, and now I won’t have to worry about missing you when you come to visit.”

“Well then, it’s your lucky day.” I pull my new keys out of my coat pocket and cut through the tape on the box I was just holding—a box full of my own books. I grab one off the top and rummage around in my purse for a pen. When I finally find one, I scrawl my name and a short note thanking her for reading, then hand it over to Mick. “May the hounding cease.”

He beams at me, tucking the book under his arm like it’s precious. “I owe you one.”

I wave it off. “Hey, happy wife, happy life. Just trying to make things a little easier for us all.”

“Everyone except for me,” Daniel says, striding through the lobby.

I give him a once-over as he moves in my direction. Dark, messy hair that I love to run my fingers through. Even darker eyes that come alive when we’re close. Incredibly fit body—hidden under a coat, but I’m determined to get that off him in a bit. And it’s all mine.

Just like I’m all his.

“I’ll make it up to you,” I promise, reaching for his hand. When we’re on the sidewalk, just out of Mick’s sight, I lean in and press a kiss to Daniel’s jaw. “I was thinking we could christen my office-slash-library tonight. What do you think?”

He snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him. “I’m thinking I can’t wait to bend you over that antique oak desk I bought you.”

A shiver races down my spine, and it’s not because of the cold. “Maybe I should see if I can hire last-minute movers. Maybe we can speed this process up a little.” Because I would like to be bent over that desk sooner rather than later, thank you very much.

When a throat clears behind us, I spin around and come face to face with three buff men watching us expectantly.

“Already ahead of you, mi amor,” Daniel murmurs in my ear. “Let’s get you moved in.” And properly fucked goes unsaid, but I know what he means.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” Before he can move away, I clutch at his jacket. “Hey. I love you. Thank you for putting up with me.”

“I wouldn’t put up with you if I didn’t love you too,” he says, and the smile he gives me says more than his words ever could.

There may be plenty of things I hate—like New York in winter, excessive anchovies on pizza, and aggressive pigeons—but Daniel Santiago will never be on that list again.