by Kenner, J.
God knew she’d been bolder with him than any other man she’d ever been with, and it had felt incredible to strip for him. To order him to touch himself. To ride him now when he was fully clothed.
“You make me wild,” she said.
“Baby, it’s mutual. And you make me too damn hot. I need you to ride me hard. I’m so close. So damn close. Come with me.”
“Touch me. Take me with you.”
His groan was low and passion-filled, and he did as she asked, his fingers finder her clit and stroking her as she clutched his shoulders and rode him hard, impaling him so deep inside her that with each thrust she was teasing her G-spot as he teased her clit, and the sensations swirled through her, building and growing until she couldn’t take it anymore.
The prickles of electricity started in the thighs, then seemed to converge on her sex, faster and hotter, until she exploded, her core convulsing, milking him, taking him over with her, his low groan of release so incredibly hot that the sound of his passion alone almost made her come all over again.
When they were both spent, they spooned together on the sofa, his chest to her back so his lips brushed her shoulder and one hand gently teased her sex. “Careful, or you’ll find yourself naked this time, and in my bed.”
“I can live with that,” he said, then sat up. He pulled her up, too, then kissed her. “Where’s your phone?”
“Oooh, what sexy pillow talk.”
He lifted a brow, and she hurried to pass him her phone from the coffee table.
He pulled out his, too, then fiddled a bit.
“What are you doing?”
“A present,” he said, then passed it back, a tracking app now open on the screen. “Now we can find each other.”
“Yeah?” She smiled, warmed that he’d thought of something so simple. “But in case you were wondering, I don’t want to have to go looking. I want you to stay right at my side.”
He held her eyes for a full beat, and she started to worry that she’d said too much. Then he smiled, slow and sexy. “Baby,” he said, “that’s exactly what I want, too.”
Chapter Nine
Taylor woke in heaven. Or, more accurately, to the smell of coffee brewing and bacon frying. Which, as far as she was concerned, was the same thing.
She slipped on a robe, then padded into her kitchen to find Landon poking at a huge skillet of bacon with rubber tongs.
“This is a lovely domestic sight,” she said, coming behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist.
He turned around to face her, his eyes roaming over her as a slow smile touched his lips. “Good morning, beautiful. I could get used to this.”
“Me, too,” she admitted, her body flushing under the intensity of his gaze. The words were scary, but true. This man had shifted things inside her somehow. As if there’d been a chemical reaction between them, and everything she’d been—and feared—had changed its pattern in the night. Now it felt like she had a path through the darkness with Landon beside her. Scary and tentative, but nice. A small blossom forcing its way up through a crack in the concrete.
He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Kiss for your thoughts?”
“That’s pretty much what I was thinking about,” she admitted, then tilted her face up for a slow, deep kiss.
When they broke apart, she was grinning. “Cheater,” she said. “You’ve been picking at the bacon.”
“I have,” he admitted, then reached for a piece and fed it to her. He kissed her quick afterwards, then pulled back with a twinkle in his eyes. “Delicious.”
“Right back at you.”
He turned back to the stove to flip the bacon and stir a skillet of scrambled eggs. “I have calls in about Beau,” he said. “I should hear back this morning. In the meantime, I thought we could—”
“Wait,” she said, putting her hand on his back. “I have a request.”
He flipped the heat off under the skillets, then turned to face her.
“I just want—I mean, could we—oh, hell. Can we just pretend like none of this is happening? At least until after you hear back. I want to … well, the truth is I just want to hang out with you. Eat that breakfast you made, cuddle on the couch, maybe read. Watch TV. And then later we could go to The Fix and get my car. You know, normal stuff. Could we? I mean, you know, if you were planning on staying with me, and…”
She trailed off, fearing that she’d presumed too much. But when she saw the slow grin that was lighting those amazing eyes, she knew what his answer would be, and her own smile bloomed wide when he said, “Sweetheart, I think that sounds just about perfect.”
Because they’d slept so late, it was past ten when they ended up on the couch with their breakfast plates on the coffee table in front of them. And because he’d been sitting on the doormat when Landon went outside to grab the morning paper, Mr. Patches sat between them, eating the bits of bacon that both Landon and Taylor were sneaking to him.
Afterwards, Taylor curled up with a classic Julie Garwood novel, and Landon kicked back for a marathon re-watch of the first season of Game of Thrones. When she got up to refill her coffee, she came back with two Mimosas and winked at him. It was Friday, but it felt like a luxurious lazy weekend morning. More than that, it felt normal.
No, with Landon beside her, it felt special.
I could get used to this, he’d said. And yeah, so could she.
Despite their laziness, the day seemed to fly by, and when Landon’s phone rang, she realized it was already almost five.
He took it, and he mouthed the word Beau, so she knew it was from one of his contacts, but she couldn’t figure out the gist of the conversation from his monosyllabic side of the conversation.
“Well?” she asked he hung up.
“Pay dirt. Your Mr. Harkness is swimming in warrants. We get our hands on him, not only can we ship him back to Arkansas, but we can pretty much ensure that he spends a very long time behind bars.”
Relief flooded her body. “That’s so fabulous.”
He nodded slowly, as if considering that assessment. “It is,” he said, then moved off the couch to sit on the coffee table in front of her. “But it would be a hell of a lot better if you filed a complaint. If this were an official investigation. I could get a team assigned. I could make things happen.”
Ice replaced the relief, and she shook her head, then put down the Mimosa she’d been about to sip so he wouldn’t notice the way her hand had started shaking. “No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but no.”
She watched the emotions play over his face. Confusion. Frustration. Determination. “I need you to talk to me, Taylor. I need you to tell me what else is going on.”
But she just shook her head, then stood. “Please,” she said. “No cops. Just you. If you care at all about me, then please just trust me.”
He looked like he was going to argue, but instead he nodded. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“I know.” But it was over for now, and she’d take what she could get. “Want to go to The Fix? I’d like to get my car out of that lot. Plus, we can grab a bite.”
“Sure.”
And just like that the day turned normal again. They were a couple going out for a meal. She half-expected him to tell her not to say anything about the two of them if they bumped into friends in the bar, which, of course, would happen. But he didn’t say a word. On the contrary, he took her hand as they walked from the street spot he’d snagged to the glass and wood door of The Fix. And he pressed his palm to her lower back as they entered together.
Once inside, they found a two-top by the window, and they ordered Lobster Rolls. As they waited for their food, Landon went to the back to talk to Brent. As soon as he disappeared, Mina plopped into his chair, and Megan dragged a chair over.
“Well?” Mina asked.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Taylor countered.
She waved off the question. “I left right at five. I’m meeting a local director here for dinner
. That’s not the point. What happened with you and Landon?”
“Wait,” Megan said. “What happened that you’re staying at The Winston?”
Taylor blinked at her. “How’d you hear about that?”
Megan rolled her eyes. “Small world, or hadn’t you noticed? I was at The Winston for a meeting with the conference manager. The Fix is sponsoring a food fair in October and Derek arranged for the hotel to donate space,” she added in response to Taylor’s questioning look. “Amanda was there, and we started talking and…”
“Gossip central,” Taylor said. “Yeah, I get it. Long story, but the bottom line is that this guy who used to be into me before I moved to Texas is stalking me.”
“Shit,” Megan said.
“That about sums it up for me,” Taylor admitted.
“And Landon’s her knight in sexy armor,” Mina chirped. “And…?”
Taylor smiled and hummed, then lifted her brow, and both girls squealed.
“So have you … you know?” Mina asked.
“A girl never you knows and tells,” Taylor quipped, making them both laugh and lean in for more gossip.
Fortunately, Taylor was saved by the arrival of both food and Landon.
“What did I miss?” he asked, which caused Mina and Megan to exchange glances and start giggling all over again.
He shifted his attention to Taylor and lifted a single brow. She just batted her eyes and blew him a kiss.
They hung out for a while after they ate, just chatting with everyone they knew. Then they headed to the lot to get her car. She wanted to ask Landon what the sleeping arrangements would be now that she had security at her apartment and her car back. Although they hadn’t armed the security system yet since she still hadn’t picked all her codes and safe words. But she knew Landon wouldn’t leave her until she did.
As for the arrangements, she wanted to know, but the question seemed so forward, especially since she already knew the answer she was hoping for: Landon in her house, and a weekend as lovely and lazy as the morning they’d just had.
She’d almost worked up the nerve to broach the subject when they reached the lot. “That one,” she said, pointing to her Corolla, tucked away in a corner under a burned-out street lamp.
But as they drew closer, she got a bad feeling. And since Landon put his arm out to keep her one step behind him, she realized she wasn’t the only one. When they were a few feet away, she realized she was walking on glass.
“Streetlight,” he whispered. “Someone broke it.”
She looked up and realized he was right. The bulb and covering were gone, replaced by remnants, the fallen glass and plastic now crunching under foot.
“Give me your keys.”
She did, and he opened the driver’s door. The smell got her immediately. A rotting, disgusting smell. Rotten meat spread all over the front of her car and piled into the back seat. And in the summer heat, it was already crawling with maggots.
Her stomach lurched, and she turned away, barely keeping herself from vomiting.
Behind her, Landon slammed the door. A moment later, his arms went around her, and she curled into his arms, her face buried against his chest.
“There was a note, too. Under the wiper blade. It said Dead Meat.”
“Oh, God.”
“We’re reporting this,” he said. “No arguments. And you’re staying at my place tonight. No arguments there, either.”
She nodded, numb.
Gently, he pushed her away from him, then studied her face. “Taylor, baby. Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m really not.”
Chapter Ten
Landon gave Taylor credit for giving the report to Detective Sanchez without any gaps or obfuscations. Of course, everything she told Sanchez was something that was essentially obvious—the car had been vandalized, she was pretty sure she knew the identity of the perp—but considering how close-mouthed she’d been so far, he’d been afraid she would shut down.
She hadn’t, and that was good.
But she still hadn’t completely opened up to him, and he was terrified that by keeping her secrets she was hindering his ability to keep her safe.
He slowed to a stop at the intersection of Chicon and Seventh Street, and used that time to glance over at her. Her head was back, her eyes closed, and she kept her hands twisted together in her lap. She was spooked, and he understood that. Who wouldn’t be with a restaurant-size supply of meat rotting inside their car? But it hurt more than he liked to admit to know that she didn’t yet trust him enough to tell him the whole story.
For most of the drive, he’d been trying to tell himself that he was frustrated because she was making his job harder. And while that was true, it wasn’t the problem. No, Landon’s frustration wasn’t professional, it was personal. He wanted her to trust him.
Hell, he just wanted her.
Most of all, he wanted her safe. And now that Beau was escalating his torments, Landon was becoming more and more afraid.
And determined. He’d nail the son-of-a-bitch to the wall, but he needed Taylor’s help to do that. Her trust. But damned if she wasn’t just like Vanessa had been.
Fuck.
He turned left on Chicon, irritated that his ex-wife had popped into his head for even a second. She was history, and that was a good thing. After five years without her, he rarely even thought of her anymore. She’d been fascinated by his job, but it had also been an albatross. She’d worked in the courthouse and knew the kind of dangers a cop faced. Hell, she’d married him with full awareness of what he did and that he loved his job.
But as the first year of their marriage progressed, she became more and more clingy. They’d fight almost every day when he left the house for his shift. And by six months into their marriage, she’d transferred her fear from him to herself, convinced that the evil he fought on the streets would come after her.
Maybe it would—probably it wouldn’t—but either way, he’d begged her to trust him. To believe that he could keep her safe.
But she’d spiraled down, certain that the weight of the criminal world would bear down on her.
Counseling hadn’t helped. Talking hadn’t helped.
In the end, they’d both realized that her fears about his inability to protect her from the fallout of his job reflected a more systemic lack of trust that permeated their entire marriage.
He’d needed his wife to believe in him. She’d needed—what? He still didn’t know. But they never had the connection. They never had that trust.
It had destroyed them, and after eighteen months, they’d gotten divorced.
Now Taylor didn’t trust him either. It was goddamn deja vu all over again.
Except it wasn’t.
He slowed the car to turn right onto East 16th Street, the frustrated part of his mind calming in response to the voice of reason that had seeped in through the cracks.
No, it wasn’t the same. Not really. Hell, not at all.
Vanessa hadn’t been willing to trust him to keep her safe from a general fear of the boogeyman. Taylor had a legitimate reason for her fear, and she’d told him enough to identify her stalker and to take steps to keep him away from her.
He didn’t know what she was holding back—what she wasn’t trusting him with—but he knew enough to know there was real fear backing her silence.
And he knew that she’d already trusted him more in just a few days than Vanessa had in the entire time they’d been together.
Feeling calmer, he turned right into the driveway for his bungalow. It was small—only twelve hundred square feet—but he’d fallen in love with the clean lines and nineteen-thirties design. The neighborhood was only a few miles from where he’d been born. From where he’d escaped. And it felt good to come back with the money to buy. To refurbish. To live in a neighborhood that was coming to life again, this time without gangs filling the neighboring houses and drug deals happening on the corners.
&n
bsp; And one of these days, maybe he’d actually finish renovating the place.
He grinned to himself as he turned off the car. When that happened, he might have to move. Because he had to admit, the work was one of his greatest pleasures. Manual labor to relieve stress.
Glancing sideways at Taylor, now asleep in the passenger seat, he felt a pleasant tightness curl inside him. There were other ways to relieve stress. And though she looked incredibly relaxed right now, he had a feeling that after the day she’d had, a glass of wine and some between the sheets stress relief might be exactly the way she’d want to spend the evening.
Gently, he brushed her cheek. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”
She stirred, then opened her eyes. For a split second, confusion colored her face, but it was quickly replaced with pleasure. And, he thought, relief.
“You’re here.” Her smile lit up his heart.
“Where else would I be?”
She shook her head, as if shaking off a thought. “Dream,” she said. “I’m still groggy. Is this your place?” She’d turned to look out the window at the facade of his little blue house with the white porch railing and colorful hanging pots of flowers, none of which he could remember the names of, but he’d snagged them at Home Depot simply because they seemed cheerful.
The St. Augustine grass in the front yard was mowed, and a huge pecan tree shaded the driveway. Directly in front of his car was a detached garage, but it was a ramshackle building that he used only as a workshop.
“It’s small,” he said. “But it’s mine.”
“It’s absolutely charming.” She turned to face him. “Can I see inside?”
He laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Come on.”
He circled the car and opened the door for her, then led her up the porch steps. He unlocked and opened the door, then immediately stepped in front of her even as he pulled his weapon.
Son-of-a-bitch!
The side window was smashed, and red liquid was spread all over the newly buffed and restored hardwood floors. Paint, he realized from the smell, and felt a quick shock of relief that it wasn’t blood.