by M. A. Grant
"Thank you?" she offered. "You didn't have to stop by to say that though. I got your message."
Damn. So it was a conscious choice to not call him back, despite his earlier attempts at salvaging the situation. Time to go, idiot.
"Ah, good. Well, just felt it was only right to tell you in person too. So...yeah..." He looked around him, grateful for the pre-dawn darkness. At least then no one would see the flush that was burning over his face. He gave her a curt nod. "See you around."
***
In her recent days of moping, Vivian had allowed herself the luxury of imagining situations when she'd run into Zeke again.
Sometimes she was the sexy, confident woman walking boldly into The Club, on special invitation from Mr. Mak or another Karim bigwig, passing Zeke with a toss of her hair and making him regret losing her to another man who could appreciate her and satisfy her insatiable sexual urges.
Other times, it was something out of a rom-com. He'd walk into her bakery, all doe-eyed and miserable, proclaiming his undying affection for her mind and body. She'd spurn him, sending him on his way, only to listen to her customers' advice to forgive him. A short race down the street in a light rain would end with her catching up to him and kissing him while cars stopped around them, filled with applauding drivers.
Sometimes it was less fantasy and more the mundane hope that they'd go out on one more date and he'd talk to her, tell her about his past, and they'd decide to give it another shot.
Anything but this.
"See you around?" she asked, crossing her arms and glaring at him.
"I..." It was comical to watch his awkward shrug, his hands still trapped in his pockets, his shoulders hunching protectively. "I just wanted to apologize."
"Which you've done several times now without specifying what you're apologizing for. I mean, is this an I'm sorry I let it get this far since I'm giving up on you sorry, or an I just realized I'm kind of acting like a new stalker and don't want you to think I'm crazy sorry?"
His forehead furrowed. "How about I'm sorry I was a dick at dinner?"
"Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got an order to finish up."
She tried to close the door on him, but he reached out and placed a hand against it. "Viv, I mean it. We were doing fine before that fecking dinner–"
"You're right."
Stand-off. She didn't have anything to lose though. He was the one seeking her out, not the other way around. And if he wanted her back, he'd better prove it. It took him a long time to start talking again.
"My past isn't something nice women like. They like the fame, but not the rest of the shit that comes after serving in a combat zone. Leaving is usually easier for them."
"Easier is overrated. You don't think I should decide whether I want to stay with you or not? A bit egotistical."
"Probably."
"I'm a grown woman, Zeke. I'm not going to sneak out of your bed one night and move across the country to get away from you. We'd at least have a conversation before we decide to not see each other anymore."
"Thought you weren't planning on returning my calls." His voice may have been neutral, but lines of tension gathered around his eyes and mouth. The stiffening of his shoulders. He was pissed that she hadn't called him back.
"I needed some time to think. And then I got slammed with a bunch of orders, so you were moved to the back burner." She couldn't help defending herself a little bit. "Besides, it didn't seem like you were up for a bunch of open communication at the time."
"I am now."
"I have a cake to finish."
His lips set in a stubborn line. "I can wait."
"I'm sure you can. Doesn't mean I'm letting you."
What would have been a frown on another man became a glower on the hardened planes of Zeke's face. "Dammit, Viv, don't make me beg." When she didn't respond, he added, "We won't talk until you finish your cake."
His stance and the frustration practically rolling off of him meant that arguing would prove futile. It was probably going to be a horrible mistake, but she gave in. "Fine. But you wait in my office."
"Fine."
He followed her inside, not commenting as he watched her do up the locks on the back door. She led him a few steps down the hall and pointed to her office. "You can wait there while I finish frosting the cake."
He glanced around the bakery. "Are you here alone?"
"Yes." She flicked on the office light and blinked when it illuminated him fully. "What the hell happened to your head?"
"Fight at work. It'll heal. Why are you here alone?"
Two could play at the noncommittal game. "Because I have work to do."
She walked away without another word and returned to the retirement cake that had been rush ordered yesterday. It was the fourth cake of the week and she was grateful it was buttercream instead of that godforsaken fondant. It took about another half hour to finish up the decorating. Once it was in the fridge, she returned to her office.
She expected Zeke to be lounging in her chair. Instead, he dominated her delicate, feminine desk, leaning aggressively over it to glare at her as she walked in. The gash on his forehead only added to his intimidating appearance. It did nothing to detract from his sexual potency.
Irritated at the direction her thoughts had careened, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared back. "What?"
"You don't have any cameras here."
Sitting across from him was a bad idea. He already owned the tiny space and she needed distance if she intended to keep a level head around him. "No. They're expensive. What did you want to talk about?"
"You should have cameras here. Has he bothered you again?"
"No. Seriously, Zeke, I'm exhausted and want to get home. Why are you here?"
"I want another chance."
"And I want a relationship based on trust and mutual understanding."
"What did I do to make you so fecking angry at me?"
"Do you have any idea how frustrating it was to sit there while some other woman knew all sorts of stuff about you and I was clueless? It was like sitting at dinner with one of your ex-girlfriends."
"I told you, I'd never met her before."
"I get that, but she still knew more about you than I did. Would you like me to invite you to dinner with one of the men I used to date in Napa so you could see how it feels?"
"Not unless you wanted him dead or wanted me to fuck you on the table in front of him to prove you're mine."
She refused to let herself acknowledge the flutter of hope at his crude admission. "Well, neither's an option. But you know how angry you feel right now just imagining it?"
His nod was jerky.
"That was what it was like to sit through that dinner."
"If it felt anything like this, why the hell would you have stayed?"
"Because he's one of your friends and you care about him. And because I care about you and hoped that after dinner you'd explain some things to me."
"But I didn't."
"No." She took a breath and lowered her arms. "Now does it make sense why I'm so pissed off at you?"
His chin rose, eyes searching her face. "It's beginning to."
"Good. If you're serious about wanting another chance, I need to know more about you. I need you to trust me to decide whether I still want you or not."
His stillness unnerved her. "You're asking a lot."
"It doesn't seem like it."
The lilt of his accent did nothing to hide the pain behind his words. "You're asking for the world, darlin'. And I’ll be damned if I won't give it to you."
He rose from her desk and stepped toward her. There was that electric current, sending tingles across her skin and hardening her nipples. At least the stiff canvas of the apron hid that. She held her ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much his agreement meant to her.
"Let me take you home," he said.
"We're not going to do anything but talk."
; Finally, a wry grin. "If you say so. I don't even have to come inside."
A desperate noise escaped her. The house. He means the house...
She tried to untie her apron, but the light glittered on a hint of the sanding sugar brushed on the fabric. The shimmer reminded her of what his skin looked like covered in a fine sheen of sweat that only came after a long, hard fuck. Her hands shook as she worked at the knot of the ties.
His dark chuckle drew her attention from the task. He took another step forward, so much closer than she'd realized, and reached out to place his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her. “I don’t have to come inside,” he repeated, “unless you want me to.”
His statement hung there in the air between them, slowly expanding until it consumed all the oxygen left in her suddenly too-small office. One of his fingers brushed against the edge of her apron and a whimper escaped her, mind flashing forward to the sensation of his body pumping into hers, spilling his liquid heat deep, claiming her completely.
She didn’t like the flash of understanding that lit up his blue eyes. “Ah,” he said softly.
“Ah, what? I didn’t say I wanted you to come inside.” Her frantic attempt to cover the breathiness in her voice only made the entendre worse.
“Oh, Viv, there’s no fecking way I’m looking the other way on that one.” He blinked and glanced down at his arm. Like magic, she followed the movement.
Dammit! When the hell did her hand end up clutching his bicep? As if they were prepared for the protest, her fingers curled more into the curve of the muscle, tightening her grip instead of loosening it as she’d planned.
“I’m taking you home. Anything else that happens is your choice. But you should know I’m more than willing to participate in any way you’d let me.” He drew back, smile edged out by seriousness. "After we talk."
He dropped his hands from the wall and stepped back to give her space. She finished untying her apron and draped it over her desk, too aware of his eyes lingering over her peaked nipples.
"Let's go." His voice was low and rough and she shivered as its rasp slid over her skin.
He followed her home, parking beside her in the lot. They stood near the trunk of his car. He didn't make a move to wrap an arm around her shoulder or waist, but that was probably a good thing. The attraction she felt toward him was a temptation, but the allure of finally learning who this man was proved even greater. She wasn't going to mess up this opportunity.
"Do you want to talk here?" he asked as he gestured to her door. "Or can I take you somewhere–"
The rest of his sentence slipped to the back of her attention. She paused, trying to figure out why her senses were warning her something was off. Zeke, ever attentive, fell silent beside her. He didn't ask any annoying or obvious questions. Instead, he took a step closer to her, the tips of his fingers light against the back of her elbow.
"My porch light's off," she whispered, finally figuring out what had given her that strange, sick feeling.
"You left it on this morning?"
"I knew I'd be staying late." She shuddered and Zeke tugged her closer to him.
His voice was calm and steady when he told her, "I need to go take a look. Do you want to wait in my car, or come with me?"
"I'm staying with you."
"Okay. But I need to go take a look and see why your light is out. It may not be anything unusual."
"Maybe not."
Too bad they were both lying between their teeth.
***
Approaching the darkened doorway, Zeke realized his chest felt strange. Heavy and uncomfortable. Much of his profession relied on his ability to read his body's signs, but this new one had him stumped.
Vivian had been too focused on her door to comment when he'd gotten into his trunk safe and removed his Sigs. He hoped his actions were overkill, but wasn't willing to take a chance if her stalker was planning to make his move now. He kept Vivian behind him as they approached the door. He pretended not to notice that her hands were trembling as she rested them against the small of his back. As long as she didn't raise them higher, he'd be able to keep it together. He couldn't afford to let his control slip, not now, not when she may be in danger.
His cell phone's light was bright, but didn't illuminate the furthest edges of the area. It was enough to shine off a small package at the base of the door though, reflecting on some kind of plastic.
It was a bouquet. That shouldn't have triggered his every survival instinct. But the scent lingering in the air from the crimson buds...it was a smell he hadn't encountered in a while. And it sure as hell wasn't the scent of roses.
"Darlin', do you have your phone?"
"In my purse."
"You need to call the police, okay?"
He waited until she was on the phone with the cops to edge closer to the flowers and examine them. The buds were crimson, but the color was anything but natural. Sticky beads dripped from the petals onto the concrete landing, the flowers bleeding as they lay there. A simple white note was tucked into one of the cellophane folds on top.
He didn’t bother to look at it. Instead, he herded Vivian away, back to his car. He made sure she was tucked in and seatbelted before he took the phone from her and answered Detective Mancini’s questions, making sure Vivian couldn’t overhear the details from inside the car. Once the conversation was over, he slipped into the driver’s seat and left the lot, ignoring the flashing lights of the nearing patrol cars in his rearview mirror.
“Zeke, where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to my apartment.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only place I know I can keep you safe.”
Vivian’s sudden quiet left him shifting in his seat, afraid he’d done something wrong. Voice low, she murmured, “I didn’t mean for you to get involved in this.”
“Hey,” he interrupted, reaching for her hand. She slipped it in his and he raised her icy fingers to his lips. “I don’t give a shit about this psycho. And I just so happen to come with a skill set that’s useful in this situation. You didn’t get me into anything. I want to help. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said meekly.
He was only a few blocks away when he realized his mistake. “Wait, are you comfortable with this? I can check us into a hotel, if you want–”
“Zeke, this is fine,” she assured him, leaning forward to take in the modern lines of the newer section of Karim. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you...”
He shook his head as he turned into his building’s private garage. “No repayment necessary. Just don’t...” The flippant words he wanted to say caught in his throat. Don’t what? Get hurt? Get killed? He swallowed painfully and tried again. “Don’t...”
Scare me out of my goddamn mind? Leave me?
Vivian placed a hand on his leg. She was watching him closely, her full lips turned down in the hint of a frown, lines of concern marring her forehead.
“Don’t worry about it,” he managed. It sounded strangled, even to him.
A quick access code and the gate lifted. They didn’t speak again until he shut the car off. He couldn’t bring himself to take his hands from the steering wheel. Here, in this tiny enclosed space, she was safe. He was right beside her and would be able to protect her. The moment they stepped outside though...
“Zeke,” Vivian whispered. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”
He had to tell her. To let her decide if she wanted to risk being around him. She deserved that much, if not more. Besides, she’d see the pictures soon enough.
“Let’s talk inside. Then you can decide what you want to do.”
Chapter 8
She didn’t like Zeke’s distractedness, even though he was, in many ways, more attentive than ever. He grabbed a bag from the back of his car and protected her with his body as they headed for the elevator. Inside, he kept her in a far corner, blocking her from the view of anyone waiting for the door to open. But menta
lly, he was far away from her.
He was wrestling with something and she wasn’t sure how to help him. If she could help him.
He unlocked the door of his apartment and gestured her inside. The heavy click of the tumblers moving into place behind them lifted an unanticipated weight from her spirit. He flicked on a light switch, illuminating the open expanse of a loft.
The lack of furniture and decorations caught her attention the most. There was a couch against one wall, bookcases beside it, and a coffee table in front of it. No TV, no gaming systems, nothing she expected in a bachelor pad.
An open kitchen was to her left, large windows giving a bird’s eye view of the surrounding area. A door led from the kitchen into what must have been the bathroom. Backed against another corner of the room was a large bed. A worn dresser stood near it with a stack of books on top.
“Let me get you some clothes,” Zeke offered, dropping his bag and his guns’ case near the kitchen’s island. “Feel free to look around.”
“Don’t think it’ll take me that long,” she teased.
He at least pretended to smile. As Zeke moved away and began digging through his dresser drawers, Vivian headed toward the bookcases. The shelves were loaded down with a mixture of genres and authors. Most of the books looked well worn. Some even had little scraps of paper sticking out of them to mark pages.
A few small pictures sat in plastic stands on the bookshelves. She was busy inspecting them when Zeke joined her.
“You weren’t just a soldier,” she said, pointing at one of the photographs.
“No.”
“What were you?” She peered closer. “Is that John? Why do you all look so serious?”
“Yeah, that’s John. He and I were on an international strike team in Syria. We were hunting high-level assets.”
“Terrorists, you mean?”
“Sometimes.”
She didn’t like the sound of that, nor did she like the coolness of his tone. That area of inquiry off-limits, she turned her attention to the other pictures. “Is this your family?”
Zeke gave a soft huff and tapped the picture of the strike team. “This is my family.” A quick tap of his finger on the other picture. “This is my father and mother.”