by Elise Faber
Not that I’d had many of those, but that wasn’t the point.
It was the best thing I’d ever had in my mouth.
And I wasn’t going to say that aloud. Ever.
“You like it?”
I glanced up, saw Brooke leaning against the doorframe, her eyes still a little hazy but a smile curving her lips.
“I think that’s evident by the crumbs on my face,” I murmured, wrapping the foil around the bread and pushing to my feet. “You have enough time?”
A nod. “Never, but yes.”
“Walk you home?”
Her eyes softened. “Do you have any room in your stomach after eating all that bread? I have leftover lasagna and some store-bought French bread at my apartment if you want to stay for dinner . . . or whatever a meal at one in the morning might be called.”
“It’s almost four,” I murmured. “And, yes, I’ll guarantee I’ll always have room for your lasagna.”
“Four?”
I smiled. “Four.”
“Holy—” She shook her head. “This place has good flow.”
“This place has good inspiration for your leading men.”
“I can’t argue that.” A beat. “So, lasagna?”
“Fuck yeah,” I said and took her hand. This time she didn’t protest, and we walked down the hall. I left her briefly to double-check the locks, made sure the lights were off, and then took her hand again as I set the alarm and closed the back door. After one more lock check, we were walking to her apartment.
She chatted my ear off the entire way.
The Scream franchise was the best scary movie franchise in history. For some strange reason, she was desperate to see the dude who was on vacation walking around in his underwear. Daises were her favorite flower, but her favorite scent was rose. And I knew this because she was a sucker for a bath and took one every day with fancy bath shit.
I made a mental note to pick up some of that fancy bath shit, along with checking the schedule of the local one-screen theater. It was nearing Halloween and they always showed classic horror flicks. If Scream was showing soon, I was taking Brooke.
By the time I’d decided that, we were at her apartment.
Or at least, walking up the final set of stairs that led to her door.
I was just reaching around her to unlock that door when I noticed the shadow. My reaction was pure instinct, and I grabbed Brooke’s waist, shoving her behind me. The shadow rose, growing and coalescing into a person.
A man. Tall and broad and with a mean fucking look on his face.
Which was why I handed Brooke my keys and ordered, “Go into your apartment, lock the door, call the police.”
She didn’t move.
“Babe.”
The man’s face got even meaner.
“Steven?”
Brooke’s voice was surprised, but also soft, and that pissed me off. If this was Steven the ex, then she had absolutely no reason to have any sort of softness for the prick.
“Brooke.”
Terse. Cold. Angry.
My shoulders stiffened, and I took a step toward the door, taking Brooke along with me. “Inside, babe,” I said softly.
“She’s not your fucking babe!”
Mean went to crazy and I had to admit, I hadn’t expected this turn of events. Brooke had described what happened between her and her ex, but she hadn’t mentioned him still being around or showing up at her apartment in the middle of the night. Frankly, I’d expected that Tabitha would create this kind of scene, not Brooke’s ex from ten years before.
“Steven.”
Brooke’s voice wasn’t soft now.
“You left,” she accused. “When I needed you the most, you just fucking left.”
“Brooke—”
“So, tell me,” she snapped. “Why in the fuck are you here now?”
Steven’s eyes shot to my right, to where she’d moved out from behind me. I fought the urge to yank her back mainly because the expression on her face had gone straight from shooting daggers into tossing grenades.
She was pissed.
Damn right she was pissed. This fucker had shot her when she was down, hurt her at her most vulnerable. He shouldn’t be showing his face in her presence, not now, not fucking ever.
“Go the fuck home and do not ever fucking come back.”
“Brookie,” he slurred. “We were young, and I made a mistake. I shouldn’t have let you go. Not when you were the best thing I’d ever had.” He took a stumbling step toward her, the scent of alcohol filling the air. “But I’ve changed. My wife left—”
“Your wife?” Brooke gasped. “You’re married and you’re here?”
“She left!” he screamed.
Brooke snorted. “And how’d that feel?”
“It—” He shook his head, eyes dilated. “If you can just understand—”
Okay, no. She wasn’t going to understand anything.
I shifted so I was between the asshole and my woman.
“It’s late,” she said. “I’ll give you my number—”
“Not happening,” I snapped.
Brooke put her hand on my arm. “Steven, it’s late. We’ll set up another time to talk when it’s not the middle of the night.”
“It wouldn’t be the middle of the fucking night if you hadn’t left me, hadn’t made me track you down and then not come home until four-o-fucking-clock in the morning!” His voice boomed through the halls, and I went from really annoyed to really fucking annoyed.
What a bag of dicks.
“You had almost a decade to find me, Steven,” Brooke said, voice hard. “You couldn’t honestly thing that one night of showing up out of the blue—”
Rage turned his features ugly. “You always were such a stuck-up bitch—”
And yeah, that was when I’d reached my limit.
“Look, dude,” I said. “You need to leave.”
He shoved his finger in my face. “You need to shut your fucking mouth and leave my woman alone.”
Brooke shifted at his spine. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” she snapped. “I haven’t seen you in almost ten years, and then you show up unannounced—and I have no idea how you even found me since my address is unlisted, by the way—”
“You think you’re so fucking smart, but you’re not. It’s right there, your address, right on your domain.” He staggered closer. “Not smart enough to realize that, you fucking bitch.”
Before that moment, I’d had enough.
After him calling my woman a fucking bitch, I lost it.
And I lost it making two huge mistakes.
“Go inside, Brooke,” I growled and launched myself at the asshole. He was bigger than me, but I had sobriety to go along with my fury. We hit the ground with a thud that I chased with a fist to his face. The crack of his nose was fucking satisfying, along with his cry of pain. He got in a shot to my ribs that hurt like hell, but then I got the advantage and landed a series of blows to his torso and face.
“Stop,” Brooke shouted.
I blocked a punch. “Inside. Now.”
“No,” she said. “You can’t—”
Steven lurched, almost knocking me off, but I had body position, and I had him pinned with my legs.
“Call the fucking police.” I shoved my elbow into his throat, not lightly, and he started choking. Not my fucking problem. That this asshole would come here, basically stalk her, and then show up blitzed out of his mind and pissed off at Brooke having a life . . . it was insanity, and I was going to make sure the asshole saw it my way and never came back.
“Kace—”
I reared back, wanting to make eye contact to make sure she understood that I had this, that I was going to make Steven see reason, but I wasn't going to lose my fucking mind and kill the bastard.
Tempting, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
Besides, jail didn’t have lasagna and chocolate pumpkin bread.
Unfortunately, I didn’t realize h
ow close Brooke was and the moment I leaned back and spun, trying to get a lock on her gaze, I felt my shoulder make contact.
With her face.
With her nose.
First mistake.
Immediately, her nose began bleeding and she fell back with a cry, both hands over her face.
I punched Steven once more, shoved him away, and rushed over to her.
“Babe,” I said. “Fuck. Are you okay?” My hands dropped gently to her shoulders, and I tried to tug her arms away. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was muffled. “I shouldn’t have gotten so close.”
I managed to peel back one hand. “Fuck.” Already bruising. I must have hit her just right. “I’m so sorry, babe. We need ice on that five minutes ago.”
She nodded, started to push to her feet.
I’d already made my second mistake. I just didn’t know it yet.
Not until the blinding pain across my skull penetrated, not until the darkness rose up and seized me.
Eighteen
Brooke
Kace groaned when the doorbell rang.
Two days had passed since he’d gotten the concussion to end all concussions.
Two days since my fucking crazy ex had shown up on my doorstep and knocked him over the head with a potted plant.
Two days Kace had been in my bed, but I hadn’t been able to enjoy it because I’d been so worried about his injury that I was scared to touch him wrong. Also, the brace around my severely bruised, though thankfully not broken nose had made just breathing difficult, let alone planning any seduction feasible.
Black lace had failed.
The lasagna had stayed in the fridge and the police had shown. Turned out, my chainsaw neighbor friend could actually be a little useful because he’d heard the commotion and called them.
That was good.
Black lace failing was not.
Me barely being able to look at Kace because I felt beyond guilty that my ex had attacked him in the middle of the night was also not good.
Him barely being able to disguise his disgust when he looked at me wasn’t great either.
But I owed it to him to at least get him healthy.
And then I’d let him go.
Remove the crazy from his life. I’d just figured the crazy would come from me, from my head and insecurities, not from some specter of the past I’d never expected to lay eyes on again.
“I got it,” I said, pushing to my feet and hurrying to answer the door.
“DoorDash,” he muttered, sitting up.
“What?” I stopped
“Couldn’t let you cook me another meal, babe.” He held up his phone. “So, delivery.”
This time a knock accompanied the bell and he winced. Shit, the noise couldn’t be good for his head. I moved to the door, checked the peephole, and tugged it open. Sure enough, it was delivery, and it smelled fucking incredible. I thanked the person and grabbed the bags, then used my foot to close the door.
Then I turned to Kace.
He winced.
My heart sank.
Carefully, I brought the bags to the kitchen and set them on the counter. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”
He pushed off the couch. “Do what?”
“This pity thing.” I shook my head firmly. “I’m fine if you want to bail. I get it. My life fucked you up and you want to leave—”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
I jumped.
“You—”
“You think I want to bail?”
I rolled my eyes. “You can barely look at me. Like I said, I understand. It’s fine. We had a nice moment and—”
The hand pressed to my mouth, both startling me into silence and effectively muting future words. “Why in the ever-loving fuck would I want to leave?” He shook his head, no wince this time. “I told you about my childhood, told you about how little good I had. You—you are the one good thing I’ve managed to snag, and I sure as fuck am not letting you go.”
I shoved him away. “But you’ve spent the last two days not looking at me, flinching from my touch, and when you do deign to actually make eye contact, your expression tells me that I’m torturing you.”
“Babe.”
“You’ve barely been able to stand being in the same room—”
“Babe.”
“What?” I snapped.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
I nearly threw that bag of Chinese food at his head. It’s not you, it’s me. Was the motherfucker serious because—
Then he kept talking, and I was really glad that I didn’t waste that delicious-smelling food by launching it at him.
“I did that to you. I left you unprotected with that fucking prick. I’m the reason you have two shiners and a broken nose—"
“It’s not broken—”
Blue eyes locked on mine. “I hurt you.”
Oh.
Oh.
I got it now.
Shit. I’d missed it before, missed the fact that my alpha male was beating himself up because he thought he’d failed to protect me. Instead, I’d defaulted right back to my same old insecurities, thinking he couldn’t possibly want me, and by doing so, I’d nearly ruined it.
I stepped around the counter and got close. “I’m realizing now that I fucked up.”
Kace grunted.
“Really fucked up.”
“I know it’ll take time for you to believe in us and to build something totally impenetrable to the self-doubt that eats you . . . but, babe, I’ve been gone for you since the moment I laid eyes on that gorgeous face. I’m not trying to find a way out, I’m trying to find a way in.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, tugged me flush against him. “I like being in. I want to get deeper. I want to be so deep inside that you’ll never be able to cut me loose.”
Warm words chasing out the cold of the last two days.
But truthfully? The warm words with all those mentions of deep and deeper were getting to me in another way.
“Also, I got the landlord to repair your buzzer system,” he said. “No more permanently unlocked building door means fewer surprises.”
More warm.
Also, more heat with him pressing me so firmly against him. The contact was perfect, but it also wasn’t platonic. My lady parts were awake and interested and didn’t give one shit that my nose was still in a bandage.
I shifted slightly, hips moving against his.
“Babe.”
“I was wearing black lace two nights ago,” I told him. “Planned on plying you with chocolate and bread and lasagna and jumping your bones.” His cock stirred, hardening against my abdomen, and I plastered myself against him. “I don’t have lace on today, but maybe I don’t need it?”
“Babe.”
I rose on tiptoe and fitted myself against him, pelvis tilting, the contact making stars flash.
“I don’t think I need lace. I just need you,” I murmured.
Silence.
“And your big, beautiful co—”
He swung me up into his arms, making me squeal, but immediately I tried to squirm away. “Your head, Kace. I don’t want—”
“Shutting you up now.”
“What—?”
He kissed me, taking advantage of the fact that my mouth was open and shoving his tongue deep inside. But inside of controlled heat and careful touches, Kace was a man possessed. He plundered my mouth as he carried me into the bedroom, and though he set me gently on the bed, he also didn’t waste a second in stripping my pajama pants and T-shirt from my body.
“Kill me with these,” he muttered, shrugging out of his shirt. “Every fucking time.” His sweats hit the floor. “So fucking thin, I swear I can see your tits and pussy right through them.”
Since they were old, that was probably accurate.
“Teasing me, then making me feel like a sick fuck for wanting to fuck you while you’re hurting.”
“I�
�m not hurting.”
Which basically translated to me begging him to please, for the love of all the carbs in my kitchen, fuck me. And to do it well.
Based on the look in Kace’s eyes, I didn’t have any doubt that would happen.
He produced a condom from somewhere, rolled it on, and then kissed me until I was gasping for breath. When I broke away to suck in oxygen, his mouth trailed to my breasts, sucking a nipple deeply and making me arch off the bed. Pleasure shot down my spine, bloomed between my thighs, and I was wet, wetter than I’d ever been in my life. I needed him inside. Now.
Kace didn’t seem to care because he stayed at my breasts, sucking them roughly, rolling them between his fingertips, basically reducing me to a pile of mush.
Then he kissed me some more.
The desperate, plundering kiss that made my head spin like I was the one with the concussion.
But when he began sliding down again, his mouth trailing over my abdomen, I’d had enough teasing. I loved his mouth, loved what it had done to my pussy a week before, but I didn’t need a mouth, I needed his cock deep inside, and I needed it pounding hard.
I wove my fingers into his hair and yanked his head up to mine.
Probably not smart when my man had a concussion, but I wasn’t thinking straight. And Kace didn’t seem to mind. “Now, baby,” I murmured and wrapped my legs around his hips, arching up, trying to get him where I needed him.
His sexy smile.
His incredible eyes.
And then his cock sliding inside.
“Babe.”
I was right there with him. He was perfect. We were perfect together.
Then he began to move.
And somehow it all got more perfect.
We were in sync, and he could read my body almost better than I could myself, anticipating changing angles and pressure until finally I was climbing the peak, heat swirling through my limbs, pleasure growing between my thighs, his thumb stroking my clit.
“Yes,” I gasped when he knew I needed more, needed it harder before I could beg for it. “Don’t stop.”
“Babe.”
“Please,” I sobbed, hips moving against him, my head thrown back onto the pillow. “Baby. Oh God.”