by Lexi C. Foss
She softened in his arms, her head falling back against the wall. “I need at least one girls’ night with Lizzie.”
He grinned against her neck. “Granted, so long as I can sneak in after she goes to bed.”
“How very teenage boy of you,” she teased. “But I concede that point.”
He tasted her sensitive skin. “Then we have a deal?”
“Are we making a blood vow?” The taunt in her voice teased his baser instincts.
“Mmm.” He sunk his canines into her neck and luxuriated in the sweet essence beneath the skin. Her blood hit the back of his throat, and a growl he couldn’t contain slipped out as she clung to him. After two shallow pulls, he released her from his bite and whispered, “Careful what you wish for, Aya.”
“Issac…” She shook against him as the endorphins from his lethal kiss worked their way through her system. “Fuck.” Another convulsion of hers vibrated his body. “Fine. Yes. I agree to your terms, not that it’s a hardship.”
His lips curled. “Oh, I think you’ll find it to be quite a bit of work, love.” He nuzzled her throat and reaffirmed his grip on her dress by inching the fabric upward to expose more of her thighs. “Fancy a preview?”
“Does it involve you biting me again?” she asked, her voice whisper-soft and drowsy with gratification.
He licked the still-open wound. “Yes.”
“Then yes, please.” She arched her neck. “Take me, Issac.”
“Always.” He soothed the mark on her tender skin with his tongue before dropping to his knees.
She knotted her fingers in his hair, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Wh-what are you doing?”
He grinned as he revealed her midnight-blue panties. “You did not express where you wished to be bitten, Aya.”
“Oh, God…”
“Hold on to that thought, love. You’ll be needing it again soon.”
4
“Not a Date” Is a Date, Except When It’s Not
Subject appears reliant on familial approval. Habitat and accommodations should be revisited in future iterations.
—Entry Log 118.05.4-7
Lizzie pressed sweaty palms against her navy-blue shift dress and checked her appearance once more in the mirror.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she whispered. “It’s not even a date.”
Yet she had tousled her hair into perfect auburn waves. Her eyes popped with the eyeliner, and a sheen of cherry lip gloss graced her lips.
Her sorority sisters, especially Cam and Kristin, would approve. Stas, however, would laugh at her.
And that’s why Lizzie considered her the closer friend.
She grinned at the thought as she sent a text off to Stas.
I’m grabbing dinner with that new neighbor I told you about.
Jayson had slid a note under her door Sunday night asking if she wanted to grab dinner tonight. He’d left his number at the bottom, and like an idiot, she’d programmed it into her phone and sent him a confirmation via text message.
A really stupid decision.
Lizzie didn’t go out on Tuesdays, or any weeknights, because of work. But her lesson plans were already done for the month due to all her evenings alone.
Try to behave, Stas teased. Lizzie had given her the full description of their overbearing man upstairs. I’ll be home around ten tonight. Stark is forcing me to work late again.
You should kick his ass.
Oh, believe me, I’m trying.
See you in the morning for breakfast? Lizzie asked.
They used to eat with each other every day, but things had changed over the last few months with Stas working so much. Tom’s funeral hadn’t helped, either. It was probably in Lizzie’s head, but her friendship with Stas felt stilted. Cold, even.
Her phone dinged with the reply, Coffee? :)
Lizzie grinned. Caffeine was the way to Stas’s heart. Obviously, she replied.
Count me in.
See you then.
It’s a girls’ date, Stas promised.
Lizzie smiled. Sounds great.
She loved that her best friend had finally found happiness, but missed their girl time together. They used to enjoy pizza once a week and binge-watch chick flicks, but now Stas spent most weekends with Issac. Lizzie couldn’t fault her for it; her best friend deserved happiness and more.
And yeah, a tiny part of her also hoped Issac might be able to convince Stas to leave the CRF and pursue other opportunities.
Which, of course, made Lizzie a horrible person.
Her hatred of the organization stemmed from an irrational sensation of fear that increased every time she neared the corporate headquarters. She visited her father a handful of times in his top-floor office, mostly when he needed her to sign something. The last time had been some paperwork for her trust fund.
For whatever reason, he preferred to do everything at the CRF instead of at home. Probably because he rarely left his desk unless it involved doing something for work. As the Chief of International Affairs, he traveled often. As a kid, she rarely saw him, which probably contributed to her dislike of the organization. Killing Tom and stealing her best friend didn’t improve matters.
There went Lizzie’s happy mood. Just in time for the knock on her door.
Six o’clock on the dot.
Lizzie liked a punctual man.
Not that this was a date.
Friends, she reminded herself.
That didn’t stop her heart from fluttering upon opening the door. Because, wow, Jayson cleaned up nicely.
Designer jeans, a deep-red sweater, artfully styled dark hair, and grinning chocolate eyes, all wrapped up in a muscular package most women only dreamed about.
Not a date.
Just neighbors.
A man like him wouldn’t be interested in you anyway.
That last voice sounded a little too much like her mother.
And I’ve been staring at his chest for two solid seconds.
“Hi,” she managed.
Those adorable dimples peeked at her. “Hi,” he returned. “Ready?”
“Yep.” She grabbed her purse from the table in the foyer and slipped on her heels. They added three inches to her five-foot, six-inch height, leaving her forehead around his lips.
Stop thinking about his mouth.
Right.
She followed him down the hall to the stairs and said nothing as he led her outside.
Lizzie didn’t have a lot of experience with men outside her small social circle. She dated occasionally, but it never blossomed into anything. A few kisses here, some touches there, all of which led to nothing memorable. Only one man ever tempted her to go beyond light petting.
Tom Fitzgerald.
Her crush began at the ripe age of thirteen and continued through the years, though it waned a little in college. She watched him with other women and started to realize he would never see her as anything other than a sister. All hope she harbored of him wanting her died the day of his funeral.
Jayson tugged on the loose strand of hair hanging by her face. “Long day, Red?”
God, they were already a block away from their building and hadn’t said more than four words to each other. Instead, she’d trod down a melancholy path that had no place in their evening plans.
Lizzie cleared her throat and forced a smile. “It’s been a long few weeks.” No sense in lying about it. “But I’m managing.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
He shrugged. “All right, let’s talk about dinner instead. I know you love San Dinos, but I’ve heard rumors of a better pizza place.”
Her eyebrows sprang upward. “That’s blasphemy!”
Jayson laughed. “I say we test it and decide for ourselves.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s the name of this supposed restaurant?”
“It’s a real restaurant,” he replied. “And I think it’s called Magilinos or something.”
&nb
sp; She’d never heard of it. “Where is it?”
“Uh, it’s in Brooklyn.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “I hope you like the train.”
*
Lizzie Watkins was trying to kill him.
First, she wore a dress that ended midthigh, revealing those sexy-as-hell legs to the world.
Second, she added fuck-me heels and handled them like a runway model.
And now she sat across from him, moaning.
Oh, he knew the pizza here totally kicked San Dinos’s ass, but he hadn’t expected his friend to react with sexy little noises after each bite.
Luc’s unnecessary reminder about keeping the relationship professional with Lizzie didn’t help. Jayson knew his job and respected it, but a growing part of him started to see this assignment as a challenge. One he wanted to see naked in his bed.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
“Okay,” Lizzie said after polishing off her third slice. “I was skeptical, but you win. That was amazing.”
Mmm, he certainly enjoyed those words rolling off her plump lips. Too bad the context was all wrong. The woman maintained the innocence of an angel, and that only increased the allure. Her every move seemed to radiate erotic appeal without even trying. Anywhere else, and any other time, he would seduce her out of the dress, leave on the heels, and give her a night to remember.
Alas, he had work to do, as the buzzing against his thigh constantly reminded him.
We need at least another hour, the last message had read.
Sixty minutes of small talk ought to do it. He could handle that.
“So, you’ve never heard of this place?” he asked, feigning surprise. Lizzie’s high-society upbringing sheltered her from the simple pleasures in life, such as finding off-the-beaten-path pizza pubs.
“I have now,” she replied cheekily. “Not that I’ll get out here much with that forty-five-minute train ride.”
He chuckled, remembering her expression when he mentioned their destination earlier. Shock had mingled with horror at the idea of leaving her cocoon in Manhattan, but she’d been a good sport about it.
“It was worth it.” He referred to both her initial reaction and the subtle jibe at their long journey. “Okay, so far I’ve learned you’re a teacher who enjoys decent pizza and rarely leaves Manhattan. Oh, and you dislike loud music—can’t forget that bit.” He folded his arms on the small table, leaning toward her. “Tell me more. How long have you been in the city?”
“First,” she said, holding up a finger. “I have no problem with loud music, just neighbors who like to throw weights onto the floor above my head. Music and I happen to get along just fine, thank you very much.”
“Yeah? I bet you listen to pop crap.”
She snorted. “And you clearly enjoy men screaming at unfashionable levels while banging on drums.”
“There is nothing wrong with metal, Red.”
“Says the man who has to throw his weights around just to be heard above the commotion.”
He could apparently add witty to her long list of positive traits. The smile on his face actually hurt. It’d been there most of the evening because of her. “I guess I need to cross ‘attend a concert’ off the idea list for future neighborly activities.”
She giggled. “Most New Yorkers consider waving to be the extent of activities that should occur between neighbors. Where did you say you were from, again?”
“Now hold on, I believe I asked you that first.” He needed this conversation to be about her, not him. Because although he could lie, he didn’t want to, and there were only so many ways to twist the truth. “How long have you lived in the city?”
“All my life,” she replied. “Born and raised in Manhattan, attended Columbia for undergrad and NYU for grad school. And you know where I live now.”
“So, your family lives in the city too?” He phrased it as a guess but already knew the truth. “Any siblings?”
He kept it light to appear politely interested, but inside, he was dying to know more about her relationship with George and Lillian Watkins. Stas had provided some of the sordid details, but maybe Lizzie could give him some minute detail that would help crack this case. Doubtful, but worth a shot.
Some of the amusement left Lizzie’s expression, but her tone remained pleasant. “I’m an only child, but yes, my parents live in Manhattan.”
“Do you see them a lot?” A natural follow-up question.
She pinched her lips to the side, considering. He caught the moment she decided to say what she wanted rather than the polite response.
“I do,” she admitted. “Usually often, but not very much lately. We’re not really getting along right now, but I have to see them this Sunday. It’s tradition.”
“Tradition?” he repeated, curious.
“Yeah, it’s this monthly brunch, except it actually happens every four weeks, so it’s technically thirteen times a year, not that it matters.” A delectable pink caressed her cheeks, endearing her to him even more. “Sorry. It’s silly. It’s just a late breakfast with my parents and my dad’s best friend.”
“And you can’t skip it?”
“Uh, I mean, I could, maybe. I’ve never actually tried. The Sunday brunch fell over Christmas one year, and we all still went.” She laughed without humor. “Pretty sure my mom would kill me if I ever skipped.”
“And you always go to the same restaurant? Even the time you went on Christmas?” He tried to maintain an innocent curiosity in his tone, but her revelation floored him.
This has to be related to the CRF somehow.
Lizzie nodded. “Yep. I don’t know how my parents managed it, but the restaurant opened just for us. It couldn’t have been cheap, not that money would ever stop them.” Her crimson cheeks darkened deliciously, solidifying her nickname. “You probably think I’m some spoiled rich kid now, don’t you? Living in a condo I obviously couldn’t afford on my own and telling tales about my parents buying out restaurants.”
Her gaze fell to where her hands were clasped in her lap. A telling gesture that confirmed his suspicions regarding her fragile confidence.
“I’m not in the habit of judging people based on their familial relations, Lizzie.” Otherwise, they wouldn’t be having this dinner. “I mean, my father is a dick.” Understatement of the millennium. “And my mother passed a long time ago.” Because his Ichorian sperm donor killed her for sport. “But I’m my own person, and I don’t associate who I am today with either of them.” And haven’t done so for about three thousand years, to be precise.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, meeting his gaze. “About your mom, I mean.”
Her apology surprised him. He hadn’t thought of his mother in ages, but of course Lizzie wouldn’t realize that. His facial appearance, which he didn’t bother altering in her presence, likened him to a thirty-year-old man, maybe even younger. She would assume his mother passed in the last decade or so.
“I’ve long reconciled with her passing,” he answered carefully. “But thank you.” Time to switch it back or she might ask how his mother died, and wouldn’t that be a fun conversation? “So, why every four weeks?”
“The brunch?”
“Yeah.”
“Uh, it’s always been that way. My father’s best friend is also his boss, John Fitzgerald. Do you know anything about the CRF?”
He forced a confused expression. “The humanitarian organization?”
“That’d be the one.” A note of sarcasm underlined her words, amusing him. It seemed she wasn’t a fan. Something they definitely had in common. “Anyway, John is the CEO. My dad works for him.”
“And they always go to brunch together, huh?” Stas had mentioned something about this, but no one thought much of it. A mistake on their part.
“Every four weeks,” she replied. “You’re welcome to join me Sunday if you like uncomfortable conversation and salad.” That blush worked its way up her neck again. “Oh, that sounded like an invitation to meet my parents, and that’s s
o not what I meant. I know we’re just friends, that this isn’t anything, obviously, and… and yeah, I’m going to shut up now.”
She hid behind a glass of water and drank it with a little too much vigor while he chuckled.
The woman was adorable.
And charming.
And very off-limits.
Damn it, Luc.
“Actually, I think I’d enjoy going with you.” Just to see the look on Jonathan Fitzgerald’s face. “But I’m leaving for a work trip on Sunday.”
The first blatant lie of the evening. Oh, he would be working, but in New York City. And very likely at her brunch. Because his curiosity was piqued.
Every four weeks.
That couldn’t be a coincidence.
The records Tom—Jonathan’s son—found stated she needed some sort of serum to stay alive. What Jayson hadn’t deduced yet was how the CRF gave it to her, because in the last six, almost seven, weeks of watching her, he had yet to see them intervene in her life other than Friday night after he blacked out their surveillance.
But maybe it was simpler than that and didn’t require her visiting headquarters.
Just a brunch.
“Oh, are you off to somewhere fun?” Lizzie asked, referring to his trip.
“No, definitely not.” Anything dealing with the CRF could not be classified as enjoyable. “But I won’t be gone for long. A few days maybe.” More like hours.
Relief touched her expression, and it warmed him that she didn’t bother to hide it. Or maybe she couldn’t. “A few days of peace and quiet? I can handle that.”
Oh, the little minx! “Darling Red, I do believe you’re asking for trouble now.”
“Me?” She batted innocent eyes at him. “Never.”
“You know what? I think our next date will be at a concert after all. One of my choosing.”
“That’s a date I’ll turn down,” she tossed back.
“Yeah?”
She nodded, her expression underlined in certainty.
A sense of challenge swept over him.
Okay. He couldn’t bed her, but a little flirtation never killed anyone.