by Tamara Hogan
“He thinks he hurt you.”
“Well, just for a second. It was my first time, and, well, he’s a big guy.”
“Geez, TMI.” Sasha winced. “Again, he didn’t get too specific, he just said that he was too rough, that he lost control. I got the feeling that he backed off for your own good.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” The anger rose dangerously, a flash flood spreading over the land.
“I wish I was.” Sasha sliced a dire look at her brother. “I’d be pissed too. I told you, they think they know all the answers.”
“Damn him,” Scarlett whispered. She’d beat herself up for years, certain she hadn’t been enough for him—and he’d bailed because of some misplaced sense of guilt?
How dare he make such a decision for both of them? Across the room, Lukas sat upright, his nostrils flaring.
“Damn you.” She spoke directly to him, let him read her lips. “Damn you. How dare you—”
The plate glass window exploded into thousands of tiny shards, and something hot stung her ear. Sasha yanked her off the couch, pulling them to the hard tile floor. They’d barely landed when Lukas’s heavy weight crushed them both.
***
His pleasure quickly turned to a curse as Stephen recognized the face framed in the hole where the coffee shop window used to be. Lukas Sebastiani—and he was looking right at the parking ramp across the street, where Stephen had fired the shot.
“Just my luck,” he muttered, slumping to a heap at the base of the concrete pillar. Cries and shrieks still echoed from the coffee shop across the street, carrying plenty of fear-laced adrenaline, but he couldn’t stay here to enjoy it.
Sebastiani was probably calling in backup, right now.
Stephen tucked the handgun into his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pouch pocket, gritting his teeth as energy zipped up and down his spinal column. The mothers’ hysteria was particularly strong in the top notes, but… Lukas’s alpha male response crashed into him in violent waves, making his balls tingle and pull up tight.
Why the extreme reaction? What the hell was going on over there?
He chanced a quick peek around the edge of the pillar and saw Jack Kirkland herd women and shrieking children away from the window. Sasha Sebastiani had a cell phone clamped to her ear, her anger palpable even from across the street. And Lukas was helping a shaking, flame-haired woman off the floor, protecting her body with his.
Scarlett’s pale face dripped blood from dozens of small cuts.
Ah, damn. He couldn’t do anything right.
Chapter 15
“Let go.” Scarlett pushed weakly at Lukas as he tried to scoop her from the passenger seat of his car. “I can do it myself.”
“Fine.” Lukas stepped back, but not so far that he couldn’t catch her at the first hint of a wobble. Despite her feisty words, her voice was thready. Combined with the aftershocks of what had happened at Crackhouse was a seething feminine anger. He didn’t understand the reason for it, but her body didn’t have the energy reserves to sustain it for long. She was going to crash, and when she did, Lukas preferred that it be inside rather than out in Sebastiani Security’s parking lot.
The four-story brick building housing his business and living space sat on the corner of Washington and First Avenue, one of those Minneapolis intersections where the city turned from spit-shined to seedy on a dime. During the short drive from Underbelly and Crackhouse, he hadn’t let himself forget the cuts on her face, or the glowing white bandage he’d placed on her right ear himself.
The bullet that shattered Crackhouse’s window had taken a nice divot out of her ear before burying itself in the coffee shop’s far wall.
He’d nearly lost her.
The adrenaline that had coursed through him at the coffee shop in the aftermath of the shooting had long since burned off. They were both running on fumes.
He’d nearly lost her.
By the time he’d covered Scarlett and Sasha with his body, the damage had already been done. Sasha had had her back to the window and only had a few grazes on her neck, but Scarlett’s face had taken a direct hit. Disregarding every procedure he knew he should follow, he’d picked Scarlett up off the coffee shop floor. Quickly telling Jack to check out the parking ramp across the street, he’d carried her upstairs to her apartment to render first aid. Despite knowing that even minor head wounds bled like a bitch, his stomach had positively roiled as he’d held a gauze pad to the nip the bullet had taken from the tip of her ear, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. She’d winced as he cleaned and applied antibacterial ointment to each tiny cut on her face. By the time he’d finished that task, Gideon, thoroughly annoyed that Scarlett and Lukas had left his crime scene, had made his way upstairs.
The taste of ashes had been mild, yet unmistakable.
Claudette was right. Scarlett wasn’t safe. And Scarlett had barely changed out of her glass-glittered clothing before he’d grasped her by the elbow, hustled her out the apartment door, down the elevator to his car, and buckled her into the passenger seat.
The fading afternoon sunlight lit the puffy cuts on her face. She closed her eyes momentarily, as if mustering up the effort to get out of the car was simply beyond her means at the moment. And it probably was. How stupid was it to just stand here, an open fucking target? Get your head in the game.
“Come on, we need to get inside.” He scoped out the parking lot and the shoreline of the Mississippi River, and then stood in front of her to cut off as many angles as he could with his body.
She eyed the space between them. “Can you give me a little room, please?”
“No.”
She sighed. “What’s up with this car?” she said, indicating his sedate-looking black V8 Impala SS. “It looks like something Valerian would drive.”
While the car was nearly twenty feet long and had Barcalounger seats, under the hood, where it counted, it was a completely different story. “Hey, it gets me where I need to go. And I fit in it.”
Scarlett humphed disapprovingly. “Where’s the ‘Screw Global Warming’ bumper sticker?”
“Rather than buying something new, small, and politically correct which doesn’t meet my needs, I’m using a car that already exists for its complete, useful lifetime.” He lightly grasped her upper arm as she stepped away from the car, and this time she didn’t pull away from him. Either she was becoming less mad or more exhausted, and frankly either was okay in his book. He needed to get her inside, settle her in.
He’d wait until later to hit the gym and work off some of this killing rage.
Grabbing her duffle bag from the backseat, they finally walked toward the building. Was Claudette right after all? Was someone targeting Council members and their families? First Andi Woolf, then Annika Fontaine, and now Scarlett had been shot at.
No, not shot at—shot. The white bandage on her ear was a painful reminder.
“Lukas.”
“What?”
“Is that a strip club across the street?”
The color was creeping back into her cheeks, and there was definitely a bite to her voice. Some perverse instinct made him say, “Yes. The dancers are very nice women.” Let her make of his response what she would. Sebastiani Security was always happy to provide some neighborly assistance to the bouncers on particularly rowdy weekend nights.
Yes, Scarlett was definitely annoyed. And was that… the tiniest bit of jealousy creeping into the mix? He liked how it tasted.
As he guided her through Sebastiani Security’s heavy doors, Bailey’s head popped up from under the Reception desk, a screwdriver in one hand and a snarl of colored wires in the other. “Hey there,” she called, eyeing them with open curiosity. “Good to see you.”
“Jack filled you in?” Lukas said.
“Yeah.” Bailey smiled at Scarlett. “I’m glad we’ll have one more woman in the building. We need some more estrogen in the mix.” Her smile dimmed a bit when she looked at Lukas. “Jack said that the bullet barely miss
ed your head when it slammed into the wall.”
“What?” Scarlett tensed in his arms, and he tasted flint-edged fear.
“Hey, the missed part is the part that counts.” Lukas dropped his hand to the small of Scarlett’s back as they said good-bye and crossed to the elevator. After what Scarlett had been through today, he wasn’t about to take the four narrow flights of stairs up to his living space.
The elevator ride was short, but her essence filled every corner of the standard-sized conveyance. As Lukas escorted her to the heavy oak door and unlocked it, he wondered how he’d survive the days to come.
His new roommate would sleep in his bed until they caught this asshole.
***
Sasha had been full of stories about the long-running effort to rehab and restore the Sebastiani Security building, including Lukas’s top floor living space. Scarlett half-expected to see jock straps and sweat socks hanging from the rafters, and pizza boxes used for tables.
Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been… this.
Her initial impressions were of mellow beige brick, glass, and wood, and the faintest scent of fresh paint. And light. Oh, the light. Windows soared along the south and west walls. The living area of the two-story warehouse space was basically one large room, with the ceiling held up by blackened wooden beams so large that she didn’t think she could get her arms around them. Different areas of the living space had been cleverly demarcated with area rugs exploding with colors—red, orange, yellow, rust—and natural wood panels with wheels on the bottom served as movable partial walls. Bisecting the room was an unusual floor-to-ceiling wooden wall unit. Scarlett supposed it provided storage space as well as a solid wall of sorts for the bedroom and kitchen on either side of it. The floor’s wide wooden planks were slightly uneven and discolored in a way that shouted their age and authenticity. She saw one door in the whole place, which she heartily hoped was the bathroom.
She refused to look at the bedroom area over by the windows, glowing like kryptonite behind hanging curtains.
Lukas kicked off his boots at the door. “Shoes off, please. This place is a bitch to sweep. Then I’ll give you the grand tour, though you can pretty much see the whole place from here.”
Scarlett sat down on the sturdy bench near the door and unzipped her own boots, reaching into the duffel bag Sasha had hastily packed and extracting her black cat slippers, complete with head, ears, whiskers, and tail trailing off the back. She ignored Lukas’s raised eyebrow.
As Lukas hung up her coat, Scarlett wandered through the living area, admiring the huge fireplace, made of rough slabs of river rock, and large enough to roast a boar. Poised at its side was a waist-height bronze sculpture, unquestionably Rafe’s work. Chopped wood filled an alcove to the fireplace’s right, and small chips and ashes littered the hearth. Lukas had already had his first fall fire.
If she wasn’t a prisoner here, she could totally see herself curling up on that oversized and overstuffed leather couch, reading a book or taking an afternoon nap. The only thing missing would be a cat on her lap. Or nibbling on her ankle, as the case may be.
“What’s wrong?”
He was right behind her. For such a large man, he moved very quietly. “I’m worried about Calamity,” she said. “I just got home, and now I’m gone again. He’s going to be so confused. I didn’t get a chance to clip his nails before I left.”
“I hear he likes the taste of flesh.”
“Yeah.” She glanced at him, and then hugged her arms around her torso. “So, what do we do now?” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she regretted them.
Lukas cleared his throat. “Why don’t we get you settled, then find something to eat?” He opened two doors on the long shelving unit, exposing a built-in set of drawers topped by empty shelves. “You can put your stuff here.” Swishing back the curtains on the bedroom area, he placed her duffle on his bed. “Here’s where you’ll sleep. I’ll, um, have to change the sheets.”
Scarlett stopped at the heavy velvet panel, trying not to stare at the king-sized bed. Rumpled, with its pillows askew, it looked large enough to host a party. She felt guilty for kicking him out of his bed, but she wasn’t stupid enough to open her mouth and suggest that they share it.
“I’ll move another slider across the front here, block it off so you have some privacy.”
As if. She had no privacy from this man, who could sense, smell, and taste her body’s need. She looked wildly around the apartment. She would have no privacy until Annika’s killer was caught.
She looked guiltily at Lukas. No privacy for him, either. No matter how much he annoyed her, or how angry she was, Lukas was putting himself out for her—and with her mother’s full support. There was little-to-no chance she’d talk her way out of here anytime soon.
She moved closer to the bed, trailing her hand across his faerie quilt. Though the quilt was slightly faded, pyrotechnic shades of red, orange, and yellow exploded across the fabric. “What a beautiful quilt. I’m surprised that you have one.”
“Why?” He joined her near the bed. Despite the size and openness of the room, she suddenly felt a little suffocated.
“I can’t imagine you ever lowering your boundaries enough for the interview.”
He didn’t respond to her comment, but a telling tinge of color crept onto his cheekbones.
Her own face heated in response. What in the world had the faeries pulled out of him? What dreams did Lukas have as he lay under his fire-colored quilt?
What dreams would she have?
Flashing lights drew her attention. She giggled as she looked out the window.
“What?” Lukas asked as he joined her.
She pointed to the “Sex World” sign, blinking hot pink across the street.
Lukas pulled the window curtains matching the bedroom’s faux wall closed with a muttered curse. “Sasha insisted I put the bed over in this corner, and it was months before I noticed why.”
With the curtains drawn, the bedroom seemed even more intimate. Lukas must have felt the same way because he quickly maneuvered them away from the bed and out of the bedroom to show her the rest of the living space. Everything was oversized, nothing really matched, yet somehow it all merged into a pleasant and comfortable whole—a real feat, given that the space was large enough to host a half-court basketball game.
And an army of cooks could comfortably work in the kitchen at the same time, Scarlett mused as Lukas showed her the room. It was huge, with sparkling restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances and copper-clad pans hanging over a long center island, but nothing but the coffee maker sitting on the granite counter top looked like it had been used. Pulling open the refrigerator, her stereotypical bachelor expectations were finally fulfilled. The fridge was filled with take-out cartons, bottles of beer, and nearly every condiment known to man. Was that a shriveled garlic clove down in the otherwise empty crisper? She couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to know. But there were gallons of milk, and a quart of half and half. She picked it up, sniffed. Yup, it was fresh.
She’d have coffee.
And she could cook. She’d missed cooking while she and the band had been out on the road. Even though she wasn’t as talented in the kitchen as Annika was, she would certainly pitch in and—
Annika.
“Whoa.” Lukas grasped her as she swayed.
She recoiled as his palm pressed on a bruise, blooming to painful life on her hip. “Ouch.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, immediately removing his hand.
She frowned and rubbed her hip. “I must have hit the ground harder than I thought.”
“Let me see.”
“No. It’s fine.”
His voice firmed. “Let me see.”
So did hers, and she sidled away from his grasp. “I said it’s fine. It’s just a bruise.” Years of hurt and fury made her voice snap like a whip. “Sometimes a bruise is just a bruise, Lukas.”
His big body stilled. She saw him
put the pieces together, and the expression on his face was as easy to read as a large-print book: Let’s not go there. Despite her exhaustion, she suddenly felt like supplemental steel had been welded to her backbone. “This conversation is years overdue. Let’s clear the air, shall we?”
Lukas took a deep breath, and one careful step toward her. “Scarlett, within the last few hours, you’ve been shot, cut by breaking class, and body-slammed to the floor by someone well over twice your body weight. You’re sore and tired, and about to drop. I think—”
“I don’t give a damn what you think. I understand that, from a security standpoint, you have some expertise that might help keep me safe. But you don’t have all the answers.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “When you walked away that morning without saying a word, you hurt me worse than any shooter ever could.”
Lukas opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. “Did you really think so little of me? Of what we experienced together?”
He didn’t defend himself. He didn’t say a thing. A muscle ticked at his cheekbone as the automatic ice maker clattered cubes into the dispenser. Her anger tipped to a clutching, violent need, and a sadness she didn’t know what to do with.
“Lukas,” she whispered. She didn’t know what she wanted to say; she just knew that she had to say something. The pressure building inside her chest demanded it.
“Damn it.” Lukas dragged her into his arms, plastering them together from chest to knee. As his head dropped, she opened her mouth like a ravenous baby bird. But instead of the passionate kiss that she’d expected—that she yearned for—he cradled her in a rough hug, pressing her cheek against the soft fabric of his T-shirt.
When his lips nuzzled her hair, the sobs finally erupted, welling like magma. She couldn’t stop them, and burrowed into his size, his strength, his heat.
“Let it go, Scarlett. Just let go.”
And she did. Endless minutes passed as she cried out the fear, the adrenaline, the pain and grief, the knife-sharp desire, and the endless exhaustion. Finally, she gave a shaky, watery laugh. “Damn you, even when you’re providing comfort, you’re giving me orders.” She wiped her eyes, and met his gaze directly. “That has to change.”