by Vanessa Vale
The kitchen hadn’t been updated in twenty years, the fridge covered in photographs and coupons were clipped to a magnet. A phone with a long cord, like one from when I was a kid, hung on the wall by the back door. The air conditioning was on and besides the sound of the water running upstairs, I could hear the air blowing from the vents in the floor. Placing the bag on the counter, I removed the food containers and found dishes and silverware from various drawers and cabinets.
My cell beeped indicating a text. I pulled it from my pocket. My dad. “Shit,” I muttered.
She must be one hot piece of tail.
His text had me seeing red. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and paced the small space, rubbed the hand over the back of my neck. Fuck. He was watching me. Turning, I placed my hands on the counter and thought. He knew about Emory, knew where she lived. That meant he was having me watched. Why?
To irritate the fuck out of me, to piss me off, to sour the only thing in my life that wasn’t tainted by him. Hearing the water shut off, I knew I had to pull myself together, not let my fuck-up father mess with this date with Emory. By the time I found glasses and filled them with iced tea I found in the fridge, I’d settled.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, pausing in the doorway. She could tell something was wrong. I couldn’t seem to hide it from her.
I realized my shoulders were tense and I sighed, forcing my body to relax. Just looking at her helped with that. She was all shower fresh and soft and…God, I had it bad. How did this woman, whose hair was wet and long over her shoulders, face makeup free, wearing a Ravens tank top and cut-off jean shorts make my heart lurch? Her legs were long and lean and her feet were bare, hot pink nail polish on her toes. She was the girl next door and she should steer clear of a guy like me—a guy with a past and a father who was an asshole. She had a kid and parents and a house that was a home. What the hell was I doing with her?
I swore under my breath and leaned a hip against the counter. “Nothing, just a stupid text from my dad.”
She looked at me the way she probably did her son when he kept important things secret—like hiding cigarettes in his room or when he was an hour after curfew. “Are you going to tell me about him sometime?”
I eyed her, seeing her right now for what she was, a calming influence. Just having her come into the room, seeing her questioning look had me realizing what was important, and it wasn’t my dad. My dad wanted to ruin this moment, this impromptu date and that was not going to happen. I took a deep breath, let it out, let it all go. For some reason, in this moment, it was easy to do.
Her eyes widened. “What?” she asked.
I just gave a little shake of my head. Now wasn’t the time to talk about stupid shit. “I hope you’re hungry. It seems the Casale boys are smitten.”
“Marco got scraped up and I helped him. That’s all.” She went over to one of the foil to-go containers and pried off the lid. “Mmm, chicken piccata.” She glanced up at me. “What?” she asked again.
“You have no idea, do you?”
She frowned. “What?”
“The effect you have on people.”
Glancing away, I saw a flush creep up her neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the broken lights?” I asked, realizing I was mad at her for not telling me about it, although that was somewhat ridiculous since we barely knew each other.
She rolled her eyes, taking a lid off of another container. “It’s just kids and I didn’t think it was important.”
I frowned. I didn’t like the idea of anyone fucking with Emory, even if it was just kids. “Clearly Mr. Casale thought it was important enough to send over his son to fix it.”
“I assume they told you why they brought food and were fixing my lights?”
“Yeah.”
She opened another entree. Eggplant parmesan. Some red sauce got on her thumb and she licked it off. “He was just being courteous.”
Perhaps, but I’d heard of the Casale’s and they did more in Baltimore than just cook food. While they weren’t technically part of the mafia, they were certainly connected. From what Frank told me before Emory got home, his father was shrewd enough to offer protection where needed. While I was reassured to know she fell under the man’s sights, I wasn’t excited about the fact the old man thought she needed it.
“Did they knock out anyone else’s lights?”
She frowned, but when she did it, a cute little V formed at her brow. “I don’t think so.”
Why would someone just screw with her? “Do you have lights in back?”
She took off the lid of the last container, spaghetti and meatballs. “Yes, motion sensors.”
“Did they knock those out as well?”
That gave her pause and she looked to me. “I don’t know. I never go out the back because there’s no parking.” She went over to the back door, undid the deadbolt and opened it. She looked up and to the right where I assumed was an outdoor light, but I was looking down in front of her.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her back, not wanting her to step out onto her stoop in her bare feet. “Careful.” I indicated with my chin the broken bulb on the steps.
She sighed wearily as she looked down at the shards of glass, closed and flipped the deadbolt back into place. Turning, she leaned back against the door as if she was too worn out to keep herself up. Perhaps she was. She had no one to help her around the house anymore, even if it was just a teenager doing chores. A broken lightbulb wasn’t a difficult task to clean up, but she didn’t need to deal with some punk kid’s pranks, especially after a long day at work. “I’ll deal with it on Thursday when I’m off.”
No, she wouldn’t. I’d see it done, but I knew she’d bicker, so I said nothing more about it. “I think Marco has a crush on you.”
She grinned and I loved seeing her smile. “Yes, well, he’s going to have to stand in line.”
I took a step closer and put the Casales and broken lightbulbs out of my mind. “Oh, why’s that?”
She licked her lips and damned if I didn’t almost come in my pants. My eyes dropped to her mouth and wondered what she tasted like. “There’s this other guy,” she whispered, and her eyes lowered.
“Oh?” I had to touch her, so I ran a finger down the length of her bare arm and felt goose bumps rise. My breathing became uneven, the ache and need to taste her was so strong. “What about him?”
“He said—he said I would know when I wanted to kiss him.”
“And?” I leaned in closer.
“He also said I wouldn’t be nervous.” Her voice was soft, almost breathy.
I arched a brow. What would I do if she didn’t want to kiss me? I’d back away, but it would be one of the hardest fucking things I’d ever had to do. I also worried that once I had a taste of her I wouldn’t be able to let her go. “Are you?”
“Nervous? Hell, yes.” Her gaze lifted to mine. Held. “But I want to kiss you anyway.”
She wrapped her hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in so our lips collided. This wasn’t a sweet brush of lips. This was more. Tugging me closer, she obviously wanted more, but the little sound she made had me taking control.
Her mouth was soft and pliant and just absolutely fucking perfect. Tilting my head, I nibbled at her lower lip, licking and sucking at the plump swell, then on a gasp, I took the kiss deeper. Tasted her. Turning, I moved us both so that she bumped into the counter. Without breaking contact with her lips, I grabbed her trim waist and lifted her up easily, placing her on the counter alongside the take-out containers. She widened her knees and I stepped between them so we were close enough where we were chest to chest and my cock nestled perfectly at the apex of her thighs. I took my hands off her waist and placed them on the cold counter on either side of her, only our mouths touching.
She tasted of toothpaste; she must have brushed her teeth when she’d showered. The familiar scent of coconut filled my senses. I began to kiss and nibble along her jaw and up to her ear. �
�You smell so fucking good.”
“Shampoo,” she breathed. Her head angled to the side and I took the opportunity to kiss and lick down the long line of her neck.
“Emory,” I murmured as I shifted to kiss the corner of her mouth.
“Hmm?”
“Are you nervous now?”
I pulled back so I could look at her, our noses almost bumping. She was breathing as hard as I, her lips red and glistening. Her eyes were unfocused and her cheeks were flushed. “Am I…?”
I tilted her chin up with my thumb. “Nervous?”
She shook her head, the long, drying curls of her hair beginning to frame her face. “No.”
“Good.” With only a small amount of fabric separating the important parts, it would be easy to strip down and have her right here on the counter. But now wasn’t the time. My cock didn’t agree, but for the moment, it wasn’t in charge. Emory was more than a quick fuck.
“That’s what I’ve been missing?” she asked, surprise lacing her words. She lifted her fingers to cover her lips.
I took those fingers and brought them to my own lips and kissed the soft tips.
“That’s what we’ve both been missing.”
She crinkled her brow and looked away. “I didn’t know.”
I moved my head back into her sights. “Didn’t know?” I prodded.
“I didn’t know this was normal.”
I gently cupped her jaw in both my hands, made her look at me. “Baby, this isn’t normal at all.”
It wasn’t. It wasn’t anywhere close to normal. With one kiss, I was ruined. Nothing would ever be the same again, and that was just a kiss!
“It’s not like this with the other women?”
I saw a hint of vulnerability in her eyes and I wanted to wipe that away. “What other women?” She fought my hold and I let her go. “I can’t erase my past any more than you can.”
“There’s…there’s been no one else.” She looked down at the front of my shirt. “Since my husband. Even then, I wasn't very good.”
I froze at her words, my body tensing and she sensed it, her eyes lifting to meet mine. “Who told you you weren’t any good?” When she glanced away, I tilted her chin back with my thumb, forced her to look at me. “Who?”
Her dark gaze held self-doubt. Disappointment. Worry. “My ex.”
I cursed under my breath, ready to go out and beat the shit of the fucker, wherever the hell he was, but Emory didn’t need my anger now and I sensed she thought I was upset with her.
“That kiss, baby, was hot. Seriously hot.”
She angled her head a fraction of an inch while furrowing her brow. “Then why…?”
“Tell me,” I urged when she cut off her question and bit her lip. If she thought she wasn’t enough for me, then I had to set her straight, here and now.
Looking at me through her long lashes, she asked, “Then why don’t you touch me?”
I pushed off the counter to stand before her, forcing her head to tilt up and look at the ceiling. I ran my hand over the back of my neck. “I'm not touching you because if I put my hands on you, I won’t stop.”
“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes shifting from wary to soft and a little bit tender.
“Yeah, oh. Look at you.” I pointed at her before crossing my arms, a safe place for them away from her. “Your hair is all tousled and smells like heaven, your mouth is all swollen from my kisses. Mine. I can’t miss your hard nipples through that skimpy little top and your legs. Jesus, your legs are spread and I ache to step between them again.”
Of course, as soon as I said all that she crossed her arms over her chest and clamped her legs shut. Good, now she could see how dangerous she was.
“You don’t mind that I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“You think it bothers me that you’re inexperienced?” I ran my hand over the back of my neck when she nodded.
I smiled at her and my heart hurt, wishing I could chase the shadows away. I would. I would take all those feelings of self-doubt away, one kiss, one touch at a time.
“I’m going to love seeing what makes you hot. What gets you wet. What makes you come.”
CHAPTER NINE
EMORY
“It’s been five days. Five days, Em, and now you’re telling me?” Christy pointed her fork at me. “I mean, he’s seriously hot.”
I glanced around, seeing if anyone else in the hospital cafeteria was paying attention to us. I felt uncomfortable enough sharing the details about Gray with my friend, and didn’t want anyone else at the hospital to know either. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell her, I just had a hard time telling anyone. How did I explain it? How did I explain him? The connection? The chemistry?
“I barely said more than goodbye to you at the party after he and I talked, and besides, it’s not like I left with him.” I stabbed my fork into the leftover pasta, spun it in circles so it wound around it.
“You went out to lunch with him on Sunday and he was at your house for dinner last night!”
Thankfully, my mouth was full of the spaghetti from Casale’s so all I had to do was nod.
“Is he,” Christy looked left and right, then leaned in. “Is he…good?”
My cheeks heated a bit, but I was more amused than embarrassed. She, too, was curious about The Green Machine. Then I thought about the kiss in my kitchen and I went a little hot and dreamy. That was the only one of the night, besides when he kissed my forehead when he left, at a tame hour of nine thirty.
“We haven’t done anything,” I replied. The kiss was mine, a little secret I shared with Gray and I didn’t want to do anything to ruin it by having Christy know about it.
“Is he gay?” her voice rose at the question and a few heads turned.
I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest, slowly shaking my head. “No.” I laughed because I’d questioned the same thing. And the kiss we shared? He was definitely not gay.
“Then why not?”
I knew what she meant. Why not sleep with him?
“Is it because he’s…him? I mean, he's the biggest MMA guy in like, eons!”
“I didn’t know who he was.” I glanced at my watch. I had fifteen minutes until I had to get back to the ER. Christy was still in administration, so while I sat there in a pair of pink scrubs, she wore a skirt and blouse.
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. “You didn’t…even I know who he is! I mean…he’s the…The Green Machine.” She whispered his name and for that I was thankful. I didn’t need anyone to know I was even talking to Grayson Green, let alone seeing him. Or dating him, not-dating him or whatever it was we were doing. We were kissing. No, we kissed. One time. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, if you go for that bad-boy-fighter-who’s-hot-as-holy-shit type.” She used air quotes as she described him. “Have you seen all the women that hang all over him?”
The pasta in my mouth lost all its flavor. “Of course I’ve seen the women that hang all over him,” I countered, frowning. “I've seen the pictures, the video. The hot, young women with the boobs. It's all over the internet.”
She reached across the table and put her hand on top of mine. “Yes, but he’s interested in you. Besides, you've got halfway decent boobs.” She glanced down at the front of my scrub top. I rolled my eyes and her quick grin made me relax. “When are you going to see him again?”
I shrugged, finishing my pasta. The meal had been delicious and even with a guy like Gray who ate at least twice as much as me, there was enough leftovers for the rest of the week.
“He has a meeting tonight, so we didn’t make plans. What?” I asked, when she gave me a look. “We've known each other less than a week. I'm not going to be clingy. He's got a life. I have one too, or at least I'm working on it.”
He had said he’d call and see me soon, and while those lines were usually the death knoll for any possible future, the heat in Gray’s eyes when he said it, when he leaned in and gave me the sweetest of kisses on the top of my head, I believed him
. I believed in the feelings I had when I was with him. I just had to be cautious with them, because I was falling for him, and fast. If he turned out to be an ass, I'd be crushed.
“Then come out with me tonight. Paul’s in New York for some deposition and I was going to go to the new Thai place with my friend, Leah.”
I didn’t have other plans. I never made them for Wednesdays, the final night of my three days of work, because I was usually too tired and didn’t like backing out. This time though, dinner sounded good. Maybe it was because I knew Gray was busy and I was recognizing that I spent more time at home—alone—than I should. Maybe it was because I missed him and needed a diversion. Whatever it was, I was up for dinner out. “Sure.”
She must have suspected I’d say no, because she beamed at me when I gave her my answer. “I’ll make reservations for eight then. Is that enough time to get cleaned up?”
***
I was home and in bed by ten-thirty. Christy, unlike me, had to work in the morning. By the time we paid the check, I was done. Three twelve-hour shifts had me practically asleep on my feet. Once in bed, I didn’t even read as I normally would, but instead, turned the light out. I thought of Gray when I fell asleep, but it wasn’t thoughts of him that woke me.
A crash from downstairs had me sitting up, the orange glow from the streetlight filtering through the curtain. I listened and wondered if I had just heard someone in the alley when the noise came again. This time I was sure it was from inside the house, from the kitchen specifically. Someone must have come in through the back door.
Crap! I’d forgotten to replace the lightbulb back there so it was perfectly dark for someone to sneak in. I’d all but helped the guy!
Footsteps moved across the kitchen. I’d lived in the house over half my life; I knew the sounds it made. My heart lurched and fear coursed through me hot and fierce. Grabbing my cell charging on the bedside table, my fingers fumbled over the screen and I was able to dial 9-1-1. As I did so, I slid from the bed and neared the door, listened.