Phoenix Aglow (Alpha Phoenix Book 1)

by Isadora Montrose

  “That damned peephole is going in today.” Linc dared her to argue with him.

  She wandered over to the coffee pot, giving him a view of her perfect, round butt. “Do you want another cup?” She poured herself one.

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  “No, you’re not.” But her pretty face was smiling as she leaned on the counter and sipped. “I understand. It pushes all your buttons when you think of people being careless of their personal security.”

  “Not people. You.” He took their plates to the counter and stacked them neatly. “Where is that peephole?”

  “Wherever you put it. Probably still in the bag from the hardware store,” she admitted.

  He clamped his jaw. Bev wasn’t incapable. She had a drill and she knew how to use it. She could have installed that peephole herself. Maybe she wouldn’t have done as neat a job as he was going to do, but it would have worked. He reminded himself that he had come here today to woo his mate, not to argue with her.

  The peephole was still in the bag from the hardware store. Right on the basement workbench where he had left it. He sniffed. No one had been in here since his last visit. No other man. Not even her dad or her brothers.

  He should’ve brought his own tools with him and put it in as soon as he had bought it. Instead he had left the job for the weekend when they would have more time. Except that weekend had ended with him kicked out of Bev’s bed. This is what he got for breaking his own rules.

  Bev was stacking the dishwasher when he came upstairs. “What are you doing today?” he asked.

  “Cleaning house. Going grocery shopping. Saturday stuff.”

  In a silky top, so new it still had a tag hanging out the neck? That didn’t sound much like his woman. Bev liked her house sparkling clean, but she wore old sweats with bleach stains to do her chores. He suppressed his smirk. She had dressed up for him. He went whistling to the front door and set to work.

  She wandered over to watch, still working on her second mug of coffee. It didn’t take him long. Drilling a hole, tapping in the lens, and screwing the brass end-plate on to keep the whole thing together. “I’ll get the vacuum,” she offered.

  “I can do that,” he said when she came back.

  “Okay.”

  She left him to it. It wasn’t often that Lincoln D’Angelo didn’t know what was going on. But today, for fucking sure, he didn’t know what was going on. Had Bev forgiven him, or hadn’t she? She hadn’t said. But she also hadn’t raised the slightest objection to him moving in on her. Making coffee. Making breakfast. Playing handyman.

  His roses were on the dining room table now. Bev had rearranged them so they spread out in a graceful circle. The warmth of the house was making the buds unfurl, and their soft perfume filled the room. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Bev wasn’t much for playing games. Which was why her wrath at Amanda Larkin walking in on them had been so devastating. He had known Beverly meant every harsh word. Had believed him capable of cheating on her.

  He had gone out with Amanda just once. Once was enough. Months later, when she applied for a job at his company, he hadn’t interfered with his manager Brad Erloff’s decision to hire her. She was qualified and her references checked out. Second-guessing his people was not how he had made D’Angelo Protection Services successful. So he had let the hire stand. And when he went on holiday, he had not specified that the job of giving his place a daily once-over was not to be assigned to Larkin.

  Brad had fired Larkin’s skinny ass the minute he discovered she had used a key obtained on a job for unauthorized entry. Didn’t matter that the client was the boss. Illegal entry was a firing offense, plain and simple. Lincoln had let Brad deal with her, not just because that was chain of command, but because he was still too angry to deal with the bitch in person.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Did Lincoln know he was whistling? Did he know he whistled when he was happy? For a guy who was so physically aware of himself and the space around him, he could be blind to his own habits. He had been seriously annoyed when he had found out she had opened the door not knowing who it was. He obviously thought that cuckoo Dylan Perkins was stalking her. Now that the cops had a warrant, Perkins was probably holed up in another state.

  Part of Linc’s outrage was fueled by prudishness. He didn’t like the thought of her in dishabille around other men. He was just modern enough to know he shouldn’t say so. And just atavistic enough to find the very idea scandalous.

  It wasn’t even as if her old terrycloth bathrobe was some slinky bedroom garment. That workaday robe had seen better days. Her flyboy didn’t like the idea that someone could just undo the sash and see her naked. It was sort of flattering that he believed that the sight of her in her ratty bathrobe would fill any male with uncontrollable lust.

  Linc had often intercepted her on the way from the shower to demonstrate the ease with which her robe came off. Remembering those occasions made her skin feel damp and flushed. She’d never pretended she wasn’t attracted to Lincoln D’Angelo. Being around him always made her lose her mind. On the other hand, Linc was as honest as the day was long. Sometimes altogether too honest.

  Maybe she ought to consider whether Amanda was the liar rather than Lincoln? Why had she believed Amanda’s claim that she had been given a key by Lincoln in the first place? Because willowy, blonde Amanda was six-foot-tall and looked like a model? Probably.

  Of course, she and Amanda had a history that went back to high school when Amanda was part of the mean girl clique that excluded Latina girls like Beverly Hernandez. Bev liked to think she had grown up and was self-confident and proud of her big, curvy body, but she was as insecure as any other plus-sized woman living in the modern world. And Amanda had always known how to slip a knife between Bev’s well-padded ribs.

  The roar of the vacuum cleaner was abruptly cut off. Lincoln put it away in the hall closet. “I’ll be right back,” he said waving the drill at her. He disappeared down the basement stairs.

  The hall was as neat as a new pin. So was the front porch. Lincoln had tidied away the packaging and cleaned up every speck of sawdust. He had also swept the dusting of blown snow off the front steps. She put her eye to the peephole. Lincoln would have to bend over to look out of it, but he had placed it exactly at her eye level. You had to love a guy like that. He was thoughtful in so many ways that weren’t conventionally romantic.

  Buying and installing that peephole was more Lincoln’s style than a fistful of roses. But even there he hadn’t followed the crowd. He hadn’t brought red roses because that was what lovers did. He had bought the apricot-colored ones she loved. He had remembered. And it wasn’t because he had consulted some little black book. He kept stuff like that filed in his head.

  He bounded back up the stairs two at a time. Big hands circled her waist from behind. He kissed the side of her neck and nibbled. She caught her breath, even though she didn’t mean to. “Have you forgiven me yet?” He kissed where he had nibbled. Electricity shot through her entire body.

  Bev turned in his arms. “Yes.” She closed her eyes for his kiss.

  It was one of his best ones. It started soft and slow and teasing and ended hot and thrusting and exciting. He tasted of coffee and he-man. When he came up for air she had a hand inside his shirt stroking the curls on his chest. “Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?” he asked as he picked her up in his arms.

  Bev loved that he was strong enough to carry her down the hall to her bedroom without straining. She was glad she had taken the time to make her bed when she got dressed. And then she recalled the tangled pile of clothes that she had left on that bed.

  “What’s the matter?” As soon as she stiffened he stopped moving. “Am I going too fast?”

  “No,” she admitted. She leaned her face against his shoulder. “My room’s a mess,” she whispered.

  He chuckled. “I think I can live with that. I’ll close my eyes.” He kissed hers.

  “I don’t
want you to think I’m a slob.”

  Lincoln started walking again. But he didn’t dump her on the bed, he let her slide down his body while he went back to kissing her. Bev thought she was responding enthusiastically, until he raised his head.

  “Tidy up,” he said in resignation. “You’re not going to get into this, so long as you think that three unfolded sweaters and a pair of panties mean you’re a lousy housekeeper.”

  “I like things nice,” she defended herself.

  Lincoln’s big hand massaged her neck under her curls. “So do I, sweetheart. I like things shipshape, a place for everything and everything in its place.” He kissed the back of her head. “The difference between us is that I don’t get distracted by a little chaos, if I think I’m going to get lucky.”

  Bev spun around so fast her elbow collided with his six pack. “You did not just say that?”

  He pulled her against his hard, aroused body. He was openly laughing at her now. “Pick your stuff up, dear heart, we have a lot of making up to do.”

  She gathered up her sweaters and folded them hastily and put them in a pile on her dresser. She tucked her panties underneath. Lincoln grabbed the edge of her puffy floral comforter and flung it back.

  “I sure hope the fact that you were hiding those plain white briefs, means you’ve got some sort of lacy thong on underneath those jeans,” he drawled. “And maybe that bra I bought you in the Bahamas?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you know?”

  “We’re bonded. Mates.” He picked her up by the waist and brought her face up to his. “I thought I explained how we phoenixes are.” He gave her a hard kiss on her open mouth. “We bond with our fated mates for life.” Another hard kiss. “Once we love, that’s it.” He punctuated his remarks with yet another kiss. “For the rest of your life, I’m going to be able to read you like a book.” He put her down and steadied her. “Now, can I unwrap my Christmas present?”

  “What Christmas present?” Bev asked.

  Big hands pulled on the hem of her tunic, and slipped underneath to fondle the soft skin of her waist. Lincoln made a murmur of appreciation. “You. May I take your blouse off?”

  Her face felt hot, Bev didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though this was the first time he had undressed her. “It isn’t Christmas yet.” Her voice came out sultry and throaty instead of matter-of-fact.

  “Nearly.” He kissed her again. “May I?” he repeated.

  “Yes.”

  He wasn’t in any great hurry. His big calloused hands moved to her back and dipped low to her butt crack. They tap danced there while he sucked on her bottom lip as if they had the whole weekend just to kiss. He was fully aroused. There was no way to disguise the fact that his rigid cock was trying to escape from his jeans. But although he was pressing it into her belly, his mouth was soft, slow and sweet.

  In fact, his tenderness and patience were making her impatient and needy. Even though he had asked and received permission to undress her, he wasn’t rushing. His fingers moved to the waistband of her jeans and circled slowly from the back to the snap. Teasing. He popped the little fastener, apparently because he wanted to dabble in her navel. One finger circled and taunted. It was as though he had lit a fuse between her belly button and her clit. Excitement fizzed through her whole body. God, she had missed this.

  He left her mouth and kissed his way along her cheek to her ear. There was a loud humming noise in the room, overlaid with a deeper growling purr. She hadn’t heard their love song in far too long. It was time to get this show on the road. She moved to the buttons on his shirt and began to undo them and pull his shirttail out of his jeans.

  His mouth was on her neck now, and she was leaning back to give him access to the sensitive hollow between her collarbones. He broke off his nuzzling and nibbling to growl, “You’re going to get more than you bargained for if you keep that up.”

  “I don’t want to wait, while you take your time. I want to be naked and underneath you right now.”

  “If you insist. You know I like it when you’re pushy. Gets me hot every time.” He yanked her tunic over her head and tossed it away. “I didn’t buy you that bra.” It was an accusation.

  “Nope. Do you like it?”

  “So long as you bought it for yourself.” His admiring eyes roved over the lacy black undergarment. He circled a nipple with a gentle finger.

  She nodded. “I did.”

  He traced the edges where the lace touched her skin. Everywhere his fingers traveled, licks of flame followed. She moaned. Through the fabric, his hot mouth tasted first one and then the other nipple. He found the catch at the back and unfastened it. He peeled the bra away and made a reverent noise.

  “You are so beautiful, Beverly. I am the luckiest guy in the world.” He came back to her naked breasts and licked his way from aureole to collarbone, plumping her breasts as he caressed them.

  She undid his jeans and carefully lowered the zipper.

  “Easy,” he warned. “My dick is on a hair trigger. It’s been a very long six weeks.”

  She giggled. “I wouldn’t want you to come too soon. It’s been a long six weeks for me too.”

  “I want to make you come first,” he said gruffly. “Let me please you first.”

  “I want you inside me. I just want to feel close.”

  “I want that too.” He peeled his jeans and briefs off with a swift motion and tossed his shirt after them. He bent and pulled his socks off. When he was naked, he tugged her blue jeans down her legs and left her standing before him in her skimpy little thong. “I have a feeling I’m going to ruin this,” he said tracing the strip of lace between her legs. “But I don’t want to take it off.” His gravelly voice made her sex pulse.

  She flew through the air and landed splay-limbed and askew on the bed. He wasn’t laughing now. His hard, battle-ready face was avid and focused. His cock was just as she had remembered – a big purple column with a broad red mushroom cap. Semen dripped from it. “Are you still on the pill?” he asked.

  “Yup.”

  “Praise be.” He spread her legs wide and just for an instant his big hands shaped the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. He kissed her mound which was hardly covered by the frail strip of black lace. “You smell so wonderful.”

  His open mouth replaced his fingers on her vulva. He yanked the lace aside, so he could lick and suck. His greedy slurping made her arch off the bed. And then he was kissing her with a mouth that tasted of pussy juice. She kissed him back and sucked on his tongue with the rhythm she most desired.

  The head of his thick cock circled her entrance, promising and withholding delight. When she was writhing and chanting his name, he thrust into her pulsating sheath and halted. His heaving chest pressed her into the mattress. His arms went around her in a tight hug. “I’m too heavy,” His husky whisper tickled her ear. He pushed up onto his elbows.

  “I’ll try to make this last, but I don’t know if I can.” His thrusting started shallow the way she liked. She clenched around his cock. After several strokes, he went deep. Her pussy contracted harder and tried to capture him. They rocked together until he went rigid. He pushed one curved forefinger past her swollen entrance and stroked upward while his thumb circled her throbbing clit. Her convulsions started a fraction of a second after the hot gush in her core.

  “I love you,” he bellowed in her hair.

  “Me too.” Her voice was so dry it was little more than a sigh. Just for a moment she felt that their souls were joined.

  * * *

  Lunch time had come and gone when he woke up. Bev was curled up in his arms fast asleep, her cheek on his chest, her black curls tickling his chin. Which was where she belonged. He sniffed appreciatively and hugged her even closer. She was going to want to air out her bedroom. It smelled of their lovemaking—spunky and sweaty—which had to be one of the best aromas in the world. But his mate wasn’t quite as earthy as he was. Didn’t matter. He could put up with her fastidiousness,
so long as she loved him.

  Her cheek rubbed against his chest and she made a contented little noise. He kissed the top of her head. The dark curls were a mess. She would soon be standing in front of the mirror tugging them away from her head and worrying that she was having a bad hair day. But he liked it when her hair was a mop of tousled curls. Bedroom hair. Yup, he was more primitive than she was.

  “I don’t have anything to feed you for lunch,” she grumbled softly into his chest hair.

  He chuckled. “You say the most romantic things, sweetheart.”

  Her finger twirled and tugged lightly on his chest hair. “Are you saying you’d like to miss a meal?”

  “Nope. I’m hungry too. We could order in, or we could have more eggs. But I don’t really want to get up yet.”

  “If I don’t go to the grocery store, I won’t have anything to eat all week.”

  Lincoln laughed with sheer happiness. “I’ve missed you so much.” He squeezed her closer. “But you, my darling, are ruining the mood.”

  “What mood?”

  “That romantic, post-coital glow mood.”

  “I’m a practical person,” Bev defended herself. “As wonderful as this is,” she patted him, “It’s still Saturday, and I have laundry and cooking to do. To say nothing of Christmas shopping.”

  This time he laughed so hard she bounced up and down on his pecs. “Hang on for just a moment. I promise we’ll go to the grocery store as soon as you put on a load of wash. But we have to take care of business before we get up.”

  “What do you mean, business?”

  He gave her bottom a fond squeeze. “Beverly, will you marry me?”

  “That’s the business you were talking about?” she demanded.

  “Yup. I need to get it out of the way. I need to know that this is serious for you too. That you’re going to be my wife, and you’re going to be my lover for the rest of our lives. So how about it? Will you marry me, Beverly?”

  She chortled. “I spoiled your romantic plans, didn’t I?” she murmured into his pecs.