by Bethany-Kris
She had a feeling that if he offered to take her out back to the dirty, damp alley behind the restaurant and fuck her, she would be all too happy to skip along with him to do the deed. Because he demanded, and she apparently couldn’t tell him no.
She would probably get on her knees for him, too.
Dirt be damned.
Wasn’t it bad enough that she had spent the last couple of weeks practically obsessing over this man?
Cozen couldn’t afford the risks associated with being involved with Sargon Makri. Not at the moment, anyway. He was too close to Jett, and she was not willing to put the chance of a successful heist on the line just to get this man between her thighs again.
Oh, God.
Or was she willing to do exactly that?
Yeah.
Bad all over.
“He did send a gift,” Sargon said.
Wordlessly, he pushed a finger against the edge of the black velvet box, and moved it in front of Cozen on the bar. It was maybe the size of his palm, or a little bigger. Two golden hinges on one side, and a golden clasp on the other.
“He thought you might like something to remind you of him,” Sargon said quietly. “He worried that his lack of presence might have been concerning for you.”
“It was,” she admitted.
Sargon’s gaze narrowed for a brief second, and something flashed across his handsome features. Something dark and hot—like jealousy.
“Open it,” he said, his expression reverting back to a cool, cold nothingness.
This man was good.
Cozen reached for the box, and unhooked the golden latch on the front. Overturning the top, she was entirely unsurprised to find jewelry resting inside on crushed, black velvet. Not that it wasn’t a beautiful piece, but still expected.
Princess-cut sapphires rested on top of crowns of white diamonds in a set of three to form a beautiful, sparkling cluster. The white-gold rope of the necklace was long enough to allow the cluster of sapphires and diamonds to fall likely at the top swells of her breasts.
Cozen took a moment to appreciate the beautiful piece. She ran her fingertips over the smooth surfaces of the deep blue sapphires, and then she traced the crown of diamonds around each one.
Pulling the necklace out, she rested the cluster against her palm, and brought it closer to her face to get a look good at all the gems. She took her time looking over each one—jewelry was her specialty, in a way.
“All real,” she murmured.
“Did you expect anything less?” Sargon asked.
“I am not sure what I expected,” Cozen returned. “Perhaps something a little less expensive, but still shocking enough to make me take a double look. A piece like this suggests Jett is …”
“Very interested in you, and intends to pursue you as much as he needs to in order to get what he wants from you,” Sargon said, finishing her unspoken words.
“Exactly that.”
Which was a good thing.
At least, it was good for her end game.
She could see from the darkness in Sargon’s eyes that it was not at all good for him. She, too, found herself torn because of it.
Do the job, Cozen.
“Expect more.”
With that said, Sargon stood from the barstool, and turned to walk away.
“More what?” she asked at his back.
He didn’t stop walking, but he did say, “More gifts, Cozen.”
Cozen barely shut her door when she finally got home before someone was knocking on it. She huffed hard, and tossed her messenger bag aside. She figured it was likely the landlord—he had a habit of checking up on every tenant in the building.
Usually, she didn’t mind.
Today, she kind of did.
Cozen really just wanted to relax as much as possible after her busy day, and then Sargon showing up. Speaking of which …
The black velvet jewelry box stuck out from the top of her messenger bag. She was going to have to do something with that necklace. Wear it, make sure Jett sees her with it, or something. She would figure that out in due time.
The knock on her door came again. More persistent the second time. Cozen grumbled under her breath, and kicked off her high heels as she closed in on the door. Grabbing the knob, she twisted it hard, and flung it open with far more force than was necessary.
It was not the landlord.
A guy dressed in white held a huge vase with at least three dozen red roses high, blocking his face. “Delivery for a Miss … Cozen Taylor?”
Cozen took a step back just from the size of the bushel alone. It was a good two feet wide, and would probably graze the doorjamb when the guy brought it inside her place. The smell of the roses were heavenly.
“Is that you, ma’am?” the guy asked.
“That’s me,” Cozen replied.
“Do you have a place you might like me to sit these? They’re kind of heavy.”
Cozen laughed. “Well, I have a floor.”
And not much else. She hadn’t made much effort to fill the apartment with furniture, or otherwise. A good portion of her day was spent at the restaurant, and for the hours she was at home, she was planning, or meditating.
Who needed things to do any of that?
Not her.
“Just point and say,” the guy muttered. “Getting heavier.”
“Come on in.”
Cozen stepped back, and waved a hand as the guy passed her to direct him further into the apartment. She directed him through the entry hallway, and into the main rooms of the apartment. She had him place the roses on the floor next to the large kitchen window.
“Thank you,” she said.
The guy laughed. “Oh, I have ten more.”
Cozen froze. “Ten more of what?”
He pointed at the roses. “Of those. And here, this is yours.”
The guy whipped out a white envelope, and handed it over. Cozen took it as he turned his back, and headed for the front door. She opened up the envelope to find unfamiliar handwriting staring back at her.
All beautiful woman love their roses, don’t they? I hope you liked my gift today, Cozen, and this one, too. Remember, I’m always thinking of you even if I am not around to see you. –Jett.
Cozen blinked at the note, and she didn’t realize how long she had stayed like that until the guy came barreling into her apartment with yet another humongous bushel of roses. He had said ten, right?
Ten more.
Cozen’s place was not that big. She did not like roses that much, really. The heavenly smell would soon turn into a little too much.
She couldn’t very well tell the delivery man to remove the flowers, or take them away. She didn’t want to say the two bushels were more than enough for her small place. Honestly, she found her voice was lost until the guy had heaved ten more bushels of those goddamn roses into her apartment.
“Uh … thank you?” Cozen said.
The guy put the last bushel in the middle of the floor. Her apartment was now a sea of red and white roses.
She had been right.
The smell was overwhelming.
“One last—”
“Does it look like I have room?” Cozen asked him.
Jesus Christ.
The guy laughed. “No … here, sorry.”
He bent down, and pulled a single, fire-red tiger lily from within the bushel of red roses. Giving her a little smile and shrug, he handed the beautiful flower over to her.
Cozen held it tight.
Jett would not have sent this flower to her, considering all the roses in her place. He didn’t know about her tattoo—she had not told him while naked in front of him that her favorite flower was a red tiger lily.
She fingered the petals with a careful touch.
“Same person?” she dared to ask.
The guy shook his head. “No—a second one called this in right after the first order was placed.”
“No note, then?”
“No note,”
the man echoed.
Cozen didn’t need a note.
She knew.
Sargon sent it.
Of course, he did.
Sargon looked up from the ground just in time to see a cab pull up to the sidewalk. A scene he had been watching play out for a while as the club he had come to was packed full, and seemed to be a popular spot.
The woman inside the cab—looking ten shades of disgusted and ready to get the hell out of the vehicle—was not entirely unexpected, either.
Sargon lifted an eyebrow, and took a drag off his smoke as Cozen threw a handful of bills over the seats in the cab. It was almost as if she didn’t want to touch the cab, or anything inside it. Not even the money she was paying the guy.
“Keep the change, asshole,” Sargon heard her say as she stepped out of the car.
Cozen didn’t wait to hear the guy’s response because she wasted no time slamming the passenger door closed. Her heels clicked against the wet pavement as she stepped onto the sidewalk.
The cool May air wrapped around Sargon, but he barely felt it at all beneath his silk dress shirt and slacks. He supposed the club had been hot enough to chase the Devil out from the heat. Cozen, on the other hand, shivered a bit.
All she had on was a long-sleeved, mid-thigh wool dress, and knee-high boots. Part of him was glad she hadn’t thought to throw on a coat or something because that dress hugged all of her curves in the most sinful way. It draped along her body, sure, but moved with it, too. Each step closer to the club she took was damn near mesmerizing.
She was not used to the New York cold, he bet.
Neither was he, really.
The cab peeled away from the sidewalk with screeching tires, making Cozen shoot a look over her shoulder at the disappearing checkered black and yellow car. The narrowing of her eyes said she felt the same way he did about a lot of people in New York—some people in this city could really be something else sometimes.
Manners were nonexistent.
“Can’t say I have seen you use a cab,” he said before he could stop himself. “Why use one tonight?”
Cozen’s head whipped back around, and she quickly found Sargon half tucked into the side alley next to the Little Odessa club. Sargon flashed her a smile when her russet eyes looked him over. Unashamed, and curious, her gaze drifted from his legs to his face before her tongue peeked out to wet her bottom lip.
His slacks tightened around his growing cock. She had no idea what she could do to him with just a look. She had no fucking idea how little control he had when it came to her. Especially if her pretty little mouth was involved.
Yeah, he had a fascination with her mouth. He blamed the way she let him fuck her mouth, and smiled when he was done with her, too. His fascination had turned to obsession just as fast, and now this woman was constantly playing on repeat during his late nights when he couldn’t sleep.
Sargon was so fucked.
Entirely fucked.
“I guess you would know, wouldn’t you?” Cozen asked.
Sargon took a hard drag from a mostly-gone cigarette, and eyed her curiously. “What do you mean, Zen?”
“You would know that I don’t use cabs. Or at least, not very often. Considering you follow me around on a daily basis.”
A husky chuckle escaped his lips. “Figured that out, did you?”
“I figured it out yesterday when you brought me Jett’s gift. I knew he had someone tailing me—I can feel you watching me. I didn’t know it was you until yesterday.”
“You don’t know that it was me, woman. It could have been any of his—”
“I feel you when you watch me, Sargon. I know it’s you.”
Did she?
Did she really feel him watching her?
He found that all too interesting. He found that little detail all too fucking appealing. This little game between them—whatever the hell it was—could get dangerous quick, fast, and in a real goddamn hurry.
He was starting to get worried that neither of them would realize the kind of danger they were in until it was far too late to do anything about it. And yet there he still was … kind of wishing she would come close enough to him so that he could drag her into the alley where no one would be able to see them.
Sargon cleared his throat, and steeled his mind to think about anything else for the moment. He shrugged one shoulder, and eyed the tip of his cigarette. “I do what I am told to do, Cozen, and when I am told to do it.”
“Is the smoking a new thing?” she asked.
Sargon looked at the cigarette, and then pinged it from his fingertips to send the butt flying into the street. “I like a smoke whenever shit is piling up. I don’t make it a habit, though. It’s bad for your lungs.”
“I bet that’s only one bad habit of many when it comes to you, huh?”
Sargon’s dark gaze jumped up to slam into hers. She froze on the spot—her gaze pinned to his, and her breaths picking up speed a bit the longer they stared at one another. He bet her little heart was just racing under her skin, too.
It was funny, really.
With everyone else, she seemed to be such a good actor. Her mask was always firmly in place. She could make any man around her think that he was her only one—her only interest. She could wrap them around her pinky finger with a smile, and reel them in closer with a wink and a few words.
She was a fucking master at it.
He knew.
He watched her do it.
And yet with him, it seemed like Cozen didn’t have that ability at all. Not to hide her interest, or how her body reacted to his presence. He liked that far too much, too. He liked that he affected her.
Finally, Cozen tore her gaze away from his, and broke their staring contest. She peered down the dark street, and then gave the front of the club a once over, too. “You don’t seem very surprised to see me here.”
“I heard you were asking around about me,” he returned. “Word travels when you know people, Cozen. I figured if you were asking, that must mean you were going to come looking for me, too.”
She still wouldn’t look at him. “Apparently, you come to this club quite often.”
“I know the DJ.”
With that said, Sargon pushed away from the wall he had been leaning against, and stepped out on the sidewalk. He tipped his head to the side, saying, “Are you coming in, or what?”
Cozen lifted a brow. “I don’t know—should I?”
“I’m aware of your schedule, Cozen. Jett sent for it, and handed it off to me so I would know when you would be working. I know why you came tonight—it’s your one night off before the weekend. And I think Jett sent word that he has plans for you this weekend.”
“So?”
“So, I made this easy on you, sweetheart. Clubs aren’t Jett Griffin’s thing. He doesn’t particularly like the music, and the lights give him a headache. That means if we go inside, we’re going to be much less likely to be seen. If we stay out here, I can’t help if someone drives by and sees us. Got it?”
Cozen looked to the club’s front entrance. “Yeah, I got it.”
Sargon watched as Cozen lifted a red martini to her lips, and took a small sip. Next to him at the bar, she looked like all kinds of sin and fun under the lights of the club. She didn’t seem to want to dance, though, and she only agreed to one drink.
“You know, he’s going to look further in to your history,” Sargon said. “Jett, I mean. He’s going to try, anyway. You’ve got him obsessed like nothing else.”
A lot like Sargon, too.
Cozen’s glass hesitated on the next lift to her painted-red lips. “Why, he didn’t find anything worth looking at the first time?”
“No, he did.”
For the briefest second, something unknown flashed in her eyes—fear, maybe, or just enough concern to make her do a double-take.
“What was that, then?” she asked. “That he found, I mean.”
“Foster homes. Unknown parents. Runaway.”
Cozen laughed, and almost smiled—if that bitter sneer could be considered a smile. “Oh, that.”
“Yeah, that, Cozen.”
“What, did my rough upbringing and shitty circumstances pull at Jett’s heartstrings?”
“Yes.”
Seemed his simple response did make her reassess his words for a second. Cozen passed him a look, and Sargon only shrugged his shoulders in response.
“One of the foster homes you ran away from … they were eventually shut down, and charged with a variety of things. Physical and sexual abuse amongst many allegations brought up in the documents I unfortunately read.”
“They’re not allegations when they pleaded guilty,” she murmured.
Sargon nodded. “My mistake. How did you know they pleaded guilty if you were already long gone by then?”
Cozen grinned into her glass. “I’m sure someone helped evidence get into the right hands at one point or another.”
“Did you go back for that?”
“Someone else helped,” she offered, but her tone said she wasn’t going to give him much else for details in that regard. “And in a way, you could say that helped me, too.”
“Did it really?” he pressed.
“What?”
“Help, Cozen. Did it take away the pain, and the memories? Did it make you feel less dirty, and not as used? Did the nightmares go away?”
Her lips flattered in a thin line before she whispered, “Not right away.”
“How long did it take?”
“Long enough to know that they wouldn’t be able to do it to someone else, Sargon.”
She looked over at him, and he didn’t hide the fact he was staring at her. He had the slightest feeling this woman was by far one of the strongest and most beautiful people he had ever met in his life. A little broken, too, sure.
Who wasn’t broken?
Who didn’t have a story?
Jett would never be able to fully appreciate how entirely amazing this woman was, or how her history had probably shaped her into the person she was today. No, Jett was the type who would want to save Cozen from it all, and not let her save herself. He would be the kind of man who figured giving her nice things, and locking her away in a life full of wealth and wonders would erase a lifetime of horrible memories.