I was ninety-nine percent certain the man was kidding. His eyebrow quirked and the look on his face… Okay, I was seventy-five percent certain. The heat was stifling in the room as I marched to my closet to pull out an extra pillow and blanket, and it wasn’t because of Hellhound, who was already snoozing.
“Couch,” I said, tossing down beside him the only comfort he was getting out of me that evening.
His gaze scrutinized the forest green clad pillow before lifting his eyes to mine. “The couch will be fine.”
“Good.” I turned and made a mad dash for the bedroom because I’d seen a lot of Wilcox looks, but this new sensual one was scrambling any logical thought processes I could pretend to have. I was too chicken to even look back as I called out, “I’ll see you in the morning, Detective.”
“Kiara?”
I turned around and smashed into his chest. Dang, the man had been stealthy, sneaking up behind me. My breath caught as I tilted my head back to look up at his face. “Yes?”
“Call me Ty,” he said, and then his lips lowered to mine.
The next couple of minutes, I didn’t know what to call him. Hell, I didn’t know what to call myself. What I knew was… my apartment had suddenly turned into a sauna and I hadn’t the funds to install one. Finally, a small spark of reason infiltrated my brain, and I gave his chest a shove back. “I think bed’s a good idea right now—not the same one.”
He grinned. It looked devilish. “Good night.”
“Night,” I replied and slammed my bedroom door shut in his face.
My determination that Wilcox wasn’t stepping a foot into my private domain that night lasted one hour and forty-two minutes. Tossing and turning the entire six thousand, one hundred, and twenty seconds my cell phone told me I’d been awake was to the point of driving me insane. Positively nuts. My thoughts refused to stop spinning.
Here I was, some sort of chosen badass to take out all the devils in Hell—and what was that about there being seven of them? I’d grown up hearing about only one—yet I knew absolutely nothing about what I was supposed to do to fulfill this prophecy. Now I was running scared of a Warlock. One evil witch. Uno.
Damn. I flopped onto my back. And there was my problem. It was past time to start figuring this crap out. But in the meantime… I was feeling pretty dang happy there was a large, muscular man nearby, even if he had no magical abilities of his own. Even if my demon powers no doubt made me stronger than him. His presence was comforting. Shoving off the covers, I got up and walked back to the couch. Despite the darkness, I could tell that Wilcox’s eyes were open as I hovered over him.
“Kiara, are you okay?” He sat up, wincing as his cramped body straightened.
“One rule.” I held up my hand, assuming he could make out in the dark my single, lifted finger. “You stay on your half of the bed. Got it?”
He mumbled something as he stood, grabbing his pillow. It has sounded like Oh thank God, but I wasn’t a hundred percent certain.
“I tried stretching out on the floor,” Wilcox said. “It was blazing hot down there.”
Huh, odd. While most humans seemed to sense enough to avoid walking directly into the beast’s path whenever he was on the move, Wilcox was the first I knew of who could actually feel the supernatural heat. “I have a hellhound who sleeps on the floor. Don’t worry, he resides within the veil, so you’re safe.”
I’d made it to my bed before realizing I wasn’t followed. I found my temporary apartment-mate back where I’d left him.
“Coming?” I asked.
His gaping jaw shut. Wilcox scratched the back of his neck and looked down at what appeared to be carpet as far as his eyes could see. “Umm… yeah.”
“Right or left?” I asked after he finally caught up.
He studied the full-sized bed that was plenty big for only me, but tonight? Not so much.
“Left,” he said and walked over on that side.
Crawling back under the covers, I realized it’d been well over a year since I’d last shared a bed. Ryan. The man, who for a hot minute, I’d thought I could marry. Eventually. Until I caught his cheating ass well… cheating. There were reasons why exes were scumbags.
No fooling around with crazy Chia pet guy had commenced. I’d basically taken a man-hiatus after the two of them. And now there was Wilcox.
Due to the unfamiliar presence in my bed, I knew it would be a long night. Wilcox had lain down on top of the covers, yet I still felt his warmth. His body seemed relaxed, and his breath sounded even. Back to that comforting thing, the single girl inside me was determined to not need… not want… yet still secretly craved?
Closing my eyes, my last thought was how I’d make one six-foot-something sexy detective pay after leaving me sleep-deprived and exhausted when facing Maude the next morning. And not in the good kind of exhausted.
My eyes sprang open to sunlight. It was morning, and I had slept like the dead. It had been a while since I’d last had a solid night of sleep—well before my current job involving emblematic pitchforks and not-so-abstract burning flames, that was certain. My head rolled to the side, and I studied the reason for my sound slumber.
Wilcox slept. A half-naked Wilcox, actually, because at some point during the night he’d ditched the button-up shirt he always wore underneath his suit jacket. Not that I blamed him, nor was I complaining because… a shirtless Wilcox? That was a sight my eyes refused to stop ogling. If I were honest with myself, there was a tinge of disappointment that the bottom half of him remained clothed. Fortunately, I wasn’t that truthful. All right, maybe just a little…
Get a grip. Admonishing the hormones inside of me that had gone all rebellious, declaring their own little sunrise dance party, I tore my gaze away from the chest that was certain to star in my dreams for the next week… month. Oh hell, the next year.
But watching the man while he slept was borderline stalker-ish, and while I included that specific task as part of my job description when working for Maude, I stalked only in the name of helping high paying clients get their money’s worth. Never was I to become some sort of obsessed creep lingering on the newly gained knowledge of how smooth his skin looked as it curved over a toned bicep. Or… wait. What the hell?
My head whipped around, and my gawking honed in on Wilcox’s right arm. He lay face up, and the view of his upper shoulder blade was not fully visible. But what of it I could see… elevated skin a shade darker than his natural skin tone. The marking appeared small. The lines forming a familiar shape.
Tugging up my tank top far enough to expose my side, I traced a similar shape on my right hip. A birthmark. Or a Celtic Knot, as Aunt Kate had once told me. The symbol to ward off evil. While I couldn’t quite make out the full detail of Wilcox’s design, I had to ponder a single question: Did he bear the same marking as me? How? Why?
Loud pounding at my front door tore me out of my stupor. Launching half a foot up off the bed in fright could do that to a person. Heart pounding, I took a deep breath to steady its beating before Lungs completely froze.
Wilcox was no longer lying in a relaxed, peaceful slumber. Nope, the man stood beside the bed with a drawn gun. A perk of going to sleep with a cop, I guessed.
To be honest, the gun wasn’t pointing at anything except the floor. The mouthwatering muscles I’d previously gawked at were tight in tension.
“Kiara Abigail Blake, I know you’re in there,” a very familiar, and extremely unwanted, voice called out. “Open this door!”
Wilcox glanced at me with brows raised.
“Put that away before I’m tempted to shoot her,” I said, nodding toward his weapon.
“Kiara, open this door.” The voice, which had been at a decibel level of Banshee, dropped down to a hissing yell. “There’s a man in your apartment.”
“I think I’d better answer before the other neighbors wind-up standing in the hallway to watch the morning entertainment.” I glanced back at Wilcox… his tousled hair, the sun reflecting off his d
rool-worthy body… and I had to wonder at my uptight morals that kept me from hopping back into bed and dragging him down with me. This time with his pants off. Then the banging commenced once again, and I raised my voice. “Hold on. I’m coming!”
And not in the way I wished to be.
My front door was opened to reveal a petite, frail-looking woman with white hair and a glare as stern as her loud voice boomed.
“Good morning, Mrs. Tidwell.”
“Kiara Blake.” Her hands fisted on bony hips. “I saw a man pass by my door yesterday morning to enter your apartment, and I have not yet seen him leave.”
Seriously? What had the woman done? Stand in front of her peephole the entire night?
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This really isn’t your—
“Does he wear a bandana?”
“No, he doesn’t—”
“Is he keeping you tied up?”
“No, Mrs. Tidwell. I’m standing right—”
“I should call the police.”
“You really don’t—”
“I could never forgive myself if I allowed a bandana wearing man…” Her voice trailed off as her mouth slacked open. Eyes widened as if she’d seen a ghost.
Nope, only Wilcox. Walking out from my bedroom. Still shirtless.
“Mrs. Tidwell,” I said. “I’d like you to meet Detective Ty Wilcox.”
“A cop?” she asked, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Do you own a bandana, young man?”
Wilcox’s brow furrowed. “No ma’am, I do not.”
The wrinkled features on the old woman’s face relaxed, and she then smiled. “Well, since he’s a police officer, I’m sure it’s fine with him being here alone with you. Good day.”
Wilcox reached above me and shut the door because I was too flabbergasted to do it myself. Eyes refused to stop staring at the spot that all sorts of crazy had just vacated. Turning, I found myself trapped between solid wood and a hard, masculine chest. My body heated, mind turned to mush, and I forgot I even had a neighbor living behind an abused peephole next door.
“Morning,” Wilcox said, a grin curving up the same set of lips I suddenly couldn’t look away from.
“Short… er, shirt.”
His eyebrow quirked.
“Shirt. You need a shirt,” I said. At least, I was almost certain the words had emerged from my mouth. It was hard enough to think, much less speak.
Wilcox smoothed back my hair and tucked a lock behind my ear before leaning down to give me a soft kiss. “Do you want me to put on my shirt?”
“No… yes.” I shook my head in a feeble attempt to clear my hormone-driven thoughts. “Yes. Put on a shirt.”
Humor flecked in his dark eyes. It took every ounce of will I possessed to reach up and push him back out of my personal space. Mistake. Big, big mistake. His chest felt as good to the touch as it looked.
“I need a shower,” I said, briskly walking toward the bathroom.
Laughter was heard from behind me as I closed the door and then locked it. Uncertain if the barrier was for him or me. The way my heated skin felt… him. Most certainly him.
Andrew was standing inside my apartment when I finally emerged. Something hot and wonderful smelling was shoved into my hands. I took a gulp of the best tasting coffee ever made.
“My hero,” I said.
“Jeez, that’s all it takes?” Wilcox asked, shrugging into his suit jacket. “One latte and you’re smitten?”
“Waiting until after the caffeine has been consumed before cracking the jokes might be in your best bodily interest.” I took another long draw on the java to ignore the scorching gaze Wilcox shot my way. Mouth obviously needed to be more mindful of its word choices around the man.
“She’s here?” Wilcox asked, turning to Andrew. “Any problems?”
Andrew’s head shook. “Nope, she arrived on the red-eye a couple of hours ago.”
“Who’s she?” I asked.
“Your new babysitter,” Wilcox said.
“A female bodyguard, not a male? Good to know.” I leaned a hip against my front door, successfully blocking either man from opening it for our exit. “Now, if you gentlemen wish to leave anytime in the near future, start talking.”
Chuckling, Andrew took a seat on my couch. Leaning back, he made himself comfortable before glancing at Wilcox. “She’s all yours.”
“The event planner has arrived,” Wilcox said.
“What event planner?”
“The one Fated Match is hiring for the Bennett wedding.”
“Maude has rejected every one of them in the city—”
“This consultant’s not from here.”
Interesting. “You forgot to discuss the plans with me.”
“Andrew told you the generality of it yesterday.”
“That hadn’t been a plan. It’d been a rough draft with no embellishments.” I shot Mr. In-the-Wrong a pointed look. Hot, Wilcox was. The kisses he gave, liquefying. But if he thought I was a pushover who would go along simply because of a panty-melting sexy smile, he was chasing after the wrong woman. I didn’t want to be stupid regarding my safety, but I damn well wanted to be prepared and have some say when things pertained to my life.
“I’m sorry,” Wilcox said. “We’ll discuss more details with you in the future.”
“Thank you.” I stared at his sincere expression for a moment and conceded. “I could have asked more questions.”
“Would you like to go to work now?”
I nodded before asking, “What makes this one different?”
No explanation was required for the whom in my question.
“Let’s leave it at she’s special,” Wilcox said.
“Special?”
He slowly nodded. “Yes, and I trust her with your life.”
The comment struck me, considering how overprotective Wilcox often became whenever the topic turned to my well-being. Biting my lip, I checked back and forth between two serious faces. “You’re not going to tell me what’s so exceptional about this woman, are you?”
Wilcox grinned. “What? And not let that meddling mind of yours figure it out yourself?”
Damn. The man really knew me. He’d probably also guessed I’d think about nothing else until I’d ferreted out the answers. “What about Damon?”
“We’re monitoring his movements like we are Phillip’s.”
By we, I was becoming suspicious he didn’t mean the police department. But that was irrelevant because a much more important thought struck. “Aunt Kate! She’s flying back from Vegas today.”
“Taken care of,” Andrew said.
Wow, for being Mr. Laid-Back, the man certainly stayed on top of… well, everything.
“Okay, if she’s safe, let’s go.” I opened my front door. “Perhaps her protection is no longer needed? Damon never attempted to contact me yesterday. He could have decided I’m no longer of value.”
“Just the opposite, actually,” Andrew said. “The coven’s called off the watch on the other woman. No doubt they’re pulling in all their resources to focus on you.”
“Lovely.” I let the door slam behind me as we stepped out into the corridor. Turning to secure the lock, I heard the faint click of a latch and a loud creak as the door to Mrs. Tidwell’s apartment pulled open. I glanced over to spot two peeking eyeballs. “We’re leaving, Mrs. Tidwell. Have a good day.”
The neighbor’s door flung fully open. Gone was the uncharacteristic smile from earlier. In its place were pursed lips combined with a face paler than death.
“Two men?” she screeched. The woman’s mouth went from tensed lines to gaping as she stood rooted inside her threshold, gawking back and forth between Wilcox and Ross. “Why, I never… Hussy!”
Her door slammed shut, followed by the sound of the lock snapping into place. No doubt her eyeball had returned to its peephole.
“Nice neighbors you have,” Andrew said.
“You should be here on her bad days.”
Wilcox
paused on our walk to the stairwell and glanced back at me. “How do you know when she’s having a bad day?”
“She’s standing behind you at the top of the stairwell ready to shove you down the steps.”
The detective’s brows raised, but he remained silent to my comment. However, I noticed his continuous glances over his shoulder as we descended the stairs.
Chapter 7
In the ten months of employment at Fated Match, only once had Maude Taggart arrived to work before me. It had been the morning Wilcox and Andrew first showed up seeking information about Logan Bradly and Gina Welch. Yet there Maude stood, frozen in place, when I entered the reception. As if she’d been rooted there for quite some time, waiting for my presence to make an appearance.
Two ghostly faces stared at me from their respective chairs. The fidgeting and lip biting Miss Prim was doing didn’t faze me as my eyes skimmed over the emotional ghost. HG staring at me with a wrinkled brow and unblinking eyes, however, made me question how much of the stocked champagne in the office kitchenette I could down before facing my boss’s wrath.
“Kiara,” Maude said. “How kind of you to show up to work.”
Oh… this wasn’t starting out well at all. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Taggart. I never expected to be out all day yesterday, but I had a hot tip for the Bennett wedding and lost track of time.”
“Hot tip?”
“Yes, I was given information for an event planner to hire,” I said. “She will make this the celebration of the year.”
I hoped.
Maude’s mouth pursed, and I squirmed under her unwavering gaze, before she finally asked, “What is the name of this consultant?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought to request important facts, like a name, from my two self-appointed protectors that morning. I blamed Wilcox and his shirtless chest for jumbling up all my rational thoughts.
“It’s a surprise,” I said. “Trust me on this, Ms. Taggart.”
The toe of her expensive leather pump tapped on the wooden floor. “You started here as a valued employee, Kiara. However, the last few weeks have tried my patience with your disappearing acts and tardiness. Don’t fail me with this wedding.”
Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Page 8