by Brynne Asher
He moves in without a word, invitation, or even a smile, heading straight to my kitchen.
I shut and lock the door behind him, watching as he again makes himself comfortable in my condo. The air around him is tense and I’m not sure what to make of it.
This was not what I was expecting.
I decide to give him a wide berth and, instead of helping, take a seat at my island across from where he’s banging around in my cabinets.
Again, with the food.
He starts opening to-go containers and, I was right, he brought brisket. But he also brought smoked turkey, burnt ends, and enough ribs to feed him and his buddies while taking in a football game with some left over. Potato salad, slaw, and macaroni and cheese round out his smorgasbord.
I decide now is as good a time to break into his grumpy silence. “Hi, yourself.”
His dark eyes angle to me as he starts to pile two plates heaping with food.
I hate to break it to him, but I tell him the truth anyway. “I know you didn’t ask but, despite growing up on a ranch, I don’t eat much meat.”
He pauses and frowns as if I just told him the sky was pink.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I defend myself. “My sister doesn’t eat any meat, so I’m not that bad.”
He goes back to piling two plates, which I hope are both for him because there’s no way I’m eating that much food as he mutters his first words. “You ate meat the other night.”
“I had chicken the other night. I should say that I don’t eat much red meat.”
He hitches a shoulder and flops an extra mountain of mac and cheese on my plate, as if that’s the way to make up for the buffet of meat he brought. Not that I’m complaining. I might not eat red meat, but I love carbs.
He slides me the mountain of food and pops open a beer, setting it on the marble in front of me with a bang. Since he hasn’t asked for help, I let him open and shut five drawers until he finds silverware and napkins. When he’s finally settled next to me, digging into his pile of brisket covered in spicy sauce, I turn away from my food and face him. “I hardly know you, so I really don’t know what all this means.”
He swallows. “What what means?”
“Your mood. I’m scheduled in federal court tomorrow and you’re the salty one.”
He drops his fork before turning. Taking my hands in both of his, he levels his grumpy eyes on me. “I’ve got some shit going on at work. Shit I can’t talk about and shit I don’t know what I’m going to do about, but shit I also can’t ignore. I’ve seen a lot but, with this, I need to tread lightly.”
Hmm.
He goes on. “I don’t like treading lightly.”
“Let me guess, you’re a guns-a-blazing kind of guy?”
“Guns-a-blazing is easy,” he explains and gives my hands a squeeze as he pulls me closer. We’re inches apart and his rugged features are as intense as the darkest night. When he goes on, I feel his breath across my skin. “It’s romancing a bad situation I don’t enjoy.”
I hate that my insides twist even though this shouldn’t surprise me and I force myself to steady my voice. “You’re not into romance?”
I get nothing from him for a beat before he shakes his head. “I do what I need to when necessary but, other than that, I do what I want.” He lets go of one of my hands and wraps an arm around me, yanking me off my barstool. I’m forced to grab onto his shoulders and find myself standing between his legs where he pulls me in tight. “When I see something I want, I take it.”
I look up from his lips to his dark eyes. “It sounds like you’re talking about me.”
He drops his hand to my ass and claims it as his just like the other night. “That’s because I am.”
I try to calm my racing heart. Not much has made my heart speed in years, but that all changed the moment I met him in a Deep Ellum bar. Keeping my cool—or at least faking it to save face—I press into his chest, claiming him, just as he did me. “I guess that means I’m not the bad situation.”
“Oh, Jensen,” he starts and my eyes flare because I’ve told him not to call me that. He doesn’t miss it. His lush lips tip on one side and, just as he already claimed my ass, he cups me from behind and presses me to him where I feel him hard as a rock through his jeans. For a man who’s never laid his mouth on me, he’s got me wound tight—no intense boardroom situation has prepared me how to fake this. When he cups my sex and squeezes, I know he can see it too and I just hope he can’t feel how wet I am. But from the growing smirk on his beautiful face, I’d bet my annual bonus he knows when he goes on, “I couldn’t dream up a worse situation than you. But look at me, hard as a fucking rock and not giving a damn. You’re making me do things and push my boundaries to places I never thought I’d reach. And, baby, trust me—I’ve reached.”
I let my muscles relax and slide my hands up his neck. “I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Then you came along and everything in my gut says to run and not let you anywhere near me.” I press my breasts into his chest and his hold on me tightens when I didn’t think it could. “We can’t even be seen together right now but look at us.”
His hand slides up my back and into my hair, fisting it, and I’m forced to lick my lips that’ve gone dry. Something about Elijah Pettit makes me not care that he’s an FBI agent or that logic says this is wrong. I’m a numbers person. I measure risk daily and use cold hard figures for justification.
But not now.
And not with him.
He’s a breath away, his eyes focused on my mouth. I exhale, but when I lean into him, his hold in my hair constricts and his eyes shoot to mine.
His rebuke makes me gasp and he shakes his head. “Not yet.”
I frown.
His voice dips. “Come with me. Let me take you somewhere.”
“Now?”
He squeezes me between my legs, reminding me of the fact he’s got me where I am right now, but he’s yet to kiss me.
Still, his answer couldn’t be more resolute. “Now.”
Chapter 11
Your Cock
Eli
It was all I could do not to push the food aside and lay her across her kitchen counter. She was wet for me, I could feel it through her leggings. It didn’t matter how much I wanted her at that moment, there were things I needed to know first. Because, if I took her mouth, there’s no way I’d stop.
“What are we doing here?”
I check my phone one more time to make sure Bree fucking Newman is still at her house. Her not tailing me is one less thing on my long list of shit to worry about, at least for now. I set my phone to mute and toss it on the old table littered with tape and wrap for the boxing gloves.
When I turn to her, she’s standing in the middle of the mat. She was quiet all the way here after I convinced her it was fine for us to leave together, though, it was one hell of an argument. She finally relented but has been petulant ever since.
I don’t answer but walk to the edge of the mat in the rogue gym I found last week—if you could even call it a gym. It’s a shitty building located in a warehouse district less than a mile from my apartment. They focus on CrossFit and training for Strongman competitions, which I have no interest in. Lifting bores the hell out of me so when I walked in here and introduced myself last week, the owner, Brock, tossed me a key and told me to help myself. I’ve been punching bags, flipping tractor tires, climbing ropes, and all kinds of other shit every night since. It’s been a nice change of pace after being cooped up undercover for the last few years.
“I wanted to get you out of that fortress you call a home and, since I’m new here, this is a place I knew we could go and be alone. The owner gave me a key when I explained I keep odd hours. Being an FBI agent didn’t hurt either. Sorry—I know it stinks.”
I only switched on a few lights, so when she turns to me with her arms crossed under her tits, her eyes look almost black in the shadowed room. It’s late and the dirty windows that normally block a lot
of light, are completely black.
“I grew up on a ranch. I’m used to stink.”
I try not to smirk. “A fancy CFO used to stench. You keep adding to the list of reasons I can’t get you out of my mind.”
She tips her head and raises a brow. “Am I going to see you on American Ninja Warrior? This isn’t your normal gym.”
I lift a shoulder and look around the dark space that seems to mirror her current mood since I stopped her advance on me. “I have about as much desire to be in the public spotlight as you. I like this place. It’s not a fancy gym like yours but it fits.”
She sighs and reminds me of the reason I met her to begin with. “It’s late and I have to be in court in the morning. Why are we here?”
I step onto the mat and close half the distance between us. “Tell me why you were working on self-defense with that trainer.”
She frowns instantly. “I told you.”
“No,” I counter and take another step. “You only told me you added it to your workout. That’s not telling me anything. I know a lot about you, Jen. You have a driver when you want one, you work in a building tighter than Fort Knox, and no one can get into your condo without knowing the secret handshake. I bet you could hire security to travel with you if you wanted it. So, why the focus on self-defense?”
She shakes her head. “Can it not be that simple? Why all the questions?”
“Because I have a feeling it’s not simple and now, by the way you’re acting, I really want to know.”
She scrutinizes me before turning to the side. I make a decision and move to her. I’ve had my hands on a good deal of her body at this point, so when I reach out, I snake one hand up her back and the other around her belly to her lower hip. She tenses under my touch, but I pull her side to my front, pinning her stiff form to me. “Tell me.”
She crosses her arms in what little space she has. “Were all the prophets this demanding back in the day?”
I give her a squeeze. “I might be older than you but my birth year doesn’t have a BC behind it.”
Her tense muscles barely relax in my arms and she shakes her head. “I don’t know what you’re expecting, but it’s not that dramatic of a story—not even Lifetime TV worthy. It really wasn’t worth dragging me out of my home this late at night when I have work I could be catching up on.”
I shift her so her back is to my front and swipe her hair over a shoulder. Putting my lips below her ear, I demand, “Tell me this unimpressive story, Jensen.”
She sighs. “I was in high school and Montgomery Industries wasn’t what it is today. It was well on its way, though, and starting to get more exposure as a big player in the industry. It was before we expanded into plastics and minerals. The home I grew up in is remote and, since it’s so far from the city, we never had a problem with security. Until we did. A surprise protest got out of hand, they moved onto our land, and I got caught in the middle of it by myself.”
My arms constrict around her, not able to pull her close enough. Now that I know my suspicions were a reality, it makes me crazy. The way she explained it so matter-of-factly is unnerving. I force myself to even my voice. “That wasn’t in your bio.”
She shrugs. “Why would it be?”
“If there was a police report, that would be in your bio. Were you attacked?”
She turns to look up at me with a cautious look. “There were plenty of police reports but my parents kept my name out of them. I was fifteen. My mom was running Ellie to ballet, Cam wasn’t home, and my dad was at work. I was there by myself with our ranch hands—I was lucky to have them.”
I turn her in my arms putting my hands to her face and do my best to control myself. “Jen, what did they do to you?”
*****
Jen
Damn.
I haven’t talked about this for a long time. I struggled with what happened for a while but got over it long ago. And most of getting over it came with feeling strong in my own skin and being prepared to defend myself if I ever had to. Even though I’ve never had to—my parents made sure of that.
Eli’s gaze is burning into me through the darkened and echoing dilapidated space. I’m frustrated with myself that I was excited he brought me here, to a place he obviously likes and thinks might represent him in some way.
I hate that I’ve become desperate to know anything about him. Stepping into a shitty warehouse he calls a gym shouldn’t make my heart light up like a firefly in a dull and tedious world.
I now realize he’s thinking of the worst possible scenario and I need to squash that thought from his head. Bringing my hands up to his wrists, I hold on tight and say, “It’s not what you think. I might’ve been scared out of my mind but, other than being roughed up a bit by some overzealous protesters, I was fine.”
Eli lowers his face to mine, making him the only thing in my world. “You were only roughed up?”
I need to make him relax about this so we can move on. “I was bumped around. I probably made it worse by panicking. The ranch hands got me out of it and I’m sure it felt longer than it was. You’re making it into a bigger deal than it should be.”
His fingers tense as he steps, pressing his body to mine, not at all calmed by my explanation. “You’re sure that’s it? Do not sugarcoat shit with me. Ever.”
I shake my head as much as I can in his vice grip—one that feels neither aggressive nor angry. His touch is burning into my skin with a possession I’ve never experienced before. “It might’ve messed with my head for a while but working out made me feel better. My brother spent a lot of time with me in the gym after that, helping me feel strong and in control. Cam was the one who thought some self-defense classes would help and they did. Now, I just incorporate it into my workout.”
His eyes change a tinge, but enough I can see his thoughts have switched when his voice goes hard. “Jase.”
My lips tip. “Yes. Jase. I’ve been working with him for over a year.”
His hands slide down my back and he pulls me in tight. “The same Jase who hit on you in front of me and wants to take you to see bands and do other kinds of dirty things to your body besides working you out.”
“Besides the band part, you know all of this because you’re a trained investigator?”
He shakes his head. “I know all of this because I’m a man, I have a cock, and the minute I walked into that room, he tried to stake his claim. But I promise you—if there’s a pissing contest, I will win.”
I try not to laugh or be disgusted. “A pissing contest? So, now you’re thirteen?”
He doesn’t answer, but instead drops his hands to my ass again—a place he’s feeling quite comfortable lately—and squeezes before letting me go and shifts away. Both our arms fall to our sides and he surprises me when he challenges, “Show me what you’ve got.”
I widen my eyes because he can’t be serious. “What?”
“Come at me. I want to see what you can do.”
Shit, he’s serious. “No, way.”
“Yes, way.”
I roll my eyes. “You are thirteen.”
He smirks. “Tell me what you’d go for first. I dare you.”
“Oooh,” I exclaim and widen my eyes. “A dare? Well, that changes everything. I always take a dare.”
“I bet you do.” Eli tips his head. “How many men have dared you in a boardroom?”
That wipes the smile off my face. “I’ve been dared to fail more times than I can count. More times than I can remember.”
“I bet you’ve won every dare that was ever laid at your hot-as-fuck heels—which do amazing things to your ass, by the way.”
He’s right about me besting every asshole who tried to challenge me at work. I don’t care if I do sound conceited—I’ve won every encounter and it wasn’t because my last name is Montgomery. I did it through hard work and tenacity. It’s a big, fat fuck you to anyone who ever thinks I can’t do the job I’ve been given. But instead of telling him any of that, I prove to him I
’m still all female and defend my obsession. “Don’t mock my shoes.”
Eli shakes his head as he rakes his eyes over me in my hoodie and joggers. “Baby, I’m not mocking anything. Even though everything I’ve read on you makes me believe your shoe closet is probably worth more than my annual salary, I fucking love looking at you in your fancy-ass shoes.” He takes a step toward me and lifts his chin. “Let’s get on with it—I’m coming at you and you have no escape. What will you do first?”
I let myself take him in as he did me. He’s wearing a faded t-shirt proving he ran the Chicago Marathon five years ago and got the souvenir to prove it. His jeans are even older, bunched at the ankles over work boots. The fact that he doesn’t care if my shoe collection is worth more than his salary warms me … even though I doubt it’s true, but you never know. I have a lot of shoes and it’s no secret I appreciate haute couture.
Finally, I tip my head and decide I can dish it out as good as him, even though it’s a true statement. “I’d go for your cock.”
A slow grin spreads across his face as he shifts to widen his stance and crosses his arms. “I knew it.”
I mirror his stance, crossing my arms, but hitch a foot instead. “You think you know everything.”
“I know what you want and you just confirmed it.”
“If you’re coming at me and I have no escape, I’m definitely going for your cock but, trust me, it won’t feel good.” His grin shrinks into a smirk and if I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a satisfied one. “Then maybe your eyes. Followed by your ears, throat, and nose. I doubt I’m strong enough, but then I’d try for your knees and ankles. Since you’re such a big guy, I’d probably just stick with your cock.”
“Do you talk about cocks with Jase?”
I don’t answer but I do smile, causing his eyes to narrow. It appears Elijah Pettit has a jealous streak.
“Don’t tease me, Jen. I don’t like it.”