Fool Me Twice

by Lilliana Anderson

  He chuckled.

  “Why is that funny?”

  “Loot.” He smiled. “You make it sound like we steal bags of cash with a big dollar sign on them.”

  “Well I’m glad you find this so amusing. Meanwhile, I’m here having my life turned upside down.”

  Reaching out, he wrapped a hand around my arm and pulled me towards him. “Come here,” he said, his voice soft as he urged me back on the bed. With a sigh, I joined him, lying on my side to face him.

  “Let it be known that I’m lying here because I’m tired, not because you told me to.”

  “Sure thing, duchess.” He placed a hand on the curve of my hip and looked into my eyes. “Listen, I’ll admit that getting married at this point isn’t what I’d planned, or something either of us wanted. We hooked up a couple of times, had crazy-good sex, and then I was less than gentlemanly in my exit.”

  “You cleaned my apartment out. Twice.”

  He chuckled again. “Yeah, and I would’ve loved to have seen your expression when you woke that second time. Shocked the hell out of you, right?”

  “Of course it did. You’re a shit-stirrer. When the hell did you manage to roofie me, anyway? We were drinking from the same bottle, same cup.”

  He lifted his hand and brushed my hair back from my face. His fingers grazing my skin felt ridiculously nice. “When I offered you my glass after you’d finished screaming my name.”

  “I didn’t even see,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering just a little.

  “Sleight of hand,” he stated, holding his pinched fingers to me, my gold earring between them.

  “How?” My eyes went wide as I sat up on my elbow and touched my earlobe. “I didn’t even feel it.”

  Sitting up with me, he gently placed the earring back through my ear. “It’s an essential skill in my line of work.”

  “Your line of work.” I closed my eyes. My brain felt like it was vibrating from the stress of my situation. The alcohol really hadn’t been enough to take the edge off. It just made me feel sick, tired and even more troubled. “Tell me something about yourself. Something that doesn’t involve your… work.”

  “I can cook,” he offered. “I make a really mean salmon dish with green beans that just melts in your mouth. Plus, I can make any kind of breakfast you want.”

  “Can you make pancakes?” The idea of food made my stomach grumble. I still hadn’t eaten.

  He smiled. “I’m told they’re the best around. Want me to show you?”

  “Do you have Nutella and strawberries to go with them?”

  “Jasmine keeps this place pretty well stocked, so I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. Wanna go see?” He sat up and held his hand out to me. Then my stomach growled so loudly that I felt compelled to take it.

  “Just because you’re feeding me doesn’t mean I’m suddenly OK with all of this.”

  “Understood. But I won’t allow my duchess to waste away. You can be pissed and well fed.”

  When he led me down to the kitchen, the area was dark except for the light over the stove.

  “Looks like everyone’s gone to bed,” I noted.

  “Good. I was only planning on cooking for you, anyway.” He pulled ingredients from the pantry and placed them on the bench: flour, sugar, baking soda and salt. Then he dug a little farther and came out with a jar of Nutella. “Looks like we’re in business. Sit.” He pointed to the stools on the other side of the bench.

  Doing as I was told, I climbed onto the stool and watched him move about the kitchen, pulling the last of the ingredients from the fridge: eggs, milk, butter, strawberries and… lard?

  “You put lard in your pancakes?”

  He winked as he started dumping ingredients into a bowl. “Trust me.”

  I didn’t know why my mind didn’t instantly object to that request. Perhaps it was because the topic was only pancakes, but it made me realise that for some reason, unknown even to me, I did trust him. He may have stolen from me, but he was doing everything in his power to protect me. I had no doubt that I’d be dying in a ditch somewhere if he hadn’t stepped in.

  “Thank you,” I said suddenly, the realisation of an alternative fate hitting me in the chest.

  “Save your thanks for the final product,” he replied, flicking the whisk around the bowl like a pro.

  “Not for feeding me. For saving me. I’m still pissed at you, but that doesn’t mean I don’t fully understand the gravity of what you’re doing for me.”

  He set the bowl to the side and placed a pan on the stove, clicking on the gas flame before he met my eyes. “I’m just glad you said yes. It would’ve been a bit of a hit to the ego if the first girl I asked to marry me chose death instead.” He was so candid with his words. Whether he was joking or just being matter-of-fact, I didn’t know. Either way, calling this what it was made things a lot easier for me.

  “I don’t recall being asked.”

  One side of his mouth kicked up as he dropped a nob of butter into the heating pan. The scent and the sizzle took over the air. “How about you tell me something about yourself that I don’t know yet,” he said as he picked up the mixing bowl and tipped enough batter for two large pancakes into the pan.

  “You know everything there is to know already. I’m a drama teacher, I sing, I can make a joke out of just about anything, and I have exactly one good friend. I lead a pretty sad life.”

  “What do you like to do when you’re home alone?”

  “If you’re hoping my answer is ‘masturbate’, you’ll be terribly let down. I like to binge Netflix while eating junk food. Or I like to read in bed while also eating junk food. Food kind of goes with everything, but it’s savoury for Netflix and sweet for reading. Oh, and I’m a terrible cook. I pretty much live on takeaway food. Uber eats is the biggest blessing of my life.”

  “Can you chop?” He lifted his brow as he slid an egg flip underneath a half-cooked pancake and flipped it.

  “Of course I can chop—as long as you don’t mind a little blood in your food.” He stopped what he was doing and looked at me, a question in his eyes. I laughed. “That was a joke. I guess I’m not very funny tonight.”

  He moved slightly to his right and handed me the punnet of strawberries, a small knife and a cutting board. “Think you can manage to keep all your fingers intact?”

  I picked up the knife and a strawberry. “I’ll try.”

  As I sliced at the small red berries, using the knife as a weapon to escape crossed my mind. But the moment the idea entered my thoughts, I squashed it immediately back down. To do that, I’d have to hurt Nate. And despite everything he’d done, hurting him was the last thing I wanted. So I finished slicing the strawberries and then put the knife back down, realising that he’d been right earlier—there were always choices.

  “All done,” I said, pushing the cutting board towards him.

  He looked at the knife, then back at me and said, “Thank you.” I had to wonder if he’d been reading my thoughts.

  When he set the plate of hot pancakes and melted hazelnut spread in front of me, my mouth watered at the sight. I almost drooled when the scent hit my nose. “This looks delicious,” I said, licking my lips as I picked up my knife and fork and cut into it. “You’re not going to join me?”

  He leaned on the bench and shook his head. “They’re all yours. Eat up while they’re still hot.”

  Loading up my fork, I took my first mouthful and moaned. They were the lightest, fluffiest, most delicious pancakes I’d ever tasted. “Oh my God.”

  He seemed genuinely pleased by my reaction and smiled. “Glad you like them.”

  “Like? I love them. In fact, I think I could marry these pancakes.” I took another mouthful and closed my eyes. They were so good.

  “Technically, you are marrying those pancakes,” he pointed out, moving around the bench so he was standing beside me.

  “Sure you don’t want some?” I offered, holding up my fork loaded with more than was polite to put i
n one mouthful.

  “I’m not hungry for food.” His eyes swept over my body.

  “Oh.” I stuffed the forkful in my mouth and chewed quietly, understanding exactly what he was insinuating. Once again I tingled, my nipples pressing against the fabric of the lace bra I was wearing, straining behind the sundress. Suddenly I wasn’t so hungry for food either.

  He was by far the sexiest man I’d ever seen. He and his brothers were the kind of men other men developed crushes on and women swooned over. So, the question begged to be asked, “Why do you want me, Nate?”

  “Why wouldn’t I want you?” he responded.

  “Well, I’m not exactly model material.” I gestured with one hand to the entirety of me.

  “I’m not interested in models.”

  “So you’re a chubby chaser?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Then why me? Why are you so into this that you’re willing to marry me? Is it just to ease your conscience?”

  He ran his thumb over the corner of my mouth. I closed my eyes at his touch, and even though I could feel he was wiping away a stray bit of Nutella, I wasn’t embarrassed. It was hot as hell.

  When I opened my eyes, he was sucking his thumb into his mouth. “That was really sexy,” I whispered, to which he chuckled, then leaned forwards and kissed me by sucking against my lower lip.

  “I think you’re sexy,” he whispered against my lips.

  “Why?” I simply couldn’t wrap my head around it. He could have anyone. If he wasn’t a chubby chaser, then why would he choose me?

  “How about I tell you how I feel when I’m with you?”

  “That might help.”

  “Found,” he said, his voice soft and low as his fingers danced across my skin, touching my face, my neck, brushing through my hair. “Weak.” He collected my hair in one big hand and wound it around his palm, tugging so my head went back. “Strong.” He pulled so I was forced to tip my head back, and then he lowered his head so his lips brushed lightly along my jaw. “Hard.” He whispered that last word in my ear, then held my earlobe between his teeth.

  I released a slight gasp as my head swam with the desire he drew from me, uncontrollable.

  “When I see you, I want you.” His lips moved down my neck and over the skin exposed by my dress. “When you aren’t around, I want you even more.” He brought his mouth back to mine. “And I know you want me too.”

  “I do,” I gasped just before he sealed his mouth over mine and kissed me, his tongue claiming ownership over mine. My bones turned to liquid and I almost slid off the stool when he released me. Four words. The first two more profound, of course. Found. By me. Weak. Because of me. Was this even real?

  “Finish your food. You’ll need plenty of energy to feed my hunger.”

  I downed the last of my pancakes in record time.

  Chapter Twelve

  Slave to Desire

  Unlike the last time I fell asleep beside him, when I woke up during the night, Nate was still there, still draped over me. Emotion surged through me, a mixture of relief, desire and devastation. I was upset with myself for wanting him, for feeling comfort in his arms, in his body. I should’ve been fighting against him, not finding reasons to like him. I was a prisoner, for fuck’s sake. Was I so desperate for love and attention that I was willing to go along with this instead of looking for an opportunity to escape? What was wrong with me? I was turning into Alesha.

  Needing a moment to myself, I tried to move from beneath him but his grip tightened, possessive in his sleep.

  “Where are you going?” His sleep-thick voice sounded too loud in the quiet room.

  “I need to pee,” I whispered.

  With a grunt, he lifted his arm, and I slid out from under him, picking my dress up off the floor and tugging it over my naked body.

  “Don’t be long,” he told me as I padded across the plush carpet.

  “It’ll take as long as it takes,” I snapped.

  “Back to being pissed, huh?”

  “Of course I’m fucking pissed!”

  “What’s the point? It’s not going to change anything.”

  “I know. I fucking know. But you can’t just feed me and fuck me and then expect everything to be fine. You dragged me into this. You had to know I’d find you again. But you took my shit again anyway, taunting me, luring me here while knowing your family would never let me go.”

  He dropped his head against the bed and groaned. “That’s a huge leap, duchess. You’re giving me far too much credit here.”

  “No I’m not. It makes sense. You orchestrated this whole fucking thing.”

  “Holland,” he said, a slight warning in his tone. “Come back to bed.”

  “You trapped me.”

  His blue eyes met mine as silence enveloped the tension-filled air. “Not consciously.”

  “So you admit it.”

  He ran a hand through his bedraggled hair. “I don’t know what I thought was going to happen with you. But I think we need to accept that we were both playing a dangerous game. We both did things to make my world and your world merge.”

  “This isn’t what I wanted.”

  “Really?” He got out of bed and came towards me. I’d be lying if I said my eyes didn’t drink in his naked form. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?” He towered over me, his eyes flashing. “You could’ve called the cops and had them storm the storage facility and the house, but you chose to come here yourself. Tell me there wasn’t a tiny part of you that hoped my dick and your vagina could get down and dirty together. Tell me you didn’t want more from me.”

  “I….” Had I hoped that? I’d been so focused on finding him that I hadn’t even considered my reasons. I’d thought it was to catch him and then call the cops, but I could’ve called them in the beginning as Alesha suggested. They could’ve followed the GPS card, and she and I could be sitting in her lounge room gorging ourselves on takeaway pizza while watching the latest Zac Efron movie. I didn’t need to come here at all.

  “You wanted this,” he whispered, sliding his hand around my waist and flattening me against his chest. “Admit it.”

  “I….” I shook my head, losing my mind a little as his closeness did magical things to my body.

  “Admit it, duchess. You’re as crazy about me as I am about you.” Wait. He’s crazy about me? “You wanted me to catch you. Wanted me to fuck you again and again.” He punctuated his final words by thrusting his hips against me, his long, hard arousal pressing into my stomach.

  I shook my head. “I’m not that shallow.”

  “We’re all that shallow, duchess,” he murmured, lowering himself to his knees.

  “What are you doing?”

  He slid his hands beneath my dress and rested them on my hips, bunching the fabric beneath his thumbs so my sex was exposed. “We’re all slaves to our impulses and desires.” He leaned forwards and flicked his tongue between my legs. “There’s no shame in it, no shame in admitting that you wanted me.” He licked me again. “Just like I want you.” My body shook as he sucked back on my clit, burying his face between my legs. I could barely stand as the ecstasy his mouth provided surged through my body. Why was he able to do this to me? I could be angry and screaming, hurt and crying, but one erotic touch from him and I was a quivering mess, a slave to my own desire.

  “Ohhh.” My hands went into his hair as his tongue brought me to the edge. Then stopped.

  “Duchess.”

  “Don’t stop,” I gasped. God, what was I saying? What was I thinking?

  “Then admit you came here wanting me to fuck you.”

  “Huh.” I wasn’t in a state to form words. I needed him to finish what he started.

  “Say the words.”

  “Words?” What are they again?

  “Say ‘I want you to fuck me.’”

  “I do,” I gasped, moving my hips.

  “The words, duchess. I need the words.”

  “I want you to fuck me,” I pa
rroted, hating myself for being so ruled by my desire that I gave in. But he was right. I did want him to fuck me. I wanted him to fuck me over and over again in every position possible, and I didn’t want him to stop. He was all I thought about.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  When his mouth closed over my clit and his tongue dove into my depths, I whimpered. I may have also cried a little. How could I want him so much while hating myself for that very same fact? I was a good, law-abiding citizen. He was an unapologetic criminal. I was supposed to be smarter than this, to be more in control. Yet there I was, surrendering to him and moaning uncontrollably as he coaxed orgasm after orgasm from my body. It was seriously messed up.

  When it was over, I placed my hands over my face in shame as he stood over me, panting and out of breath.

  “Don’t cry now, duchess. If you’re honest—really honest—with yourself, you’ll find that you wanted me to keep you too.”

  Lowering my hands, I felt the cool air wash over my wet cheeks as I looked up at him and frowned. I also want the fairy tale. I want love. “I might want you, Nate, but I didn’t want you like this. Not when there’s no free will. I could never love you after this.”

  A half-smile pulled up his lips. “Who said anything about love? Lust is what got us here.”

  With hot tears clouding my vision, I lifted my hand and slapped him, my palm stinging as I turned and fled into the adjoining bathroom.

  Sitting on the toilet, I placed my face in my hands and let my tears flow. I felt on edge, like a wild animal caught in a cage. There was this thrumming underneath my skin, an insistence that whispered one word over and over: run.

  But where? How? They had Alesha, and if Jasmine was to be believed, they’d go after Aunt Maya too. This was my punishment for being wanton. I should’ve had a three-date rule like other women. Then I wouldn’t be in this mess.