by Addison Fox
“Vixen.”
Before she could respond, he had her hips in a firm grip, guiding her over his straining erection. She took him in, setting an immediate rhythm that dared him to keep up.
Reed matched her movements, his breath growing as ragged as they pushed each other to the limit. Like a race no one could lose so long as they crossed the finish line, they pressed on and on, bodies straining as each sought fulfillment in the other.
Pleasure as he’d never known coursed through him and he reached a hand up to her neck to pull her down for a kiss. His gaze caught on her, the room’s soft light painting her skin, and in that moment he knew the most desperate sort of need.
Understood the desire that drove sailors to the rocks.
He wanted. And whatever he’d imagined—whatever he’d desired—was nothing compared to the reality of making love to Lilah.
The shift in her breathing and the tightening of her body around his let him know she was close, and as he heard her cry, he watched the pleasure suffuse her features.
And then he followed her, a willing participant straight over the cliff.
* * *
The mug appeared first through the shower door, followed by Reed’s sloe-eyed gaze. “Morning.”
He handed her the coffee through the open shower door, careful to keep it just outside of the spray, and she had the fleeting thought that she’d like to stay right here, in the shower with this man, for the rest of her life.
There were those who called Texas a little slice of heaven, but up until the previous night, she’d never believed them. Now she had a glorious, loose-limbed lethargy suffusing her muscles and a gorgeous man bringing her coffee, suggesting those wise souls had been right all along.
“What’s that look for?” Reed’s gaze finished its lazy perusal of her body, already eliciting a series of shivers on the journey.
“I’m wondering if I can stay here forever.”
“The water might get a bit cold.”
“I don’t think I’d care.”
She took a sip before he set the mug on the counter, then stepped into the shower with her, pulling her into his arms. “I’ll keep you warm.”
“See. A perfect plan.”
“I bet I can make it more perfect.” His lips trailed over her throat, his hands already reaching for the soap dispenser she had embedded in the wall. As his slick hands roamed over her body, Lilah felt that same glorious slide into pleasure overtake her once more.
And as she allowed herself to be carried away, Lilah knew she teetered on the edge of something special.
Something big.
Something that felt a lot like love.
* * *
Lilah danced around her workspace on light feet. Her night with Reed had exceeded every single fantasy she’d had about the man and even a few she hadn’t managed to think up yet.
He was strong. Sexy. And shockingly adept in bed. And last night he’d been hers.
A hard sigh rose up in her chest as she dragged open the fridge to pull out several cartons of eggs. She could still feel him. His hands on her body and his mouth crushed to hers. Those amazing moments when he pushed her on, demanding all she could give and then coaxing forth even more.
More pleasure. More joy. Just more.
She could admit to herself now that she’d stumbled a bit on her drive to work, her thoughts from the shower buzzing in her mind. Love. Need. Affection. Desire. All had their place, but it was the love part that had her twisted up.
Was she in love?
Was it even possible?
She and Reed had spent an amazing night with each other—and a morning that had only cemented how good they were together—but that didn’t mean it was love. After dissecting it in true Lilah Castle fashion, she’d finally decided she didn’t care if it was love or not-quite-love because she hadn’t felt this amazing in, oh, about ever.
The dancing continued as she did a sort of soft-shoe to the counter. She’d spent the morning creating rows of gum-paste flowers for the two base layers of a cake for their wedding that weekend and was over the moon with how they’d turned out. Every flourish had seemed more pronounced—more artful—and she knew the bride and groom would be pleased.
Now she’d shift gears to the third layer and an elaborate vine design that would complement the flowers.
Music pounded from her speakers as she worked, Pink’s rebel voice bringing a smile to her lips as she did several shimmies behind the counter.
Damn, but she felt good.
Prime, as if she’d exercised and eaten healthy, only she hadn’t had to bother with either.
Lilah smiled and mentally corrected herself. She might not have gone on one of the eight-day veggie cleanses Vi was always trying to push on her, but she sure had gotten a workout.
The buzzing doorbell penetrated her thoughts and she mentally ticked off the deliveries scheduled for the afternoon. Flipping off the mixer, she kept up the dancing, soft-shoeing her way toward the back door.
And opened it to find Steven on the other side.
Chapter 13
Lilah took a hard step back before she registered the mistake. She should have slammed and locked the door and instead, Steven was already inside.
“Lilah.” He nodded—actually nodded, as if she were one of his subjects—before moving fully into the kitchen.
His speculative gaze drifted around the room, landing on various areas as he walked. He ran a finger over the stainless-steel countertop, pulled open several drawers and firmly snapped off the music when he reached the music dock.
“That’s better.”
He hated music in his kitchen. Had always claimed it was an unnecessary distraction, but she’d suspected it was something more. He wasn’t good at managing stress or distraction and she’d always seen his aversion to music as a further sign of how difficult he found interference of any kind.
In the silence, her anxiety clicked up several more notches and she fought the twin urges to run and stand her ground. Reluctantly opting for the latter, she pressed for answers. “What do you want?”
“Nice welcome.”
“You’re not welcome. Here. Or in my life.”
“Yet you’re the one who came to Portia the other night, flaunting a new guy in my face.”
His words were like a hard slap as she reflected on the evening from his vantage point. Her trip with Reed to the restaurant had been designed to suss out information, but she could understand how it might have looked differently to Steven.
“It was Restaurant Week and my date selected Portia. I didn’t know until we drove up.”
The excuse was smooth, but she heard the tremors underneath the words and forced herself to take calm, even breaths.
She would not cower before him.
He stopped at the counter and before she could register his motions, dipped a finger into the bowl of coconut cream.
“Don’t—”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged, then dipped a finger once more. He’d already ruined it by touching the filling at all, but the second dip was designed as pure insult and she well knew it. “You never did get coconut quite right.”
“Some people can’t appreciate the complexity of the flavors.”
The insult registered, his gaze turning dark. Menacing. And Lilah began to rethink the urge to run.
Forcing a bravado she didn’t feel, she mustered up a dark stare. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“So talk.” Then get out.
“Little tart-tongued Lilah. You always did think yourself above everyone else in the kitchen.” He stepped away from the counter, his gaze flicking over the bowl before skipping back to her like a skimming stone. “How silly of you.”
Of all the things she remembered, it was those moments the most. The bruises had healed, vanished as if they’d never been, save for the memories. But the dismissal of her work had lingered long after it should have.
“I have a question.” Steven snagged one of the stools she kept in the kitchen for use while she worked and took a seat. The move was deceptively casual and she wasn’t fooled for a moment.
Rather than acknowledge, she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
“What were you doing in Portia the other night?”
“As I told you before. My date chose the restaurant and I didn’t know until we drove up.”
“Wrong answer.” His low voice sent a hard shiver through her and what had been uncomfortable up to now morphed into genuine panic.
The night before at Violet’s, she’d struggled with her belief that Steven was involved with the rubies. But now, as he sat like a predatory beast in her kitchen, she was forced to rethink her instincts.
He was involved. She knew it with a sudden clarity that seemed to sharpen her vision.
She avoided glancing toward her office or the back door, but she mentally calculated the steps toward the main area of the shop. Violet and Cassidy were both out on consults, but if she could get to the front door she could run to the decorator who owned the shop two doors down.
And then she could call Reed.
Confirm what they both believed was true.
He’d maintained Steven couldn’t have ordered the cut brake lines based on timing and they’d both let that piece of evidence cloud their thoughts on the bigger problem.
Steven was in this.
The ruby she kept stuffing in her shoe suddenly felt like a lead weight beneath her toes and she avoided the urge to shift from foot to foot. Damn, damn, damn, why didn’t I go to the bank first thing?
“Little Lilah.” Steven tsked. “What were you doing in Portia the other night with a cop?”
He knew?
The rabbit-quick beat of her heart flooded her bloodstream with adrenaline. What exactly was he into?
“What makes you so sure Reed’s a cop?”
Steven cocked his head, his laser-sharp focus concentrated fully on her. The sensation was uncomfortable, his daring glare confrontational to the extreme.
His gaze bored into her like a drill and once more, she calculated how quickly she could get out of the building.
And knew she’d never make it.
Steven was too large—too fit—and he had a good foot on her, which meant his legs could carry him a heck of a lot faster than hers could.
She did calculate the distance to her knife drawer and debated the wisdom of trying to use one or distract him away from them. A bruise she could handle. A knife wound, likely not.
With that thought firmly in mind—and her body angled away from the knife drawer—she decided to gamble.
“What would you know of cops? What are you involved with?”
“The very same thing you are.”
“I’m not involved in anything. Not intentionally.” She hesitated, then decided to go for it. “Unlike our marriage.”
“You never could handle me. You had no idea how to be a society wife.”
“No, Steven. It’s you who can’t handle anyone. Anyone who disagrees with you. Or who has a talent or self-confidence or ability. You never understood that surrounding yourself with good people only made your good work even better.”
“You know nothing. My restaurants flourish because of me. Why the hell do you think there were all those people at Portia the other night? Because of the damn sous chef?”
“He contributed to the evening.”
“It’s mine! They were there for me!” The response was so unexpected—so unnecessary and juvenile—that Lilah’s jaw actually dropped at the outburst.
How had she never understood this?
This strange, stunted inability of his to accept he wasn’t the center of the universe. She half expected him to stomp his feet next, like a frustrated toddler.
Only he didn’t.
His large frame was off the stool and around the counter before she could blink, her chef’s coat fisted beneath one large hand. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Memories assailed her as the present shimmered into past and back again.
Steven was here. And he had her, his fists primed to hit her.
All her work—all her effort to avoid him—and it had still come to this.
Don’t hit me. Don’t scream at me. Don’t hate me so much.
The thoughts pinged through her mind like errant pinballs on a table, all striking and slamming into her mind.
And underneath it all, the lone word that had haunted her for over two horrible years.
Why?
“The ruby! Give it to me!”
“I don’t have it!”
A hard slap hit her cheek, her head snapping with the force of motion. “Where. Is. It?”
“Nowhere!”
Tears ran freely down her face, the hot fire lighting up her cheek and mixing with the warmth of her tears as she braced for a second hit.
His hand never loosened on her coat, but his gaze did change. The challenge in the depths of his eyes faded, replaced with something very much like resignation. The fear at his swift punishment shifted, morphing into a cold, clammy layer of terror that stole over the skin.
“I know you have it and I’m not going anywhere until you give it to me.” His hand tightened on her chef’s coat, the twist of the thick material nearly cutting off her oxygen as he began to stroke her hair with his free hand. “Your choice.”
She stilled, the stroke of his hand a far worse violation than the slap. Where Reed’s hands had been soft and gentle the night before, full of reverence and warmth, Steven’s were the opposite.
His touch was mild, but it veiled a terrible threat.
“You’re in over your head, Lilah. Give it to me and I’ll leave.”
“Why won’t you believe me?” She wanted to keep her calm—desperately wanted to control the situation—but her words came out on a harsh, strangled sob. “I don’t have it.”
“Just like before. I gave you the chance to tell me you were with a cop and you lied. Years ago, I gave you a chance to give me honest feedback on the restaurant and you lied, suggesting improvements just for spite. And now you’re lying about this.” The fingers in her hair twisted, dragging pain to her scalp with swift punishment. “Tell me now!”
She was already on her tiptoes, instinctively giving herself the height to keep her airflow open beneath his fist, but the pain in her scalp was so all consuming, she kicked out.
Her foot connected with his shin, her already-loose shoe flying off as the toe of her Croc hit on an odd angle.
Although she couldn’t see what was happening, the heavy thwap of the shoe hitting the floor was immediately followed by a light tinkle of something solid hitting the concrete. Steven’s attention shifted to the floor, a dark smile filling his face.
“That’s convenient.”
“You can’t have it. You need to get as far away from this as fast as you can. It’s dangerous.”
The hand at her throat loosened enough for her to take free breaths, but he still hadn’t fully let go. “No. You’re the one who needs to stay away from this. Where are the other ones?”
“I don’t have them.”
But of course he’d want the others.
The fear for herself was nothing compared to the fear for Violet and Cassidy that suddenly swamped her.
“Where are they?”
>
“Hidden. I hid them.”
“More like your partners in crime hid them. One for each of you, no doubt.” He cocked his head, his gaze considering before he let go completely and bent to pick up the ruby.
The same thoughts that had drifted through her mind earlier—from running to snagging a knife from the drawer—filled her once more but she stayed still.
Unmoving.
“Take off your other shoe.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Off.”
Lilah kicked off the other shoe, the empty toe reinforcing her words.
“You can’t fight this. It’s so much bigger than you think it is. Get with your gal pals and get their stones, too. Get whatever you stole and get ready to turn it over.”
“We didn’t steal anything.”
“You can’t fight this.” Steven turned the ruby over in his hands. “I wouldn’t even try.”
He vanished as quickly as he’d arrived, the air still thick and heavy with his presence. Her gaze skittered around the room, pulsing in time with the erratic beats of her heart, taking in impressions and sensations, unable to settle.
Her shoes, both lying on their sides where they’d fallen.
The empty stool where he’d sat, taunting her.
And the bowl of coconut-cream filling, now ruined by his touch.
Just the way she was.
She could run—could pretend she was normal and over him—but she’d never be free of the threat.
Or her inability to rise above the fear.
She knew she needed to call for help. Violet and Cassidy would be there in a heartbeat. Gabby was two blocks away.
And Reed.
She shook her head as a wave of chills gripped her. She couldn’t call Reed. Not now. Not with the mark of Steven’s hand still lighting up her cheek in raw streaks of fire.
She’d failed.
The monster had come to her door and she hadn’t been strong enough to fight him off.