They’d stopped by her apartment to feed and water Moonlight, but she didn’t pick up any clothes, not wanting to be too presumptuous. She was unfamiliar with this man-woman who-stays-over-at-whose-house thing. She’d never once spent the full night with a man. It was time to cross off a few “firsts.”
She placed both her hands along his cheeks, his five o’clock shadow rough under her hands. “Kisses?” She didn’t wait for an answer.
She pressed her lips against his. His hand slid under her jacket and he yanked her closer. Her breasts mashed against his chest. Then the room spun. Her ass hit a piece of furniture. He’d moved her to where he could lift her up and place her on the console table. She only hoped it didn’t collapse under her.
He peered down at her. “Who are you and where is Phoenix?”
“It’s me.”
“Or Elizaveta?”
She nodded once. After she and Cherry left that half-way home, an odd, jangly feeling wouldn’t leave her. She wasn’t anxious but rather vibrated with excitement, almost like a runner’s high. Starr and Luna had been stunned by her report of her visit to their father but didn’t press her for many details—thank God. She wasn’t interested in revisiting any more pasts, not even ones that were mere hours old.
Now, she wanted to start directing her life to something new. Something big but not too big. And not exactly a baby-step either.
He cocked his head as if waiting for her to say more.
“I thought I’d… try. To be with you.” Please, dear God, let him decipher what she meant, don’t make her say it.
A slight rumble formed in his throat in answer. His hips jutted forward, his leg muscles hard and his cock even harder.
When Declan was merely her boss, like most men she encountered, it was easier to think of him as almost androgynous. She didn’t think about male bodies at all.
Now? Declan was a man who could do things to her.
The drumbeat of her heart kicked up a notch. So what if she was nervous? Declan was a man who’d impossibly waited for six years for her to acknowledge him. Her body would get used to him. It was like learning a new dance. Nothing felt easy or comfortable at first.
He eased her down. “Are you sure?”
“No, but I want to anyway.”
He sucked in a long breath, reached over to grasp his cane, and held out his other hand.
She took it and they walked like that, holding hands, up the stairs, around the bannister, a corner, and into his bedroom. Like they were an old married couple headed to bed after a long day. Nothing about them was “normal”, but for a split second, she could see it. Night after night, following this path with Declan.
He led her to the bed, gestured for her to sit. Everything about the room was Declan. The scent of wool and cotton. The heavy dark wood furniture that would take four men to move. The muted dark blues and contrasting cream colors on the bedspread that her fists clutched.
“Anything you want to tell me about your visit to your father?” He dropped his cane into a brass umbrella stand by the door. The metallic thunk made her startle.
Oh, she supposed he would want to discuss that. She shook her head. “Nothing to say. I said my piece. It was good. Freeing.”
“And Ruark? I don’t want you to worry.”
“I’m not. Amazingly.” Ruark was bound to get out one day. So what if it was early? The guy wasn’t allowed near Shakedown, she or her sisters, or anyone associated with Declan. Maryland had many laws designed to protect victims. Plus, Declan’s extra security had proven to be good. She hadn’t been able to shake the sentinel’s tail once over the last few days, not that she’d tried very hard. She also had noticed Declan was quite fond of security cameras, a few littered throughout his house. She’d caught that the first time she’d visited.
“What’s changed?”
She shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself, except perhaps feeling okay was a decision. That hold her past had on her had loosened. “Nathan will take care of Starr, and Max will of Luna. I see what prison does to someone so I don’t expect Ruark to be able to do much except lick his wounds for a while.”
“You know that because you saw me just after I got out?”
Her forehead tightened. Ruark and Declan weren’t in the same league—hell, the same solar system. “You were twice the man just out of prison than he ever was in his whole life.”
Little crinkles around his eyes deepened, and he drew closer. It made her wonder if he always needed that cane. He could walk, albeit with a slight limp, without it. The things she was desperate to learn about him now crowded in on her.
With a pop of his shirt button, he began to undress. “I want to show you something.”
Oh. Getting nude was part of the deal, right? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen a lot of her over the years. Hell, half of Baltimore had. But this wasn’t about her body. Feeling Declan without those beautiful vintage suits between her and him would be more than physical intimacy. She was starting her new life—maybe their new life.
He hadn’t been fully prepared for this sudden turn in Phoenix’s willingness, but he was jumping on it. Whatever this woman gave, he’d take. She’d slithered under his covers, fully clothed. He, however, stripped himself down to his boxers and eased down to lie with her.
“This night is entirely up to you.” He picked up her hand, kissed the back of it, and then brought it to his thigh. She wasn’t the only one who had damage. A long, jagged scar ran down the side of his hip where his car door ripped across it.
She gasped when touching the raised flesh there. “Does this hurt?” Her blue eyes flitted over the scar from knee to hip bone. He barely noticed the old wound anymore, but to someone new, it had to appear severe.
“Not really. But this leg is weaker than the other. It’s more annoying than anything. Do you mind it?”
“Not at all.” She snuggled down to her side and nestled her hands under the side of her face. The loss of her hand’s touch. “There’s no part of you that matters that is weak. That’s what’s important.”
He propped his head by his hand and stared down at her. He ran a finger down her nose, down her lips, neck, and to the swell of her breast. As he suspected. Every part of her was as velvety soft as a freshly picked peach.
“I won’t push you.”
She shivered a little, but it wasn’t from fear. Her lips parted. She popped back up, the sheet tucked under her arms even though she still wore her top. “My turn.”
She took his hand and lifted it to the back of her neck, pressing his fingertip to a place at her skull line. “This is my worst one. Thirteen stitches. Belt buckle.” Her hand trembled in his, and her bottom lip quivered.
A raised, horizontal line lay hidden in all her hair, though if he lifted it he suspected there’d be a bald spot. Perhaps that’s why she never wore her hair pulled up, her tendrils so often free and loose. They covered up a sin, one she should never have to bear.
“I hate that you have a worst anything.”
She drew her knees up to her chest. “There are more. I’m afraid for you to see them.”
“You’ll show me when you’re ready.”
“Okay.” She took his hand and placed it along her hipline. A small circular scar as if someone had placed a lit cigar to her flesh marred her skin. “This one is from Jones.”
The man had always been on Declan’s ‘shit list,’ and now Jones’ placement shifted. He was on Declan’s ‘end-his-business list.’
“I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she said.
“I suppose I also wear things on my face.” He willed his face to relax. “And this one?” he turned her wrist over, ran his finger over the barely visible line there. He’d seen that on her the first few weeks she’d worked for him. It was the kind of scar one didn’t ask about.
She yanked her hand back. She drew her knees up to her chest and sent her gaze out over his room.
He joined her in sitting. “You’re not ready, are you?” he
asked.
“I thought I was.” She quirked her mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. You’re being honest with me. That means more.”
“More than—”
“Yes.” He kissed each fingertip. “More than.” He tucked hair behind her ear. A long strand hid one of her eyes. He always had to see her eyes. “It’s okay to need more time.”
“You see everything about me, don’t you?”
“Not everything but a lot.”
He thought she might turn away, but she didn’t. “I think I don’t mind anymore.” She leaned against his headboard. “Can we not talk anymore about our pasts? I don’t want them in this room with us.”
He cupped her chin. “Yes. Let’s have this time together. You and me. No one else is here. No ghosts. No pasts. Only us.”
“Yes.” She blinked over at him.
She then pushed off the covers and pulled her shirt off. She unhooked her bra with one hand in a move he’d seen a hundred times—but only on stage. He’d never had the pleasure of seeing her nipples, however. They were a perfect peach color to match the freckles that dotted her chest, the bridge of her nose.
His mouth ignited with a hunger he’d never felt. He needed to taste them.
She lifted her hand and brought his palm to cup her left breast. He thought all those years ago he’d felt soft skin during their brief lap dance at Maxim’s. He knew nothing.
She stared at him. “I’m tired of living the same day over and over. I want something different. I want you.”
She leaned back to the headboard and scooched down a bit but kept his hand on her breast.
He took a nipple in his mouth, tasting her sweet warmth. He worked both of the buds until they tightened and she was panting breath into the air above him. Her skin had pinked under his mouth’s work, so he moved to the rest of her.
After ridding themselves of their clothes, he took long minutes to hold her nude body close to him, his hands roaming her thighs and her back. His scarred leg pressed between hers and his mouth worked hers over until he felt her body was ready. When her hips began to move, her breasts rubbed into his chest, and a soft mewl sounded into his throat, he pressed her to her back.
Six years of dreaming of her flesh yielding to him and they were finally here. Blue eyes gazed up at him, her lids at half-mast.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She licked her lips and spread her legs wide. That’s all it took for him to slip on a condom, and when his cock slipped into all her wet, he sent a thank you up to a God he still wasn’t sure existed.
45
“Turns out they accepted your counteroffer. I still can’t believe it, but apparently, there are some motivated buyers on your stretch of the waterfront.” Marta’s headshake came through the phone.
He himself could barely believe they’d take such a low-ball offer. Perhaps word was out a certain family with nothing good on their mind related to the waterfront was enough. God, he hated being right about the MacKennas.
Then again, the city had shown no interest in developing this section and it didn’t attract many visitors. Perhaps his notion of turning around the waterfront himself was foolish. He had to at least try. If he didn’t, the MacKennas recent real estate buying spree would turn the neighborhood into a cesspool.
That’s when it dawned on him. Perhaps they hadn’t planned on running drugs or opening anything. They simply wanted the neighborhood to rot—and Shakedown along with it. Empty buildings quickly became crack dens and unsanctioned homeless shelters, especially areas rarely patrolled by the police force.
That only meant one thing. He had to put something useful in—enough for the neighborhood to become an asset and not the barely-holding-on-to-legitimacy that it was now despite Shakedown’s upscale clientele.
“I’ll send the paperwork over. Sign it fast, Declan. In case anyone tries to back out.”
He killed the call.
Phoenix looked up from the book she was reading, The Great Gatsby. “Good news?”
One of her legs dangled over the arm of his leather club chair, her pink-painted toes such a contrast to his home. The masculine décor once suited it. Now, with her strong presence in it and a dose of good luck, things might change. Then she could read his entire library of classics if she so desired.
The last two days had blurred together. Phoenix hadn’t been out of his sight for one second. They’d danced around his living room, even trying the paso doble, which he was horrible at. They made dinner together. They ate. And every night, she was in his bed.
Bit by bit, she opened up to him. Her most ticklish spot was under her chin. Kissing the backs of her knees made her squirm. And she handled his cock with her fingers in the shower until he came so hard he’d nearly doubled over and fallen to the tiles.
But then Tuesday morning came and ruined their bubble. Time to re-enter the world, especially now since he had a new business to launch.
While she spent the weekend reading his books, he had placed business calls. That was the thing about real estate—it didn’t follow a Monday-Friday routine, which was good given an idea had formed during one of their living room dance sessions. Phoenix Rising wanted something more out of life? He could give it to her.
“Move in with me.” His internal thought leaked out. He felt the need to have her around all the time that strongly.
Her eyes went planet-sized. “What?”
“Live here. With me.”
“I-I…” She snapped her lips shut.
“Then think about it…” He set himself down on his coffee table, putting his elbows on his knees. “…while I propose something else.”
She lowered her leg and sat upright. “There’s more?”
“Shakedown is expanding. I’m buying the warehouse next door. That was Marta on the phone.”
“Like another club?” Her eyes lit up and the book slid off her lap to land on the floor.
He picked it up and handed it to her. “A dance school. And I want you to run it.”
She pressed her whole back against the chair. “Me? I don’t know how to run anything. I have never done anything like that before.”
He rose. “There’s always a first time for everything. And something tells me you’d be great at it. Teaching girls.” He snapped his fingers. “Like Naomi.” Who had disappeared.
“But I never went to school for it or anything.”
“Do you want to go to school?”
She swiveled her head around, her eyes searching the room like she chased a thought around the walls. “I never thought about it.”
“The way I see it, girls like Naomi need someone they can look up to. Someone who hasn’t had the gold star ballet school. The scholarship to Juilliard. They need someone to believe in them.”
She chewed her lip. “That’s a low blow. Bringing up Naomi.”
“Her disappearance wasn’t your fault.”
Unhappiness colored her eyes and she picked at the pages between the covers. “I know.” She blinked up at him and pressed herself to standing. “Tell you what. You help me convince Naomi to be my first student and maybe first employee and—”
“Back to bargaining.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she dropped the book to the chair. “You still have my napkin.”
“I do. Paper burns easily, however.” He pecked her on the forehead. “Okay. Deal. I’ll go get Naomi—”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, Elizaveta. I’ll go.”
“Bring Max.”
He slapped his hand over his heart. “Don’t believe I can do it?”
“Oh, you can. But I’d really like someone to get a punch in on Jones, and you’re a gentleman.”
He was hardly that after this weekend. When this woman lay in his arms—nude every night—he’d had to hold back the savage parts that wanted to slam into her over and over every other hour. He’d had to go slow, gentle, careful when he wanted nothing but to unleash his pent-up
lust.
He grinned down at her. “No one’s punching anyone. Oh, and about the moving in thing?”
“Pushing me?” She peeked up through her lashes.
“Seducing you. Now, hungry? You should eat before we go in tonight.”
“I can’t eat now.” She stepped over to his bookshelf and slipped the book back into its place.
He gave her a side-eye when she faced him.
“Okay, a salad.”
“Good. Then we’ll talk about a move-in date.”
She didn’t object, just headed to the kitchen with an amused, “Tsk.”
So, she wasn’t the only one who could bring surprises. And as for pushing her? He might have to start to—just a little.
46
Declan pulled into Shakedown’s parking lot, yanking his car into ‘Park.’ Something wasn’t right with Phee’s car. It sat in the same place but appeared lopsided. She saw it right away, too.
She yanked open her car door and hoofed it over to Allegra. She placed her hand on the hood and bent over to get a look at the slashed tire. All four of them were slashed despite the fact they’d left it under a bright spotlight with cameras trained on every square inch of the lot. Not to mention the gate locked the lot behind tall fencing if the club was closed.
Max and Trick jumped out of the side exit so fast, Declan’s heart nearly stopped in his chest.
“We got ‘em on the security feed,” Max shouted as he lumbered over. “Two guys, sweatshirts with hoods pulled down.”
“Call the cops yet?” Not that calling law enforcement would do a damned thing.
Max crossed his arms. “No, thought you’d want to do it—or not. Because here’s the thing. The guys knew where the cameras were. They kept their faces turned away the whole time.”
Trick’s eyes trained on his. “Could have been done by anyone.”
“But it wasn’t just anyone, was it?” Max growled.
“Ruark is out, but he got picked up by Carragh. It’s only been about 24 hours. Can’t be him.” Trick shrugged when Declan swung his gaze to him. “I got word.”
Tough Break (The Shakedown Series Book 2) Page 19