Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2)

by Evie Mitchell

  “Fine!” I squeaked, lying through my teeth. “Just going to shower.”

  There was a beat of silence before Luc answered. “Okay… We’ll talk after.”

  I showered, shaved, and washed my hair three times. I spent fifteen minutes wrapped in a towel, as I decided whether to leave the safety of the bathroom. Finally ready, I exited, returning to the bedroom to dress. I found Luc in the kitchen cooking.

  “Hey.” He set the tongs aside, flipping a dishtowel over his shoulder as he leaned across the laminate breakfast counter to greet me with a kiss. “Okay?”

  I returned the kiss, then slid onto one of his chipped bar stools. “Sure.”

  One of the things I liked most about Luc was his willingness to tackle a project. He wasn’t afraid of hard work or getting his hands dirty.

  Mm. Luc’s hands.

  The kitchen was old, run down, and in need of a complete overhaul. The house had been a wreck, worn and worried from years of neglect by a hoarder. Luc was slowly bringing it back to life, turning it into a home that reflected his personality.

  “When are you redoing the kitchen?” I took the offered mug, my stomach rumbling as the bacon sizzled in the pan.

  “I’m taking a week in September. Gonna smash out the removal and build the cabinets. The benchtops will be longer because they’re stone.”

  I ran my hand over the cracked lime green laminate. “You should do a wood feature for this island. Or maybe concrete. If you’re keeping it.”

  “Good idea. I’ll show you the plans once mum sends them through.”

  “She’s an architect, right?”

  “Uh-huh. Mostly commercial, but she can’t help herself. I haven’t actually asked her to help, but I mentioned the reno at our last dinner, and I can guarantee some will appear in my inbox in the next month.”

  I chuckled. He slid bread into his four-piece toaster, then removed the skillet from the flame, turning off the stove and sliding the bacon and eggs onto a folded paper towel. He busied himself hustling around, buttering the toast, and dividing the food before sliding it before me.

  “Bon appétit,” he said with perfect pronunciation, settling onto the stool beside me.

  “I met your sisters at your housewarming. I know they speak French. Do you?”

  He scooped up a piece of toast, pushing egg onto it with his fork. “I speak what can be loosely termed Fren-lish. I’m fluent-ish. Mum is French so she taught us. I have long since learnt that my sisters are better than me in all things.”

  I grinned at his self-deprecation. “How did your parents meet?”

  “She and dad met while he was over working in the embassy. He’s a career diplomat. They met, fell in love, got married, he came back to Australia when his posting ended, she followed. They settled− I use that term lightly −in Canberra. Really, they had us, then moved around the globe for a few years taking different posting opportunities. I speak about eight languages, none of them well.” He grinned, the edges of his eyes crinkling as he bit into the toast.

  I propped my chin in my hand as I watched him eat. “That must have been fascinating, and hard.”

  He shrugged. “Probably why I went into the military. I was used to moving.”

  “But you didn’t stay in the military. And now you’re here.” I waved my free hand to encompass the room.

  “Elliot Securities offered me a job and stability. My sisters were having kids. My parents are semi-retired. It was time to come home.”

  “You don’t advertise your ownership stake.”

  He paused, hand halfway to his mouth. “How did you…?” He laughed. “You found the files.”

  I shrugged. “It’s my job.”

  “You’re a threat.” He dropped his fork, running a hand through his hair. “When Pax took over, Elliot Securities had a great rep, but the model was outdated. His dad didn’t have the know-how to take it from physical security to protecting against all threats. When we introduced the cyber side, he decided it was time to retire. Cyber required capital the business didn’t have. We needed to find clients, do advertising, recruit. Not to mention building the infrastructure. The banks were okay to a point, but I had the money and the time so….” He shrugged.

  “So, you invested and came on as a silent partner.”

  “I get the benefits without the hassles,” he admitted. “Eat your breakfast.”

  I scooped up some egg, munching as I let my mind wander. He pushed his plate back, reaching for his coffee mug. He considered me over the rim.

  “You going to tell me what this morning was about? I’d been gearing up for sexy shower time, and you shut down.”

  I ducked my head, the blush immediate. “Sorry.”

  He nudged me. “Don’t be. Everything we do is at your pace. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

  I shoved bacon in my mouth, buying myself some time. “It’s been a while since I had any positive interactions with a family.”

  He turned on the stool, leaning his elbows back against the bench. “Explain.”

  I blew out a breath, pushing a strip of bacon with my fork. Sighing, I tried to explain my apprehension. “I’ve met some of your sisters. But it’s different now. We’re together. I want to make a good impression. But I don’t know how families work. Mine took a neither seen nor heard approach. When I was allowed to be seen, it was unhealthy. I interacted with my siblings, but we were like prisoners. We danced around issues, fearful of doing the wrong thing. We were surviving despite our family, not thriving in it.”

  I glanced over.

  “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I can just tell them you aren’t close to your family. Mine will smother you with love instead, I promise.”

  I frowned. “But it’s so much bigger than that. And I want them to see me as a good catch.”

  “You’re not a good catch, Em. You’re the only one. It’s obvious you love me and I love you. That’s all they care about.” He picked up his plate, reaching for mine. “You done?”

  He acted as if he hadn’t dropped a bomb, completely detonating my world. He took the plate, scraping both before putting them in the ancient dishwasher.

  “Let me clean this up and we can go,” he said over his shoulder, hitting the tap to fill the sink with hot water.

  I sat on a bar stool. I sat on a bar stool in Luc’s kitchen staring at his back. I sat on a bar stool in Luc’s kitchen staring at his back after he told me he loved me.

  Luc.

  Loved.

  Me.

  As he reached for the skillet I whispered, “I love you too.”

  He froze, head turning. “Keys.”

  “And I know you love me,” I told him as he started back around the island, coming to me. “You’ve proved it since–”

  His mouth crashed down on mine. I clung to him as he pulled me up, hands burying in my hair.

  He drew back, his eyes beautiful, staring at me. “I love you. So. Fucking. Much.”

  Our lips met again, my arms wrapping around him as he pulled me into his chest. Slowly, we withdrew.

  “Groceries?” I asked softly.

  “Later.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Emmie

  Dinner was a revelation. After a session that involved a barstool, a tea towel, and chocolate sauce, we made it to the shops for supplies.

  We’d made potato and leek soup with fresh bread, roast chicken and vegetables, and chocolate lava cake for dessert. We also had wine and cheese for the adults, and a bunch of fun dinner options, like feet shaped chicken nuggets, for the kids.

  The only word for it was chaos. As his sisters arrived, Luc pulled out a toy box, dumped it on the floor and let the kids go crazy. I’d been handed a baby within minutes as his sister, Sophia, rolled her eyes and took me under her wing, explaining, “Mother will want to know only two things. One, if you love my brother, and two, if you want kids. If it’s yes to at least one, you’re fine.”

  Lucky for me, it was.
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br />   I rocked the sleepy baby, her sweet smell making my ovaries weep as the older kids were sent off to watch a movie Luc’s dad had turned on. We’d made it through the predinner drinks, transitioned to the soup, and were now waiting for Luc to serve the main.

  Luc’s five sisters were hilarious. Adele was the oldest and married to John; they had three girls aged between ten and four. Bridget was next oldest. She was married to Daniel; they had two girls, six and four. Dominque was the middle child and married to Steve, who’d handed me six-month-old Pepper with a yawn. Sophia and her husband Phil, and Eloise who was single, rounded out the family. And Luc, of course. Or as they called him, Lucy.

  I hid a smile as Dominique broke into fluent French, agitated by something her mother, Cecile, had said. Her hands flicked about in protest as her mother retorted in French. Roger, Luc’s dad, gave me a wink across the table.

  “Ignore them. They do this.”

  I offered a smile, still rocking the baby gently.

  “You know, you’re handling this better than me. And I only had the core family to deal with,” John said from his seat next to me. He reached across the table, snatching a water jug to top me up.

  “Thanks.” I picked up the glass, careful not to jostle Pepper. I tilted my cup to encompass the table. “I like it.”

  He chuckled. “They’re all as crazy as each other.” He looked over at his wife, his face a picture of contentment. “It’s why we love them.”

  Cecile bounced about, a bundle of energy, running after the children, drawing plans for Luc’s remodel, pestering Sophia about grandbabies and Eloise about finding a partner. I enjoyed watching the dynamic between Luc, as the only boy and youngest, and his family.

  He was obviously the apple of their collective eyes. They ruffled his hair, showered him with hugs, drew him in to every conversation. Love. So much damn love.

  “All the grandkids are girls,” I said, later that night as we washed whatever hadn’t fit in the dishwasher. We’d waved off his family with hugs and promises that I would attend the next dinner.

  “Yeah. We’re male-poor on Mum’s side. It’s why dad took her last name.”

  I leaned my good hip against his counter, absently drying a glass. “I didn’t know that.”

  “His side has thirteen boys. He felt it was his duty to carry on the Falco name. Mum is one of three girls. No males on any branch of that tree.”

  “So, you’re the miracle?”

  He laughed. “The averages were with me. Mum was determined to keep trying until there was at least one.”

  “How did they take your service?” I asked, reaching up to put away the glass. I turned back, taking the plate he held out for me. His forearms were covered in suds.

  He dropped his head, looking at the dish as he scrubbed it, taking his time to answer. “Not great. I didn’t tell them until the day before I was due for training. Mum broke things. Dad took a long walk. My sisters were in hysterics. You’d think I was dying the way they carried on.”

  I put the plate to the side. “Then why did you?”

  “I’m not a diplomat like dad. Or an architect like mum. And all the good jobs were taken by my sisters. I wanted to work out who I was without them hovering. It seemed like a good solution.”

  “Was it?”

  He finished washing the plate, handed it to me and started on the next. In silence, we tidied our way through two more plates before he answered. “You know, I think it was. All things considered.”

  He pulled the plug, draining the sink. I finished drying the last of the cutlery, then handed him the towel. He dried his hands as I put away the remaining items, waiting for him to continue.

  “It was shit, you know? War zones are fucked up. We lost friends, men I considered brothers. People talk about how hard it is to adjust when you get home, or when you leave the service. But it’s only when you experience it yourself that you understand. I got friends who I counted on to save my life. They came home so broken they struggle to leave the house.”

  He turned, walking into the lounge, pulling me along with him. We sat, me beside him, his legs propped on the coffee table, one arm stretched across the back of the couch.

  “I’m glad I did it. I served my country, I looked after my brothers, and I did a good job. I came home a different person and that’s what I wanted. I wanted to test myself, and I found I like who I am.” He shrugged, his mouth pulling up into a wry smile. “I guess we all have our reasons for doing crazy shit.”

  My lips curved. “Crazy or brave?”

  “They’re exclusive?” His deliciously warm body inched closer to mine.

  “Bed?” I asked, my lips now inches from his.

  “No.” He curled an arm around my back, pulling me into him. “I’m going to fuck you right here.”

  Yes. Please.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Emmie

  Monday afternoon saw me struggling not to punch my computer screen. Yet again I was testing the code we’d pulled from the West Investment accounts. I should have finished my report days ago. By now, I knew the way it interacted, could predict how it would move and targeted accounts. The program wasn’t sophisticated, but that damn niggle in my gut wouldn’t budge.

  “Okay, explain it to me again,” Sawyer requested. We were both huddled over a FLEA, as I showed him the way the program manipulated the accounts.

  “I can’t work it out. There’s just something not right.” I ran hands through my hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “This is doing my head in.”

  He watched as the program pulled minuscule amounts of money and transferred them into a newly created account. “The amounts are random.”

  “I know.” I blew out another breath. “The program itself is straightforward. The amounts are randomized and mimic fees to ensure they won’t flag as fraudulent. But there’s… something. Something that isn’t quite right.”

  Sawyer’s leg jiggled as he tapped fingers rhythmically against the desk.

  “Maybe I’m just crazy.” I huffed out a laugh. “I’m probably seeing ghosts where none exist.”

  “What if it’s not the program itself, but the way it reacts that’s the issue?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He tapped the monitor. “This is old code. Like, really ridiculously old. West Investments deserve to have their systems taken out the back and shot. It’s a wonder they’re not riddled with these kind of issues. Their CIO doesn’t deserve the title.”

  “They didn’t have a chief information officer. That’s how they got into this mess,” I pointed out.

  “If businesses these days…” Sawyer was on a roll, ranting about cybercriminals, organised crime, how privacy is a social construct that one must earn not give away. I tuned him out, having heard it all before.

  Finally, Sawyer wound down. “And that’s why the Illuminati are Ravenclaws.” He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest in finality.

  I waited, sipping my tea. He didn’t disappoint. Shaking his blond mane, stretching his neck, Sawyer finally leaned towards the computer, reaching for the mouse. “Okay, where were we?”

  “The code is old,” I offered.

  “Right.” He reached for my mug, taking it and sipping the lukewarm brew. I wrinkled my nose, but he ignored me, eyes firmly on the screen.

  “Old code…,” he muttered to himself, drumming fingers on the desk.

  A pleasant shiver ran down my back. I glanced over my shoulder, smiling as I caught Luc watching me. Today he’d dressed in a sharp navy suit complete with silver-grey tie. He’d combed his hair back, but a chunk had fallen across his forehead.

  I’d sat on the bathtub that morning, watching as he’d trimmed his beard. As much as my heart had hurt watching him remove it, the scruff he’d left behind was devilishly handsome.

  He’d done this in preparation of a client meeting. Pax had also attended. I’d spotted them before they left, smartly dressed, game faces on. Whoever the client was, they were big.


  Luc pushed off the wall, coming to me. One hand on the back of my chair, the other tangling in my hair, he bent, lips meeting mine in a hungry kiss. We were being obnoxiously happy. Desire and the knowledge that we burned together beautifully, sparked the sexual tension. This was the first time I’d seen him today. It was an unacceptable amount of time.

  I tried to draw back, but Luc’s mouth chased mine. A cough interrupted our make-out session. We both turned, heads pressed together, to look at Sawyer. His eyes were firmly on the computer screen.

  “Just putting it out there,” he commented, mouse clicking. “There is a bed upstairs.”

  The blush burned away desire, leaving embarrassment in its place. I started to withdraw, but Luc stopped my retreat.

  “Dude. Uncool.” His hand slid forward, thumb tracing the curve of my cheek. “But thanks for the idea.”

  Luc pulled back, capturing my hand in his. He pulled me up, leading me toward the door. Such was his gravitational pull that I didn’t think to question where he led. Sawyer, however, appeared immune to Luc’s charms.

  “Where are you taking her?” he yelled, seat swivelling to watch us.

  “Home. We’ll see you tomorrow!” Luc called over his shoulder.

  “But… work!” Sawyer snapped.

  “We’re doing a performance review!” Sawyer’s reply was cut off by the door shutting. At the elevators, Luc pressed the down button. He tapped his foot impatiently, hand squeezing mine.

  “Luc–”

  The elevator slid open, and he led me in. As the doors began closing, Luc crowded in, backing me into the lift wall. His hands came up, one tangling in my hair, the other caressing my breast. I groaned under his kiss, my needy, wanton body pressing closer.

  Luc, I’d learned, enjoyed being in control. He loved diving his hands in my hair, directing my mouth this way or that. Holding me still as he plundered my mouth, feasting on the sensitive zones of my neck.

  As the elevator descended, our hands danced, a battle to see who would surrender first. Whose desperation was such that they could no longer stand not being skin-to-skin. The doors slid open in the thankfully empty carpark.