It was the first time Imogene and I had ever come face to face. She was even more beautiful up close, and I continued to struggle to breathe. My body had gone on high alert, spreading goosebumps over my skin, and my dick sprung to attention.
My eyes finally broke from hers to take in the rest of Imogene. She was sitting cross-legged on the bench, a sketchbook in her lap and a pencil in her hand. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt that came to her knees and dipped off one shoulder. Despite the shapelessness, it didn’t disguise her long, lithe body, particularly with her legs in legging type pants that hugged her like a second skin. They must have been a light brown or peach color because in the dark, with only the moon and street lamps illuminating the area, her legs looked bare.
I frowned and glared at the leggings. Any red-blooded man would take one look at those and picture them wrapped around his waist. Yeah. That shit wasn’t going to fly with me. Those were going right in the trash once I got her home. Their days were numbered.
“Pardon?” Her voice was low and husky, washing over me, leaving my nerve endings tingling. When I lifted my eyes to her face, she was watching me expectantly. It took me a beat, but then I realized I must have said that last thought out loud.
“Nothing, beautiful,” I told her with a small shake of my head.
She cocked her head to the side, and her shoulder-length, light brown curls bounced. “Um, okay.” Her face was scrubbed free of makeup, and pink lips were flanked by dimples that I itched to explore with my tongue. She looked so young and innocent. I’d even wondered that maybe I was dooming myself to my brother’s shoes. Not that it would have altered my course of action. Just delayed things a bit. But once I had her name, I quickly discovered that she was nineteen; to my cock’s utter relief. The last two months had been sheer hell. I had no idea how my brother had held out for two years. Maybe it should have given me pause that I was fifteen years older than her, but I didn’t give a fuck. She was mine.
There wasn’t much more information on her. No address or phone number. She had no social media presence, and the only mention I found of her name was the obituary of an Imogene Delaney from Queens who’d died a few months ago. I’d hired a private investigator, but since there wasn’t anything he could tell me that would change my mind about Imogene, I let him go after he gave me the basics about her.
I took a step closer, and she shut her sketch pad, holding it close to her chest. “May I sit?” I asked softly. I didn’t want to spook her and send her running—not now that I finally had her attention.
She nodded, and I lowered my big frame onto the small bench. I took up most of the space, so she scooted over to make a little more room for me.
“My name is Thatcher.” I smiled warmly, and she hesitantly returned the gesture. She looked nervous, but there was no fear in her eyes. Was she as comfortable with me as I was with her? Did she feel what was between us? She had to. There was no fucking way this was one-sided.
“Imogene,” she responded. I kept the fact that I already knew her name to myself.
“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” Even in the dim lighting, I was able to see the sprinkling of pink on her cheeks as she blushed.
I forced myself to tear my eyes away from her for a few minutes. My feelings for her were so intense that I wanted to ease her in, make her fall for me before she discovered the true depths of my obsession with her. That’s when I noticed the portfolio propped on the seat next to her. I gestured to it and asked, “Will you show me some of your work? I’ve seen your displays, but I’ve never studied them up close. From what I can tell, you’re incredibly talented.”
Imogene’s expression turned shy even as she beamed at me, lighting up the night more than the moon or stars ever could. She set her notebook on the bench between us and twisted to pick up her big, black folder.
A soft breeze blew in off the bay and fluttered the flimsy cover of the sketch pad. Imogene was just straightening up with a few papers in her hands when another, stronger wind blew the notebook open completely. She gasped, and my eyes locked on the detailed pencil drawing on the paper. It was me.
Imogene dropped the other pieces of art, and they slid to the ground as she scrambled to grab the sketch pad. I snatched it up before she could get to it and quickly thumbed through the pages. They were filled with drawings in pencil, charcoal, or oil pastels. There were also oil paintings and watercolors. There had to have been over sixty pictures, and they all had one thing in common. Me.
The realization that she couldn’t stop thinking of me, to the point where she’d drawn my likeness dozens and dozens of times, had my heart throwing a fucking party in my chest. My dick was also eager to join the celebration, and I had to hold the pad over my lap while adjusting myself.
“Please give that back, Thatcher,” she pleaded. I lifted my gaze and was startled by the distress on her face. Her whiskey eyes were churning with anxiety and fear. “I’m sorry. You just have such a beautiful face.” Her hands moved wildly, gesturing as she rambled. “I swear, I’m not a crazy stalker.” I almost burst into laughter at that but succeeded in muffling it and disguising it with a cough. She had no idea what a crazy stalker looked like.
That thought was like a splash of cold water, and the reality of where we were and what time it was suddenly sunk in. “Are you out of your mind?” I barked. Imogene reared back in shock, and I immediately regretted my tone. But all of the worst-case scenarios of a young woman in a park at night were playing out in my head, and the fear of what could have happened to her was manifesting itself in a ball of rage.
Imogene quickly seized the notebook from my hands and shoved it in her portfolio. Her feet brushed the fallen papers when she leaned over, and I bent down to pick them up for her. That’s when I spotted the beat-up duffle bag tucked in underneath the bench.
I closed my eyes and tried to breathe steadily. That couldn’t be what I thought it was, right? No way had I missed this. I opened my eyes again and stared at the bag. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew it was true. All that anger did a one-eighty and was fully unleashed on myself.
I’d spent the last two months preparing the perfect home for Imogene, and during all that time she’d been living out of a duffle bag on the New York City streets.
“Fuck!” I growled harshly. I was going to fucking kill the PI I’d hired to dig into her. It never occurred to the asshole that she didn’t have an address because she was fucking homeless? I cursed again as I grabbed the bag and shot to my feet, then quickly shoved the rest of the papers into her folder before taking that in the same hand as her bag. I used my unoccupied hand to take hers in a firm grip. Not hard enough to cause her pain but one I knew she couldn’t escape from without a lot of effort. “Let’s go,” I gritted out as I stomped across the grass and bike path until I reached the street.
I contemplated texting my driver, but he would take too long, and since he was also my bodyguard and I’d slipped out on him, he was probably pissed as fuck. I didn’t want to deal with his shit on top of everything with Imogene. Luck was on my side however, because a cab with a lit vacant sign turned the corner right as we reached the curb. I raised our joint hands in the air to flag him down. When I couldn’t extend my arm the whole distance, I glanced down at Imogene and it dawned on me how small she was in comparison to me. She was slender and lean, which made her appear taller until she was next to a behemoth like me.
My brain could only handle so much as I thought about how her little body would feel cradled against mine. Or pressed beneath it. All the emotions churning inside me brought months of pent up desire to the surface. I licked my lips, and my eyes swept over her sexy little body.
My pants were bursting at the seams as my shaft fought the confines of my zipper. It was like my head had passed a note to my cock and gave it a heads up (pun intended) that we would soon be near a bed.
The cab screeched to a stop in front of us, and I took a deep breath, willing my dick to back the fuck off. I turned
and guided Imogene to the back of the cab. As I helped her in, I noticed her downturned head and the slump of her shoulders.
Shit. I knew I needed to smooth things over with her, but I had to get control of myself first.
I gave the driver my address and put the cab number into an app to pay automatically. Then I shot off a quick text to my contractor, instructing them to clear out of the house for the next few days, but continue to bill me. After putting it back in my pocket, I glanced at Imogene just as she turned watery eyes in my direction. “I’m really sorry, Thatcher. Where are you taking me? Please let me go. If I promise not to come anywhere near you from now on, can we just forget this ever happened?” she pleaded.
Forget? That wasn’t possible. There wasn’t one thing about Imogene that wasn’t burned into my mind. She shifted so she was facing me and put her unoccupied hand on my thigh. I stiffened and sucked in a deep breath. My skin burned underneath her touch, and all I wanted was to feel that heat on every inch of me.
“Don’t,” I said through clenched teeth. “I am hanging on by a thread. If you touch me, I’m going to fucking lose it.”
Chapter 4
Thatcher
Imogene’s hand flew back like she’d been burned, which was fitting since my leg felt like it had been singed where she’d touched it. Then she scooted to the far edge of the seat and curled into herself.
The cab driver was tossing suspicious glances at us, and I knew I needed to diffuse the situation quickly. Even though it was unlikely that he could hear anything we were saying, Imogene’s body language was probably sending up alarms.
I expelled a slow breath and pictured Imogene painting in our home. It was soothing and helped to ease my tension.
“Imogene,” I said softly as I reached out to draw my fingertips down her cheek. I wasn’t sure how I’d expected her to react, but I was elated when she instinctively leaned into my touch. “I’m taking you home, sugar.”
Her brows drew down, and her eyes darkened to amber as confusion floated across her face. “I don’t have a home.”
Her words caused an ache in my chest, but I reminded myself that it was all about to get better. “Yes, you do.”
Imogene shook her head in denial. “No. I mean, I did. But then my grandmother died, and they wouldn’t let me stay in her apartment in Queens”—a piece of the puzzle slid into place. Imogene Delaney must have been her grandmother—“and I don’t have a home now.”
“You do,” I insisted. “I’m going to make sure you don’t spend one more fucking night on the streets. You’re coming home with me, sugar.” And sleeping in our bed. But we’d get into that later.
Imogene gasped, gaping at me with disbelief. “I don’t even know you!”
I speared her with an intense stare. “Yes, you do. I know you feel what’s between us, Imogene. You may not have realized it, but you know me.”
Her expression turned less fierce, and there wasn’t much conviction in her tone when she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
If I hadn’t seen her sketches of me, I might’ve had a moment of doubt. But I had, and they’d reinforced my certainty that we were meant to be together. Before she knew what was happening, I’d picked her up and put her on my lap so that she was straddling my legs. “I’ll prove it,” I growled before I cupped her face in my hands and crashed my mouth down over hers.
Imogene stiffened for a half of a second but when the tip of my tongue traced her bottom lip, she sighed and melted right into me. Her exhalation gave me the opening I needed to slide my tongue into her mouth. My body sizzled with need and excitement as I tangled my tongue with hers. My hands delved into her silky curls, and I slanted her head to deepen the angle of the kiss.
She tasted sweet, like cinnamon and sugar, and I was suddenly ravenously hungry. I was on the verge of taking it too far, especially since we were in the back of a taxi. So, I pulled back and pressed her head into my chest, my hands slipping down to rub her back gently. We were both panting, and I could feel her heart racing. “I think I made my point,” I murmured. She made an unintelligible sound, which I chose to take as an affirmative.
My hands rubbed soft circles on her back when I found the courage to voice a question I’d dreaded. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, and it wouldn’t change how I felt about her, but it might lead me to kill someone. “Are you untouched, sugar?”
“Mmmhmm.” She barely acknowledged my question, but it was all I needed. A huge fucking weight lifted from my shoulders.
By the time the car came to a stop, our breathing had evened out, and Imogene was relaxed and snuggled up against me. Not a great situation for trying to keep my cock calm, but I’d never turn down the chance to have her in my arms.
The driver turned around as far as he could in his seat and glared at me. Then he glanced at Imogene. “You okay, lady? Want me to call the cops?”
I rolled my eyes and glanced down at Imogene’s slumped body. I almost laughed when I realized she was fast asleep, but I didn’t want to wake her. She looked so peaceful and completely exhausted. Clearly, her body knew she was safe with me. Her head would catch up soon enough. But what I wanted most was her heart. I wanted her love.
“She’s fine,” I told the cabbie, my tone and expression making it very clear that he should mind his own damn business. He huffed but flipped around and faced the front without another word.
I put one hand on her ass while the other stayed on her back to keep her secure. Then I carefully slid over the bench seat, trying not to jostle her too much. I extended my hand and just barely managed to pull the handle on the door and use my foot to push it open. It took a little creative maneuvering, but I managed to get out of the taxi and to my feet without waking Imogene. She wrapped herself around me and clung like a little monkey, which allowed me to grab her duffel—with her folder already stuffed inside—too.
After dropping her stuff just inside the doorway, getting her into the house and up to the bedroom was much easier. I didn’t bother with the light as I padded across the carpet to the huge bed on the opposite wall. Once I’d drawn down the covers and laid Imogene on the bed, I contemplated my next move. The clothes she was wearing didn’t look terribly uncomfortable, but I was positive she’d sleep better in something else. I also didn’t hate the idea of her sleeping in something of mine.
As quietly as possible, I walked to a long, walnut dresser that sat on the next wall by the door of the large walk-in closet. I slid open the second drawer down on the left and rooted through it until I found what I was looking for. Then I returned to the bed and thought about the files of my most boring clients the whole time I changed her out of her clothes, discarding her leggings and underwear in the trash bin in the bathroom, and dressed her in an old t-shirt from my college football days. It had my name on the back in bold, black letters, which made me grin as I gathered the rest of her clothes and went into the closet.
The townhouse was over a hundred years old and had been on the verge of being condemned when I bought it. I restored as much as possible and gutted the rest. One of the features that remained was a laundry shoot on each floor. On this level, it was located in the master bedroom’s walk-in. I dropped Imogene’s garments into the shoot, then stripped and did the same with mine. I hesitated when I reached for the waistband of my boxers. Generally, I slept naked and didn’t plan on changing that just because Imogene was in my bed. However, I also didn’t want to overwhelm her too much when she woke up beside me our first morning together. So, I kept them on and made a quick trip to the bathroom before crawling into bed. I tugged the soft blue, down comforter up and over us. Imogene sighed and immediately rolled towards me, plastering her body against mine.
She felt so fucking good. I wrapped my arms around her and inhaled deeply, scenting cinnamon and sugar again. This was what I’d been waiting for. This was what my future held. She didn’t realize it yet, but when she fell asleep on me, she had chosen to be mine.
Chapter 5
Thatcher
My eyes opened, and I stared through the relative darkness in my room. There was a storm raging outside, and it hid the morning sun. There was just enough light for me to see that I was either deeply immersed in another dream, or life had finally taken the turn I’d been working towards.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t alone when I woke in the morning. The most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on was curled up in my embrace. I was spooning her small body, and her sweet little ass was wreaking havoc on my morning wood.
Imogene sighed and wiggled back a little farther into me, making me grunt and mutter, “fuck.” Every muscle in her body tensed; she even stopped breathing.
I dipped my head and nibbled on her ear, grinning when she blew out a breath and shivered. “Good morning,” I murmured.
“Um, Thatcher?”
“Hmmm, hearing my name in your raspy morning voice is sexy as hell, baby.” I kissed her neck, and my tongue darted out to taste her skin. A groan escaped my lips at the subtle flavor of cinnamon and sugar. I was convinced she was going to taste that sweet everywhere.
I gently tugged on her ear lobe with my teeth, then let it go as I scooted a few inches away so I could roll her onto her back. Her whiskey orbs were staring up at me with confusion, but there was also a spark of desire.
Quickly, I shifted so I was hovering over her, blanketing her entire body. I pushed her hair away from her neck, and my lips found purchase on the soft skin there. “You taste so fucking delectable,” I muttered before sucking lightly.
The Love Series Box Set: Volume One Page 8