by Nia Arthurs
Still I push on. “So you found a knife in the dumpster. It doesn’t mean the knife is meant for me. Did you find a note or something?”
My voice cracks on the word ‘note’.
Tell the truth and shame the devil.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Scrub the message from my mind.
“No.” His gaze softens. “I could be blowing this out of proportion. I hope to God I am. But I don’t want to take that chance. Not with you.”
Not with you.
Damn.
He’s being sweet and caring because someone might be trying to kill me.
Not because he wants me close. Under the same roof. The distance between our bedrooms about five steps apart.
He folds his arms over his wide chest. “I think we should tell Evan.”
“Not yet.”
“But—”
I slant him a don’t go there look. “It’s my life. I’ll tell my brother when I’m ready.”
He holds my stare.
I don’t back down.
Troy blinks and grinds out, “Fine.”
He’s not happy about it, but I don’t care. This is a game of strategy and I’m aiming for self-preservation. If Evan finds out, he’ll tell Mom and then they’ll both be breathing down my neck. At that point, I’d rather be stabbed by whoever’s stalking me.
“We’ll keep it quiet for now. Hopefully, having you close by will be...”
“Safer?”
“Smarter.” He arches both eyebrows don’t argue with me.
Too bad.
I love arguing.
“I still have to go to work. The gym. The grocery store. If someone’s after me, moving won’t stop them.”
“It’s better than doing nothing.”
“You can’t be with me twenty-four-seven. Even if you tried, you’d drive me crazy.” Because I’d want to touch him and kiss him and other things a matchmaker shouldn’t dream of doing to her client.
His lip twitches, but Troy doesn’t smile. “Suck it up. That’s the only way you’ll get what you want from me.”
“My promotion.”
He nods.
“So...” I tap my blue nails on the table. “You’ll really agree to the matchmaking?”
He shrugs. “Thought that would sweeten the deal.”
“Good call.”
“I’m not saying I’ll get married.”
“Still time to change your mind.”
“We’ll see.” He frowns. He’s back to ‘Broody Troy’. The ‘Me Against The World’ Troy.
Hesitantly, I put my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry about Brook.”
“It’s fine.”
“As someone who also uses that term when it doesn’t apply, I call BS.”
He smiles.
Brown eyes lock on where my fingers rest on top of his wrist.
I look there too.
His hand is almost twice the size of mine with slender fingers—today, free of paint. I’m used to men with blunt hands, but Troy’s are neat, slim, almost pretty. As captivating as the artwork they create.
Against his pale fingers, the red undertones in my skin are especially pronounced.
It’s weird.
In the best way.
“Are you really okay?”
“Are you asking as a matchmaker or a friend?” he rumbles.
“Both. I won’t be able to make a match if you’re hung up on your ex.”
His eyes meet mine. “I don’t have feelings for Brook.”
My breath hitches.
There’s something…
His eyes…
It’s so intense.
My fingers dig under his so I’m half-holding his hand.
He doesn’t pull back.
My pulse picks up.
Relax, Venus.
I’m touching him as a friend.
Just a friend.
That’s all.
“If you ever need to talk…”
“I know who to call. Yeah.”
“And I’ll be right down the hall.” I ease my hand back. Wrap it around my coffee cup.
Already, I miss touching him.
Arranging Troy’s love life was a tricky concept before. Now that I’m considering living with him…
The challenge multiplied.
But I can totally do this.
Troy’s like Channing Tatum or Idris Elba. An untouchable celebrity who’s suddenly within reach. If Channing Tatum showed up at my door tomorrow, I’d faint and fan-girl, but that doesn’t mean we’re ever going to happen.
“Brace yourself. I’m good at what I do.” My voice returns to its usual, confident tone.
“Hopefully, not too good,” he mumbles.
“Having regrets already?”
“Just wondering if offering myself up on a platter was necessary. Your safety is enough of a reason to move in.”
It’s not.
I know three things for sure—I’m a damn good matchmaker; Mom’s rice and beans are the best in the world; and Troy Maddox is my biggest weakness.
The possibility of slipping into his room and jumping him just increased by three hundred percent.
Alone, it’s not worth the risk.
Not for something as vague as a note and a random knife in a trash can.
I tilt my head.
A week’s enough time to figure out who’s behind this.
I can keep my hands to myself for five days.
I smile. “First, we need to do a consultation. Just to update the info you gave years ago when you first joined the database.”
“No problem. I’ll schedule an appointment.” He rises to his full height.
I tip my chin up to look at him. “Are you leaving?”
“I have to meet the movers at the studio.” He nods to my cup. “But first, I’m walking you back to work.”
My heart jumps.
I shush it back to submission.
I’m moving in to Troy’s house, not his bed.
If I slip up, I’ll have to face more than my brother’s wrath.
I could lose my job.
And that… is a risk I refuse to take.
Eleven
Troy
Green, red and yellow peppers fall into the frying pan. I push the spoon around, mixing the peppers with the sliced onions. The vegetables hiss as the oil bubbles. I tilt the package of cubed chicken. Breast meat tumbles into the pan.
A door opens.
Footsteps thud. “Smells great.”
Venus glides toward me in a tank top and tiny red shorts.
She’s clothed, but she might as well be wearing nothing.
Or maybe the truth is it doesn’t matter what she’s wearing. My body reacts to her as if she’s fully naked anyway.
The air in the room thickens.
My eyes zip to the legs on full display. They’re long. Dark. Perfect.
She rakes slender fingers through her curls, flicking water as she lifts the ends and tosses it back down.
Her hair is dripping wet.
Water slides down her neck to her shoulders.
She looks relaxed. At home.
Typical Venus.
She steps into a room and makes it her own, no matter where she is.
Even now, without makeup and those gorgeous brown lips bare, she commands my attention.
Damn. She’s so beautiful.
Too beautiful.
My pulse hammers in my veins.
I force my gaze on the pan. Shove back the desire careening through my head.
She’s Evan’s kid sister.
She’s like family.
I can’t…
“What are you making?” She draws closer. Stops beside me in front of the stove. Peers over my shoulder.
The scent of her unfurls like a flower in bloom.
Her chest brushes my back.
A long curl falls against her cheek.
My heart thuds.
That tank top is too freaking low cut.
; “Thanks.” I swallow.
She inhales deeply and then steps back. “Your shower’s awesome by the way. From now on, I’m using yours instead of the one in the guest room.”
I shoot her a really look.
Venus hops on the counter. “Yes, really. Don’t be stingy. I’m a guest.”
“I don’t want you traipsing in and out of my bedroom,” I grumble.
She grins mischievously. “Why? Afraid I might see something I shouldn’t?”
I grunt.
“What’s that?” She cups a hand to her ear.
I grunt again.
“Any proper objections? I don’t speak in mono-syllables.”
“My privacy.”
“Was subject to invasion when you asked me to stay here.”
I set the spoon down. Turn to her. Press one hand on the counter next to her leg. “Don’t use my bathroom.”
“Is there a dead body in there?”
“Venus…”
“Because if it’s just your body you’re trying to protect—”
“What?”
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Is that so?” I smirk.
“Um...” Her gaze falls to my pants. Her eyes darken. She bites down on her bottom lip. “Not that I’ve seen your—it’s… I mean… I’m just saying.”
“That you’ve seen one before.”
“Right.”
I laugh.
She’s usually so in control and that mouth of hers… it can get very dirty. Venus is many things but ‘shy’ is not one of them. Seeing her so baffled, it’s adorable.
And thinking that I’m the one putting that extra red in her brown cheeks…
I lift my hand from the counter before I slip it between her legs and give her something to be coy about. Forcing my attention on the slightly burning chicken, I add some sauce and stir.
“Need any help?” Venus asks.
I peer at her from the corner of my eye. “Not sure if I can trust you.”
“Hey,” she plants her hands on her hips, “just because you were mom’s prodigy in the kitchen doesn’t mean I’m a failure.”
“It kind of does.”
She makes a fist. “My skills were too evolved for anyone to understand.”
“Another way to say you can’t follow a recipe to save your life.”
“Rules are boring.”
“They keep things in check.” Like feelings I shouldn’t have. “They keep you safe.”
“Safe is boring.”
“Not when your life’s being threatened.”
“Like mine is?”
“Yeah.”
She frowns. “Give me something to do.”
“You can shred the lettuce.”
Venus scoffs that’s beneath me.
I shrug take it or leave it.
With another loud sigh, she stalks to the lettuce and peels off the leaves.
I grab the flour tortillas I bought from the store and set them on the table, assessing her work as I pass by. “Not bad.”
“That sounds like you expected me to mess up.”
“Somewhat.”
She grips a fistful of lettuce in both hands. “I’m seriously offended by your lack of faith in me.”
“Not you. Just your cooking.”
“Whatever. At least I’m pretty.” She flutters her eyelashes.
“Can’t eat pretty.”
A lettuce comes charging at me.
“Shut up, Troy.”
I chuckle.
“Anything else?” she asks, pushing the lettuce away.
“Drinks?”
“Water. I’m on a cleanse.”
“For what?”
“My diet. I’m trying to slim down.”
“You?” I eye her. The woman is trim and thick in all the right places. “What part of you needs to change?”
“My thighs are hippos.” She slaps the limb in question.
I narrow my eyes. “That a joke?”
“Look at a hippo.” She lunges her leg. “And look at this.”
I could wrap one hand around those thighs and the fingers wouldn’t connect, yes. But that’s exactly how I like it.
She looks nothing like a hippo.
“I see that look.” She traces an invisible circle towards my face. “But I’m not asking for your opinion. Just tell me what you want.”
You. “A beer.”
She nods and grabs the drinks from the fridge.
I set the plate of warmed tortillas on the table. “You know you’re beautiful.”
Venus freezes.
She’s bent over the silverware drawer. A moment ago, she was rummaging through the forks and spoons, the metal clinking together as she haphazardly parted them.
The silence is telling.
I walk up to her. “You’re stunning.” Quietly. “There’s nothing you need to change.”
I see her back stiffening.
The little pulse in her throat.
Shuttered breaths.
Reaching over her, I select a spoon.
My arm brushes her side. Pulling back slowly, I flip the spoon in the air and catch it.
Venus straightens, her expression strained. In a blink, it’s gone and she’s smiling. “Flattery will get you nowhere. I won’t go easy on your cooking.”
“Here I thought I was being slick.”
Her laugh fills the room, pulling color into the air.
I can’t help the grin that climbs my face in response. It’s so good to see her smile. To make her smile. “Let’s eat.”
We bring everything to the table and dig in.
Fajitas are messy. Not exactly romantic when beans squirt everywhere and fingers get sticky with guac.
Having dinner with Venus reminds me of the good old days, back when Papi was alive and Evan dragged me to his place for good food and even better company.
“Mmm.” Venus groans as she chews another bite. “I’m saying this from a purely professional standpoint.”
I arch an eyebrow.
She pats her stomach. “We’re definitely stressing the fact that you can cook to your future dates.”
Dating someone else is the last thing I want to talk about right now.
Which is odd.
That’s a stipulation of Venus’s stay here.
I wipe my fingers on a napkin. Focus on the more important matter. “Let’s talk about that stalker. Do you have any enemies? Anyone who’d want to do you harm?”
“Trying to change the subject?”
I shrug. “I’ve been thinking—”
“Oh Lord.”
I shoot her a dark look. “Ex-boyfriends are the first suspects in investigations for a reason. Can I get a list?”
“Can I get a list of your hopes and dreams first? Oh, and your deepest fears. Throw in your favorite positions in the bedroom and we’ll be good to go.”
I smirk. “We could take a look at disgruntled clients. Maybe someone whose match didn’t work out?”
“I’d also like a pee sample.” She taps her chin. “Just to make sure you’re clean.”
I stare at her.
She blinks innocently.
I laugh. “Fine. We can talk about it another time.”
“No, I’m serious about that pee sample.”
“Can we not discuss urine when we’re eating?”
Venus snorts.
I pick up the fajitas with my hands, trying to eat around my smile.
Dinner with Venus is the highlight of my day.
Having coffee with Venus was a close second.
Every moment in her company is like edging up to sunshine on a cold day.
I love the sound of her laughter. The way she eats like food is going out of style. The way she moans with pleasure…
Damn. That moan—
Bringing her home was a selfish decision.
Knowing she’s here, safe and sound, is for my peace of mind more than hers.
I couldn’t sleep las
t night thinking her stalker would graduate from simply staring at her door to trying to break in.
Tonight, I won’t be able to sleep knowing she’s just a door down from me.
But that’s a struggle I’ll gladly live with.
“Ah,” Venus leans back and pats her stomach, “that was good.”
“Thanks.” The compliment warms me.
Growing up, gratitude was a foreign concept.
I took care of Mom, paid the bills and took care of the house. All I got for my troubles was scorn and a couple bruises from her string of ‘boyfriends’—fellow meth heads who needed a trailer to crash in.
“No wonder you’re Mom’s favorite,” Venus mumbles, dragging my thoughts back to her.
I point to the television. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Pride and Prejudice?” She beams.
“I was more thinking Deadpool.”
Venus makes a face. “I’ll compromise. We can watch the Colin Firth version.”
“How is that a compromise? It’s still Pride and Prejudice.”
“Yeah, but it has undertones of sexual tension.”
“Wow.”
She smirks.
I just shake my head.
I see her love for classical literature hasn’t died.
Pride and Prejudice was her favorite eight years ago too.
“V, the Colin Firth version is six hours.”
“You can’t handle it?”
I chuckle. I’m a night-owl.
She’s the one used to falling asleep at eight on the dot.
“It’s you I’m worried about. It’s pretty late.”
It took a while for her to pack.
Not that I expected any less given her obsession with clothes and shoes.
Venus’s suitcases filled the trunk of my car and my backseat.
“So?” She rushes to the living room. “It’s Colin Firth. It’s worth it even if I have to tape my eyelids open.”
“Such devotion.”
She shrugs of course.
I clean up the kitchen and head to the living room with my tablet, hoping to get some work done while the characters on screen talk in polite English and cast longing glances at each other for six hours straight.
Venus sneers at my workstation and grabs it from my hands. “Oh no. Mr. Darcy is worth your full attention.”
“Sounds like torture.”
She pokes a finger in my side. “Secretly, you love it.”
I glance at the time. It’s almost midnight. “I bet you won’t be able to get through this movie, V.”
“You really want to make that bet?”
