by S. Ann Cole
With a snort, he shifts his gaze to the house, then back to me. “That’s what you want? For me to be nice?”
Blinking up to the sky, I think about it. Then decide, “No. It wouldn’t suit you. But...”
“But?”
“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
“I’m mad at you,” he says bluntly, adding, “And now Monica’s mad at me.”
I sigh. “I understand.”
He takes the plate and places it before me. “Eat something.”
Even though I have no appetite and am mildly nauseous, I sit up and pick up the banana. Better not to rankle the king right now.
“It smelled like cotton candy,” I say as I peel the banana. Adding to clarify, “The blue smoke they threw in the kidnappers’ van.”
“That’s the safe method,” he tells me. “If you weren’t inside, they would’ve used tear gas.”
I stare unseeingly at the banana. “So, bad men are just out there watching and waiting for me, huh?”
“Who’d you tell where you’re staying?”
“No one.”
“You said your stepbrother offered to break you out of there.”
“He did. I figured maybe Daddy told him where I was.”
“So you told your father, then.”
“No.” I frown at him. “Didn’t you?”
He studies me for a beat, then jerks his chin at the banana. “Eat.”
Does he think I’m lying?
As I bite into the banana, he pulls out his phone and begins to tap out a text to someone.
After I’m done with the banana, he points to the apple.
“Bossy bastard,” I mumble before I obediently sink my teeth into it.
I’m only able to eat half the apple. It feels as if my stomach is getting smaller and smaller each day. I drop the half-eaten fruit onto the dish.
Torin eyes it. “Seriously gotta find someone to help you with that.”
Been there, done that. “Good luck.”
“How do you feel?” he asks me.
“Alive.”
“Good.” He straightens, tucks his phone into his pocket, then leans down and scoops me up like a prince.
Reflexively, my arms lock around his neck, and he strides right out the front gate with me.
I feel like I don’t deserve to be in this man’s clean, precious, glorious, overprotective arms. My feet are bare, my clothes are dirtied, I have duct-tape residue on my face and hands, and I smell like cotton candy smoke. All while he smells like confidence and coffee and fresh Sunday afternoon breeze. I want to snuggle under him like he’s a comforter, go to sleep, and never wake up.
He takes me to his jeep that’s parked behind Monica’s, and buckles me in.
“Where are you taking me?” I ask him.
His warm, calloused palm cups one side of my face, his thumb dusting gently across my cheekbone. “Where do you want to go?”
I turn my face into his touch. It’s like a drug, seeping into me and making me floaty. “With you.”
“Okay.”
“Do you still think I’m beautiful?”
“Thought you wanted to be hot.”
“That was last night.” Flirtatiously, I bat my lashes. “Today I want to be beautiful.”
Lips twitching, he sweeps his thumb from my cheek downward, then slowly along my jawline. “You’re always beautiful, Lyra.”
Heartbeat all over the place, skin singing from his touch, I grin.
Shaking his head at me, he steps back and closes the door.
“Oh, wait, my phone,” I say after he’s gotten into the jeep and fired up the engine.
He shifts into reverse anyway. “You’re getting a new one.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause that’s how they found you,” he replies. “You were being tracked.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“So I know I’m not just taking.”
Lyra
TORIN TAKES ME BACK TO HIS place.
As he keys open the door, I exhale a peaceful sigh, because being on his porch feels like coming home from a long, arduous expedition.
This is where I’m supposed to be.
My sigh must have been more expressive than I thought, because he glances over his shoulder at me as he enters the house and asks. “You good?”
I nod, following him in.
“I’ll have your things picked up from Monica’s later,” he tells me. “You can grab something from my room for now. Gonna be in my office for a bit. Need to get on top of this.”
“I thought you were on vacation.”
He gives me a look. “Haven’t been on ‘vacation’ since you got here.”
With a sweet and innocent smile, I ask, “I’m a pain in your ass?”
A semblance of a smile settles on his lips. “You know what you are.”
After a long, heart-fluttering stare, he turns in one direction and I in the other.
On dirty feet, I pad upstairs to his room. Giddy to have permission to it at last. I stop outside the door and press my palm to the wood. How many times have I stood outside this door, ear pressed to the wood, holding my breath so I could hear his.
I turn the knob.
It’s open.
It never is. Except for that one time...
Something delicious unfurls in my belly as I remember... Him sitting at the side of the bed, his hard cock gripped in his fist...
With quiet, tentative steps, I enter the room. And it’s as though he’s left a part of his soul in here, because I can feel him. As strongly as if he were right here, beside me, in front of me, behind me, breathing hotly down my neck.
His bed is unmade. A half-empty tumbler sits on a coaster on his nightstand. Black bed-slippers askew on the floor at his bedside.
With feather-light steps, I wander around his room, letting the tips of my fingers trail over every furniture, every surface, every random item.
Mine, my heart whispers.
One non-date. One clasp of my hand on top of his thigh. One cuddle in bed. One brush of his thumb across my cheek.
Not enough.
But still enough.
He’s mine, mine, mine.
I want it. I need it. I’m willing it. I’m believing it.
This will be my home.
This will be my room.
This is where I’ll surrender to him. Where he’ll claim me and own me and brand me as his.
Inhaling deeply, I let the imminence of it all settle over me.
I want him. I want him. I want him.
He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine.
I TAKE a long shower in his en suite bathroom. Lather with his shower gel and wash my hair with his shampoo.
I borrow a wife-beater and a pair of boxers. My sex tingling at the knowledge that his cock has rested against this same fabric. Unbearably aroused from wearing his undergarments, I climb into his unmade bed, pull the sheets up over me, and press my thighs together. I haven’t masturbated since I was taken. I just haven’t been able to get it done. Even if I started out thinking of moss-green eyes and bronze skin, it always ended up morphing into the faces of all the men who’ve impermissibly been on top of me.
Legs shifting restlessly under the sheets, I’m tempted now. Badly. But I roll to my side, close my eyes, and will the urge away.
No one, not even myself, is allowed to touch me anymore.
No one but him.
Only him.
Whenever he’s ready.
~
WORDS WAKE ME. Words that won’t shut up.
I’m enveloped in heat. A hard body molded behind mine, a strong arm curved around my middle. Swollen with contentment, my heart sighs. It feels safe. Like a haven. I want to sag into the cocoon and never leave, but the words in my head won’t let me.
I start to pull out of his hold, but his arm tighten around my middle. Voice groggy, breath hot on my neck, he asks, “Where you going?”
“To write.”
&nbs
p; “Now?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have your computer. Go back to sleep.”
“I can use my phone.”
“You don’t have that either.”
“Any pen and paper in your office?”
Grumbling something intelligible, he rolls away from me. As I go to get out of bed, he’s there again, keeping me in place.
“Here,” he mumbles, shoving something into my hand. “Use my phone.”
Then he locks one of his muscular legs around both of mine, securing me.
I giggle. “I can’t write like this.”
With a heave of a sigh, he removes his leg and arm from around me. “Sit up then.”
When I sit up so my back is against the headboard, he takes one of the pillows and stuffs it behind my lower back. “Comfortable?”
A silly grin stretching my lips, I nod, asking, “Are you sure you won’t mind the light?”
He rests his pillow on my lap, and then his head. “Won’t mind.”
“What, are you worried I’m gonna leave or something?” I ask through a light laugh.
“Never,” he replies through a yawn. “Never letting you leave again.”
Something blooms and blossoms in my chest, a soothing warmth flooding me.
I want him. I want him. I want him.
He’s mine. He’s mine. He’s mine.
If I say it enough times, it might just become reality.
On his phone, I open the Notes application and write until dawn breaks.
When all the words have emptied out and my fingers feel like jello, I set the phone aside and, with a yawn, slide right back into the safe cocoon that is Torin Garza.
~
WHEN I WAKE up again, I’m alone. Still, I can feel him. Smell him all over me.
With a blissful smile, I roll out of bed, freshen up in the bathroom, then head downstairs. I’m almost sad to see my bags and laptop in the living room. I want to keep wearing his clothes, using his things. Couldn’t Monica have been just a bit angrier at me and set them on fire?
I’m calm and well-rested enough this morning that I don’t need yoga, so I head straight to the kitchen and blend up a smoothie. With no phone to read on, I grab one of the three cookbooks from the kitchen counter, then climb onto the island and idly flip through it while I sip my smoothie. Pretty sure these books are for decor purposes only, because I’ve never seen him open one of them. Plus I’m 99.9% sure he’ll never eat any of the recipes in here. I’ve seen that man cook, and he’s a spices, flavor, and color kind of eater.
When Torin emerges from his office sometime later, sweaty and mouthwateringly sexy from his workout, I brace for him to growl at me for sitting on the kitchen island.
His eyes narrow on me as if he intends to, but then he just shakes his head with a shadow of a smile and goes straight to the pantry for his protein powder. I’m kind of bummed. Him growling at me used to be part of my morning ritual when I was here. It’s like foreplay to me. Ugh. He better not stop being annoyed by me.
As he pours oat milk into his shaker bottle, he tells me, “Reuben brought your things. Picked you up a new phone. I’ve set it up for you.”
I close the cookbook. “Did you put a tracker on it?”
He scoops in protein powder next. “Not without your permission.”
“Put a tracker on it,” I tell him. “Just in case.”
Eyes on me, he covers the bottle and starts shaking. “Okay.”
I want you to own me. I want to be your possession.
“Does Daddy know?” I ask, adding, “About yesterday.”
“Yup.”
“Narc,” I mutter.
“You’d have preferred me to keep it from him?”
Yes, because I don’t want Dad to stress. And no, because keeping something like this from the man who hired him would make him untrustworthy, dishonest. Considering I got snatched on his watch, omitting that little error in judgment would’ve been better for his reputation, so it says a lot about him that he didn’t.
I don’t want to answer either yes or no, so I ask, “What did you do with the men?”
“Let them go.”
“You let them go? After they put a gun to your sister’s head.”
“They’re gonna turn themselves in.”
That bit tugs a frown from me. “They told you that and you believe them?”
“No, they didn’t tell us that. But they will.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we planted a rumor,” he explains. “Once it spreads, they’ll turn themselves in ‘cause jail will start to look a lot safer than the streets.”
“Oh.” I shrug, mostly because I’ve no clue what that means and don’t really care to know. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand all of what you do.”
“You don’t need to.”
I scoot to the edge of the island and swing my legs off, about to hop down, but Torin shifts and clamps his hand on my thigh, keeping me in place.
With one raised brow, I glance down at his hand on me, then up at him.
Casual as ever, he takes a drink of his shake, as if he isn’t keeping me bolted to his island that he normally hates me being on.
“You usually can’t get me out of your hair fast enough,” I remind him. “What gives?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I’m just worried about what you’ll get up to when you’re not in my hair.”
“You’re so full of it,” I say with a silly grin.
“I am,” he admits, setting his shake down.
He then takes me by my waist, lifts me off the counter, and sets me lightly to my feet.
I’m flush against him, heat emanating from him in waves and seeping into me. I’m tall, but he’s taller, so my eyes are at his throat. I can see his pulse in his clavicle, thrumming under beautiful bronze skin.
My breath hitches when he slides a finger under my chin and elevates it until our eyes are connected.
“Tell me that I can,” he says, quiet, gentle.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped breathing until I try to speak and a rush of hot air escapes. “W-what?”
“Kiss you,” he clarifies. “Tell me I can kiss you.”
Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. It’s…happening. “Yes,” I breathe, eager, willing.
“You have to say it,” he tells me. “So I know I’m not just taking.”
Oh. Oh. “You can kiss me.” I clear my throat. “I want you to kiss me.”
He blinks. It’s slow, lazy, dreamy.
Anticipation thrums through me, my heart pounding in my chest.
As his lips lowers closer and closer toward mine, his eyes darken, desire sparking like embers within them. Then they droop close, right before his lips meet mine.
And I can no longer hear my heartbeat. Or anything for that matter. It’s as if time has paused. All I’m aware of is him. His lips, firm and gentle against mine.
I part them to welcome him in.
He takes the invitation. Entering. Familiarizing. Settling.
It’s quiet, and tranquil, and beautiful.
Then, the boat is rocked. Hard. A storm crashes in. And suddenly his hands are cupping my face and mine are fisting his shirt. He kisses me like he’ll never get another chance, and I kiss him like it’s all a dream and any moment now I’ll wake up.
God. God. God. It’s better than I could have ever imagined. I don’t want this to stop. I want to glue myself to him. I tip up on my toes, trying to get deeper, closer.
A distant ringing punches through the moment.
We don’t stop, but we slow down. Bit by bit, the storm recedes, and we lull back to tranquil and beautiful again.
The ringing continues.
Slowly, he breaks the kiss, and my lips quiver in protest.
“Gotta go get that.”
I pout. “Boo.”
He drags his thumb across my pout. “I’m gonna be gone for most of today. Think you can keep out of trouble ‘til I get back?”
&
nbsp; “I can’t make any promises,” I answer. “I’ve a reputation to live up to.”
This gets me a half-smile, and I feel like I’ve just won the lottery. “You were right, you know.”
“I know. I’m always right.” I wink. “But because I have so many rights in my ‘Book Of I Told You Sos’, you’ll have to remind me which particular thing I was right about this time. Just for records’ sake.”
He bites one corner of his lip as his heated eyes molests mine. “That I missed you when you weren’t here.”
Butterflies go nuts in my belly. He missed me? “Of course you did. I’m a ray of freaking sunshine.”
Another half-smile. Two in one day. Damn, I’m winning.
He moves a step back and I almost scowl at the cold air that wafts through the space between us.
His office phone is still ringing in the background.
“Later,” he tells me, before leaving me bereft in the kitchen.
Such a loaded word.
Later, as in see you later? Or later as in, we’ll be picking up where we left off?
Pushing the word and all its possibilities out of my head, I suck in a deep breath, release it steadily, then fetch my laptop from the living room and head out back.
Jo is out adjusting the spray head on the hose.
“Hey, Jo!” When she jerks around, I say, “Miss me?”
Jo’s face splits into a grin. “Nah. Had a feeling you’d be back.”
“Are you trying to say I’m predictable?” I ask with a mock scowl, hand on hip and all.
“No.” Jo shakes her head. “Fate and Madame Universe are at war over you. And let’s just say, my money’s on Fate.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“But you’ve already fallen, haven’t you?”
Torin
I REST THE HEEL OF MY palm on the horn and don’t let up until the front door of the European-style home opens and Reuben jogs out.
He’s halfway down the steps when his pregnant wife shadows the door and calls after him. He pivots to collect the cellphone she’s holding out for him, stealing a quick kiss from her before jogging off again.
Jules looks ahead of him to the waiting vehicle and waves. “Hey, Torin!”
I honk in response.
