Sweet Abduction

by Sasha Gold

  “Try that again boy, and I’ll break your arm.”

  Boy?

  I wilt. His hold on me is iron. Everything in my mind moves in slow motion.

  “Hey… you’re a girl,” he muses and inhales deeply, dropping his hand from my mouth.

  A whimper escapes my lips and my breath comes in soft pants. “Who are you?”

  “You smell…amazing.” His lips skim across my neck. “You always put on perfume before you break into houses?”

  The lights flicker and come on again, but it’s still plenty dark in the foyer. He still has me in a vice grip so I can’t see his face. I grit my teeth and wrack my brain. Who could he be?

  “Are you the p-pool guy?” I whisper.

  “I am if you want me to be.”

  What an ass. I’m about to have a heart attack and he’s joking around. Clearly, he knows the house, so he’s probably not a burglar, but I can’t figure out who the hell he is.

  His hand slides inside my jacket and strokes my side. I try to jerk free, but it’s no use. He tightens his hold, his hand coming dangerously close to my breast. When his hand edges higher, I lower my voice to the ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone I’ve perfected working with male clientele.

  “Touch my breast and I’ll break your hand.”

  It’s a ridiculous threat. I’m defenseless.

  “You’re Olivia.”

  “I am.” I let out a breath. My heart rate slows a little. The man knows my name so he’s not just some intruder or random criminal. That’s good, though he still has his huge hand dangerously close to my right breast. “Who are you?”

  His hold loosens. “Well shit, so much for getting lucky.”

  I jerk free and retreat, almost stumbling. Damn high heels. There’s a light behind him that silhouettes his massive physique. I have bouncers in my club that seem huge to me, but this guy’s a head taller.

  “I’m Luke.”

  My mind spins. Luke…There’s a Luke who is in love with Charlotte my office manager. Always sends her flowers. Or is that Lyle? I forget. The girl has a lot of admirers.

  Luke turns and walks into the kitchen, a string of very bad words coming from his mouth. I hear the fridge open and the hiss of a beer being uncapped. He rummages in the fridge, muttering.

  A thunder-clap rents the air and the lights flicker again. I pray the lights don’t go out while trapped by some foul-mouthed beast, a man I’ve never met, yet somehow knows my name.

  Howard has a son, but I think he’s Howard Junior. Maybe this is a cousin, or some other relation.

  I go into the kitchen, tentatively. The intruder/possible relative is scowling at the contents of the fridge. He’s dressed in camo pants and a t-shirt. The shirt hugs the planes of his chest, the sleeves stretch across biceps that bulge as he lifts a jar of kiwi-kale juice. It’s only about eight ounces, but it cost five dollars. The thick, green liquid is tomorrow’s breakfast. He sniffs it and recoils.

  My heart rate returns from the stratosphere, but I’m still pretty rattled. Luke’s forbidding appearance would intimidate just about anyone. Under the short burr of a beard, his jaw looks like it’s hewn from stone.

  He opens a jar of peanut butter I had ground at the store today. His brows lift and his lips quirk in what I assume is approval. He sets it next to the open beer on the counter.

  “Luke,” I say.

  “Yes, Olivia.” He continues searching the fridge.

  “Do you know Howard Thornton?”

  “Yes, pretty well. He’s my Dad. Did he forget to mention me? Ah, here’s the cheese. Finally.”

  I take a deep breath and laugh, slumping against the counter. A moment ago my life flashed before my eyes. I don’t know that I’ve ever been that frightened.

  He plunks down the cheese on the counter. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m house-sitting.”

  He snorts, his disdain palpable. A minute ago, he was about to cop a feel and now he’s acting like I’m some low-life. I could ask the same of him. Why is he here? I want to know. Howard told me his son had been in the Navy and served overseas. He’d completed his service but instead of coming home, took a motorcycle trip to Alaska.

  Howard kept the conversation short, and I could tell there were some bad feelings between the two of them, so I didn’t press. I also didn’t ask much more because I didn’t want Howard to ask questions about what I do. Now that I’ve sold the club, it’s a bit of a moot point, and with luck, it won’t ever come up.

  Luke slices off a hunk of cheese and takes a bite, his white teeth sinking into the cheddar. Earlier some friends had taken me out for dinner to celebrate the sale of the club. I only had a salad and now, suddenly, I’m starving. My mouth waters.

  “I guess this gives us a chance to get to know each other,” he says.

  “You’re staying?”

  He keeps his gaze on me as he takes a swallow of his beer. “I was on my way back from my trip. My dad asked me to keep an eye on you. Something about weird text messages and the sale of your business.”

  Ugh. I had dinner yesterday with my grandparents. It’s a Sunday night ritual and I got a message while I was there. Die Bitch. My grandmother wormed it out of me and I told them the whole story about how the minute I accepted the offer for the club, I started getting messages. Gran must have called Mom.

  “I don’t need you to take care of me,” I say, trying to keep my tone even.

  “Yeah, well you shouldn’t have told your mom someone was bothering you. Now you’re stuck with me for a while.”

  Panic curls inside me. The stay here was going to be like a mini-vacation. I planned on taking over the dining room with my house-hunting paperwork, sleeping in, getting primped for the closing on Friday. I can’t do any of that with Howard Junior or Luke or whatever his name is, prowling around the house.

  “That’s your stuff in the guest room? What…you own an underwear store or something?” He smirks. “I’ve never seen so many panties before.”

  “You went through my things?” I imagine his massive hands touching my belongings while a shimmer of awareness washes over me. My breasts feel heavy and even worse, my nipples tighten almost painfully. He notices. He totally notices because his gaze drifts down the front of my linen dress and lingers.

  “I guess…I did,” he says distractedly, his gaze drifting over my breasts. “I was trying to figure out who was here.”

  He arches his brow, turns away and starts grating the cheese. I watch, momentarily struck speechless by this small, mundane action. The kitchen implement looks like a toy in his hand and the metal handle bends. I half-expect it to snap off.

  “You’re going to break that.”

  He keeps grating the cheese, and lowers his voice. “You offering?”

  His question drips with innuendo and his gaze rakes down my body once more. This time, the trail of heat he leaves in his wake starts a wicked simmer inside me. Heat sparks along the length of my thighs.

  This doesn’t happen to me. Ever. When I used to dance, I went by the name of ‘Ice’. Some men like that bitch vibe and although I didn’t get up on stage often, I made a lot of money when I did. I was more comfortable serving drinks, but even then, I kept a chilly distance between me and the customers.

  I wash my hands and start grating the damned cheese while he goes to the pantry. A moment later he emerges with a can of beans, jalapenos, and tortilla chips. I try to keep from watching him, but he’s making a cookie-sheet pan of nachos that look like it would feed an entire regiment. I never let myself near Mexican food. It’s deadly. My stomach grumbles.

  “I hear you’re on leave from the Navy,” I say.

  “I’m not on leave. I’m done with my service.”

  “That’s exciting. Are you excited?” I sound like an idiot. When I’m rattled, I either clam up or babble. “What are you going to do now?”

  He gives me a look of pure contempt. Why am I even talking to this guy? I’ve been up since dawn moving the last of my
stuff out of the club and putting it in storage. I’m worn out, and I’m getting all this hostility from a guy who, moments ago, was groping me. I should throw the chunk of cheese at his head and call it a day.

  “I joined the Navy because that’s what Thornton men do.” His voice drips with arrogance. “Go to college and then serve your country.” He dumps half the bag of chips on the pan, then uses a butter knife to fish out all the beans from the can, spreading them quickly and haphazardly, most of them on the chips but some on the counter.

  The muscles in Luke’s forearm flex with thick bands of muscle. He’s wearing a watch, nothing fancy, just a regular watch. I find it oddly sexy because it accentuates his powerful build.

  “I’m taking over my father’s construction business.” His tone is one of utter boredom, like he can barely summon the will to be polite. “I don’t run it. He has managers for that. I close deals. I show up to hammer out final numbers. I’m good at that. Want to know why?”

  Mr. Ego is going to tell me anyway so I do my best to look fascinated. “Please. Tell me.”

  “People don’t say no to me.”

  Working with the public has taught me a thing or two. Before I owned Strut, when people were full of themselves, or full of shit, I found it hard to keep from rolling my eyes. Now I like to think I’m pretty good at keeping my eyes forward, but this guy’s seriously challenging the urge.

  He flips on the oven and grabs a handful of cheese, which is essentially all the cheese, and carries it back to the pan. A trail of cheese falls across the counter. Typical man. He’s making something simple and he’s going to leave the kitchen looking like a tornado hit. When he’s finished piling the cheese atop the nachos, he grabs a fork and starts flipping jalapeno slices out of the jar, spreading them randomly atop the cheese. Finally he sets the pan in the oven. Next, he goes to the fruit basket and plucks the two avocadoes I bought. He squeezes them and grunts his approval. He slices them open and expertly cubes the creamy interior.

  Those avocadoes cost three fifty. Each. They’re for day two of the cleanse. “You’re eating my avocadoes.”

  His lips tilt and his gaze is sultry. “I’ll eat anything I want in this house.”

  I shudder. This man has a gift for saying something ordinary and putting a dirty spin on it. I don’t even know what to say to that remark. I study his face and wonder if I know him. He looks vaguely familiar but obviously, I’m not going to ask if we’ve met. I can’t imagine the comeback he’d give me on that one.

  “Have a beer, Olivia.”

  He goes to the fridge and pulls out two bottles, twists the top off one and holds it out to me. A curl of mist lifts from the top. What is that? A little puff of beer essence? I don’t know, but it connects with my senses like a rampaging bull. My willpower crumples and I take the beer from him

  After he twists the cap off his beer, he taps it against mine. “Cheers.” He lifts the bottle. “Here’s to new beginnings.”

  Chapter Two

  Luke

  I take a swallow of my beer. She doesn’t remember me. At all. Not that she should. We only spoke a few words and it was in the dim light of the club. But, I remember her. All the way to Alaska, I tried my damnedest to stop thinking about her.

  “How long are you staying?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out of your way. You won’t even notice me.”

  A small murmur of dismay escapes her lips.

  She looks a little lost standing by the counter. The girl wants to toss my ass out of the house but doesn’t quite know how to pull it off. She takes a dainty sip of her beer.

  I tear my eyes from her and pretend to check on the food in the oven. Almost there. I’m so hungry I could eat double what I’ve made.

  The last time I saw her was in the club, the club she later bought. It was right after my dad got married. I went with my buddy Nate under the pretense of seeing what sort of tramp Julia raised. I never expected a girl like Olivia.

  The minute I figured out who she was, I saw red. She wore boy shorts that cupped her ass, a shirt that revealed her tiny waist and accentuated her lush breasts. Her hair, a mass of honey-colored tendrils, trailed past her shoulders, brushing the small of her back with every step. I couldn’t decide if she was aloof or shy. I kept my eyes on her the whole time, watching how she moved fluidly through the crowd, deftly carrying trays loaded with drinks.

  When she brought our drinks, I paid the twenty dollar bill with a hundred bucks. Told her to keep the change. I made sure she saw the other hundreds in my wallet when I asked her what was on the menu that night.

  I don’t ever proposition waitresses, but, something set me off. Probably because she was so freaking fine, walking around in heels and not much else, serving drinks to a bunch of horny fucks. She didn’t appreciate the not-so-subtle offer. She gave me a look that would have frozen boiling water, and counted back my change.

  Nate grinned at me while she slapped down those bills on the table.

  She ain’t for sale, man.

  Everything’s for sale. Some things just have a higher price.

  She’s not so chill and remote after being tackled in the dark. I didn’t mean to scare her, and I’m sure as hell glad I didn’t hurt her. My dad asked me to keep an eye on her and when I get a chance to talk to him, I’ll tell him how I almost decked her. Nice of him to forget to tell me she was house-sitting. I guess he wanted to make sure I kept a very close eye on her.

  I take the nachos out of the oven and start to ask her if she’s hungry.

  But she’s already there, pulling a chip from my masterpiece. “I really shouldn’t.” She twirls the strand of melted cheese around her finger. “I’m supposed to be starting a cleanse tomorrow.”

  She closes her eyes as she slowly chews. I take a long look at her. Her dress is simple, elegant even. Not what you would imagine a strip club owner would wear. It’s more of a PTA look than T and A. She’s wearing pearls, earrings and a strand around her neck. I wonder what she did to get those. Or who, rather.

  “This is terrible.” She takes another chip and sets a chunk of avocado on it before eating it. “I bought four bags of organic kale. Maybe you should do the cleanse with me.”

  I lean against the counter. “I’m not dirty.”

  She waves off my nasty remark. “One of my girls just finished ten days and her skin looks amazing. Flawless.”

  “Your skin is already flawless.”

  A blush colors her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  She probably thinks I’m hitting on her. I didn’t mean to say that. I’m not trying to compliment the little witch, but it’s true. Her skin is perfect. Her hair is straighter than the last time I saw her, the ringlets tamed to soft waves. My mind’s eye sees her hair falling past her face, her eyes closed, while she rides me. Shit, don’t go there.

  “So…Luke, tell me about the sleeping arrangements.”

  She helps herself to another chip. The girl is putting a serious dent into my masterpiece. She can’t be more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s putting away the nachos like she just did a ten mile run in full gear.

  She takes a bite and closes her eyes as she chews. Watching Olivia eat and enjoy her food is flat out erotic. My cock was a fucking iron shaft a while after I grappled with her in the dark, and it’s at full attention once more.

  I groan inwardly. I thought about this girl for the last eight thousand miles. When I planned the trip to Alaska, it was supposed to be a chance to have some fun, hook up with women who don’t know the Thornton name, and just fucking relax. But all I could do was think of this woman. And that was before I’d seen her lick melted cheese from her fingers.

  She takes a sip of beer. “Because, I like that room at the end of the hallway. The bed is perfect for me. Not too soft, not too hard.”

  I take a chip and eat it. I need to grab one or two chips before the whole thing gets demolished by Goldilocks.

  “S’fine,” I say. I don’t care
where I sleep. I didn’t expect to be staying here at all, but if Dad wants me here, then I’m here.

  I have a cabin a half hour away. I’d planned on staying there. That’s where I’d rather be, but Dad made it clear he needed me here at his house. Ever since his heart attack, I can’t say no to the guy.

  “You can have whatever you want.” I say the words casually, even though it’s a blatant offer.

  Her lips part with surprise and she studies me for a long moment. If she remembers who I am, she’s not giving it away, but the wheels are turning, that’s for sure. I wait for an outburst.

  Something behind her eyes shifts and I’m almost certain she’s got the connection. The soft look in her eyes hardens. She turns away, gets another beer from the fridge, and looks at me over her shoulder. “How’s that beer treating you?”

  Her voice is soft, seductive and goes straight to my dick. She’s offering me a beer, but the tone is pure seduction. Like she’s offering something dirty. Little brat. I have ten years on her and if she thinks she has a hope of driving this thing, she’s in for a big surprise.

  I nod. “I’ll take another one. It’s only eleven. Night’s young.”

  She grabs two bottles and sets them on the counter. I pop the top off both.

  “This is sort of weird,” she says. “In the morning, I should pack up my stuff and go stay with a friend. Maybe Sage would take me in.”

  That was not what I was expecting. “There’s nothing weird. I’m a gentleman.”

  “Of course. I know. I’m not trying to suggest you’re not. I just don’t want to barge into your home. You just got back from…what…overseas? I’m sure you want a little peace and quiet.”

  She’s twirling her hair. I want to swat her hand or maybe her ass. She’s messing with me in a big way.

  “You’re not barging, Olivia. Even if you were, I wouldn’t mind. Plus, I’m supposed to help you with this deal you have going, and figure out who’s fucking with you.”

  My voice is deep, rough. Women love it and I’m turning it on for her, but she’s not interested. At all. If anything, she looks bored. This is some sort of serious, high-stakes poker we’re playing here. I’m not sure when the conversation changed exactly, but I’m enjoying the back and forth.