Lust & Lies Box Set-Sexual Awakenings, Excess, Predator & Prey

by Kate Stewart

  “What if he’s a really, really bad guy?” I asked pensively.

  Cedric threw his tool into his kit and stood with his arms crossed in front of him. A million times, I’d wished I were attracted to him, and a million times more my body refused to react. I took in Cedric’s shaved head, subtle but attractive features, accusing eyes, and wished just one more time.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped, knowing my definition of a bad guy was exactly that.

  “Isn’t the question who?” I piped, turning my head with a smile full of teeth.

  “Don’t. You aren’t cute, especially in a Vols T-shirt,” he said, pushing past me to make himself at home in the kitchen.

  Cedric hated anything that had to do with Tennessee, while I kept subtle reminders of where we came from close to fuel and motivate me. Not that I needed them with my recent dreams.

  “So I met a guy at The Rabbit Hole,” I started as his glass paused at the ice dispenser. “And he claims to be a bad guy. And, well, we kind of had a rendezvous here, and I think he’s the reason—”

  “Are you listening to yourself?” he asked as he sipped his water and gave me a wary look. “Seriously, Taylor.”

  Digging my nails into my palms, I cursed my bad decisions. “I’m not this stupid.”

  Eyebrows raised, Cedric looked out my window at my view of the marsh. “You’re lonely.”

  Standing motionless, I waited on his backlash, but to my surprise, he gave none.

  “I’ll replace it with something new, change the locks. I’ll take care of this.” He turned, giving me a stern look. “Do I need to go further?”

  I knew exactly what he was asking. Though to my friend and business partner, Nina, Cedric was legitimate security—and he was—he would go a lot further to protect me if I needed it. I shook my head in a no. I was sure Daniello wasn’t a threat to my life, but then again, I knew absolutely nothing about him, except he was beautiful, infuriating, and apparently liked to have uninterrupted access to the women he ‘shared’ time with.

  Cedric emptied his glass and put it in the sink, surveying me from head to toe. I didn’t fidget under his scrutiny. “You can take care of yourself, Taylor. I know this, but if you ever—”

  “I know,” I said back with a small smile. I wished one more time for the sake of wishing that I could have affection beyond friendship for Cedric. He truly was a decent looking man. Covered heavily in tats and a well-muscled body, I was sure he had his fair share of companions. Still, I had to ask.

  “Are you…lonely?” Eyes crinkling, he took a step toward me.

  “You finally going to quench that curiosity?”

  I pushed at his chest in jest. He smirked and took a step back. “No, Taylor, I’m all good in that department. But do yourself a favor and try and remember you just got your last wish granted by taking a hold in that company. Don’t fuck it up falling into old habits.”

  I nodded, knowing damn well who he was referring to: my original bad guy, the one who used to be his best friend. A name we didn’t speak between us, and a name I would love to forget.

  “You smell like bleach. Blech,” Laz said as he helped me out of my bedroom window. We’d been meeting up at night after my mother had finally let me go to my bedroom to ‘do homework or whatever and go to bed.’ I’d flip my light on and off a few times as Laz watched from the field for my signal. We’d decided at school today to meet up so he could teach me how to ride a bike. It was late and I was exhausted but got my second wind thinking of taking the driver’s seat for the first time.

  “My momma,” I huffed as if he would understand. I attempted to explain better, “She makes us clean every day.”

  “Us?” Laz said, looking past me with concern.

  “Amber,” I whispered, “my little sister. She’s not old enough…Forget it.”

  We stood in close proximity as Laz’s half-shadowed face studied me. I pushed the frizzy red mess out of my face and lifted my chin. I shouldn’t care what he thought, and I knew it, but I couldn’t help the embarrassment I felt at what he had already seen.

  “Let’s go,” he offered, grabbing my hand. I felt my chest tug at his small gesture and looked up at him in confusion.

  “Don’t get the wrong idea, Red, I’m not into you,” he snapped, pulling his hand away. “It’s dark, follow me.”

  We had no street lamps and were screwed for light as far as the time of day, but I didn’t care, and it seemed neither did he. He brought me to the halfway point between our houses, onto the smoothest possible dirt road. I knew the road by heart as it led to a small fishing pond that my dad used to take me to when I was much younger. Saddled on the bike, I looked to my right and could barely see Laz with the small amount of light shed from the crescent moon.

  “Balance yourself and just peddle,” he instructed gruffly. “Don’t think too hard or you’ll fall. Push off hard, steer straight, and don’t stop peddling.”

  “Got it,” I said enthusiastically.

  “I’ll hold onto you for a bit, but then I’ll let go,” he warned.

  “Don’t. I don’t want your help,” I snapped.

  “Look, Red,” he said, indignant.

  “Stop calling me that!” I argued. “I’ve got it.”

  I pushed off without warning and pedaled hard. I held on tightly to the handlebars and felt a sharp high as the breeze sifted through my hair. Overconfident, I failed to balance and I fell on my side the first ten seconds then cradled my arm that was full of embedded rocks.

  “Shit,” I heard behind me. “I told you I would hold on.” I turned to admit defeat, but Laz simply wiped the dust off of me and picked up the bike. “Get back on.”

  “No,” I said quickly. My arm was burning, and I was sure I was bleeding.

  “Hmph,” he said defiantly. “Didn’t picture you as a chicken shit. It’s a scratch, Red. You want to ride a bike, here’s your chance.” I didn’t need to look at him to see he was disappointed. I was crushed. Taking a deep breath, I made my decision and reseated on the bike.

  I didn’t wait for Laz to react and took off again on my own, but before I could get my first push out, Laz stopped me by gripping the bars and the back of my seat.

  “Hardheaded or stupid, you can’t be both,” he snapped. “Hardheaded will get you your way sometimes, but stupid will get you hurt. Which one are you?”

  Without hesitation, I answered. “Hardheaded.” Smiling into the darkness, I pushed hard on the pedal, ripping myself from his grip. That time I made it almost thirty seconds before falling, but when I got back up, I made it to the end of the road. I didn’t need to see Laz’s face or even hear his congratulations to know somewhere at the opposite of the dark road he was smiling.

  Jumping in my seat at the horn incessantly sounding behind me, I turned onto the highway as the car blew past me, still blaring their horn with a friendly one-finger salute. I shook thoughts away of anything Lazarus, but not before I noted that I was no longer just dreaming about him. He was in my thoughts again, invading my days. I turned the radio up and stopped at the next light, adjusting the rearview toward me, expecting to see the bleach covered eleven year old with bright, frizzy red hair. The woman in front of me was perfectly put together, her now dark auburn hair sleekly knotted at the top of her head, perfectly applied lipstick, and aviator shades covered any telltale sign of her age.

  I’m not there and he’s not here.

  Irony struck then as a biker crossed the walk in front of me. Deciding I needed a drink as the sun faded, I turned into my condo, prepared to dine seaside and quench my thirst. Walking into my home, I set my alarm and, out of new habit, watched as it remained armed. Two steps into my living room, I froze as the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. It was too late for me to get out of the condo. I lunged for my curio cabinet, taking out my .38mm. It wasn’t my gun of choice, but it would do in a pinch. I crept toward my bedroom, my cellphone in hand as I surveyed the house. If someone was waiting for me, they were awar
e I was here. Creeping closer toward my bedroom, I stopped at the sound of water falling.

  The shower.

  It was probably a distraction. Turning quickly into my bedroom, prepared to shoot and ask questions later, I saw it was clear and nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard the voice.

  “If you are going to use the .38 on me, you might want to make sure your aim isn’t off. Bullet wounds just anger me. It would be wise to believe you like me angry.”

  I noted the suitcase next to my nightstand and sighed in relief as I let the gun trail to my hip then turned to see the source of the noise, gloriously naked through the shower glass. Putting the gun on the counter, I crossed my arms.

  “You will not figure it out, so do not try,” he mused, his beautiful ass on full display as he soaped his hands and I fumed over his security breach. “Though I must tell you, it took me some time to get through this new one,” he murmured, crossing his hands over his chest to his thick arms to rinse the soap away. The man was huge and on full display. I could see every indention, every perfect, God-given carving on the surface of him. I was entranced at the hard muscles of his back, his full rounded tight ass, thick thighs and the deep crease of his muscled calves. “Have you been well?” He turned to me with a dazzling white smile, the water running through his dark hair and outlining his exotic features so beautifully I had to fight to keep my wits about me.

  “Last time I spoke, I scared you away. You sure you won’t take offense to anything I say?” I smarted, giving him attitude. An attitude I swore I would try to keep in check the next time one or both of us was naked and in close proximity.

  Fear was something I held onto dearly to protect and remind myself that I was still alive, and yet even with a second security breach, it struck me I wasn’t afraid of him.

  “You should be afraid,” he said smoothly as I let my eyes wander to where his hands roamed.

  “Get out of my head, Jesus,” I pleaded, throwing my shades on the counter. I waited patiently for him to speak as he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, the scent of his soap and steam wafting through the air. Sex clenching, he moved past me to grab a towel, and I moved aside.

  My mouth refused to keep its words. “Clearly you enjoy seeing me irritated.”

  “Women always play—” he furrowed his brows, thinking of the right word “—dumb to what they agree to with a cock buried deep inside of them,” he mused, wiping his chest then starting on his legs.

  “I know nothing about you.” Digging in, I stood my ground. “I’m fine with your damn rules, but this is an invasion of privacy.”

  “You have three more guns in the house,” he said without hesitation. “I am a man who has to be aware of his surroundings. That is not something I am willing to stay curious about.”

  “Ask,” I hissed as he pushed past me, wrapping the towel around his waist.

  “It is not that simple, Taylor.” He lifted his suitcase from the floor and opened it, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt. He looked up at me. “Your dress will do.”

  Raising my brow, I turned my head in a come again gesture. Daniello nodded toward me. “Your clothes…they will do.”

  “Oh, thank you,” I said, using my southern accent heavily as I placed my hand on my chest.

  He put his hands on his hips to mock me. It looked ridiculous, and I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped me. He smiled and took my breath. “I’m guessing bitchy doesn’t look good on me, either.” I narrowed my eyes as his smile deepened. “I could still grab that gun and piss you off,” I mused, unable to stop the grin that crept across my face.

  “You could, but would you not rather find out what I have planned for you tonight?” His accent was so thick, his voice deep. This strange, beautiful, foreign man was tickling my senses, dizzying me and making my heart beat a little faster. So, without hesitation, I answered, “Yes.”

  I asked Daniello for a moment and decided I needed my own shower. I picked up his soap and took a huge whiff as my eyes darted through the glass doors to make sure he didn’t see. It smelled divine, and I couldn’t place it. It was masculine but fresh with a hint of mint. I dropped it when I heard his voice.

  “I brought you a gift, you bitchy,” he joked from the kitchen, battering the words.

  “Sucker,” I joked back as if we had been doing this routine for years. Maybe he had. Maybe it was his norm. I admitted to myself then I had no idea what territory we were in. This was completely out of the norm for me.

  “You should know this is my last attempt at a gift,” he said, much too far away. I made quick work of changing into a casual sundress and wedge heels, applied light makeup, and twisted my wet hair into a tight bun.

  I joined Daniello in the kitchen as I saw he had a bottle of wine poured and handed me a glass.

  I took it with a polite thank you and sipped it eagerly to calm my nerves. Fucking him would be easier than casual conversation. As usual, he caught on quickly.

  “Relax.” He nodded at my glass. “What do you think of the wine?”

  “It’s delicious, thank you,” I said, taking another sip.

  “Taylor, you are lying,” he whispered.

  “No, I’m not.” Softening my tone, I tried to raise my enthusiasm. “It’s really good. Is this my gift?”

  Daniello sighed and began to laugh softly. He shook his head in exasperation and took my glass from me. “Thirteen-year-old award winning bottle from the vineyard,” he scorned still amused. “Taylor, what do you like to drink?”

  “Wine, this is—”

  “Baggianate. Bullshit, you lie,” he snapped, setting his glass down. I couldn’t help my smile with the way his accent slaughtered the words. What came out sounded like bowel shit. I chuckled as he narrowed his eyes.

  “There is only one way to solve this mystery,” Daniello said, nodding in agreement with himself.

  The man was strange. Maybe he cheered for himself daily. Maybe he was a full-fledged team: the player, the referee, and the scorekeeper. I laughed harder as he drug me out of the living room and I escaped his grip to run back to the counter and sip the wine again. “Yep,” I confirmed, wrinkling my nose as he looked back at me, hopeful. “Tastes like shit.”

  It may have been a growl that erupted from him as he pushed me through the front door and waited for me to lock up.

  “By all means,” I prompted, gesturing toward the door in hopes that he unearthed a key.

  “Taylor,” he sighed.

  “What?” I said innocently. “Be a dear and lock up for me.” Turning without looking back, I made my way toward the SUV. I heard Daniello mumbling in the background. I hopped in the back of the SUV, greeting Rocco, who refused to give me anything other than a nod in return. I felt loose and alive and was positive the wine had everything to do with it.

  “It is final,” Daniello said sternly, “no more gifts.”

  “Fine by me.” I gave him a wink and nodded to my front door. He rolled his eyes. “Rocco.”

  Rocco pulled away from the curb sharply, and I clung to my seat. Daniello was opposite of me as he took in my dress.

  “You are beautiful tonight,” he said appreciatively. I felt the heat of his compliment. My whole adult life, I’d gotten attention from men. Some had openly gawked at me, and I knew the power of sex, but when Daniello complimented me, it mattered. I realized then it was because he was so beautiful, his words were made more powerful. I thought it ironic.

  Beauty is power. Money is power. And even though in his eyes I had both, with him I felt a little weak.

  Shifting in my seat, I changed the subject. “So what are your plans?”

  “They have changed,” he said with a shrug.

  “Not my fucking mouth again?” I said, testing him.

  “Of course,” he replied, his tongue dragging out the words.

  “So you said some of you was Italian. What is the rest of you?” A harmless question and not too personal.

  “My father was Egyptian. M
y mother was Spanish and Italian.”

  “Which makes you a mutt,” I joked. He didn’t like my joke.

  Shit.

  “Sorry,” I offered.

  “What is a mutt?” I froze, unable to form words. It sounded much worse in explanation than it did in jest. I stalled.

  “I grew in both countries—Egypt and Italy—so I do not understand all of your American slang. What is a mutt?” Fiery eyes confronted me as I dug my fingers into the seat and crossed my legs.

  “It’s a dog of mixed breed,” I muttered, trying to hide the fear in my voice. “It’s perfectly acceptable to say in jest, um, when you are joking…It wasn’t meant—”

  Before I could get the words out, I was snatched by my arms and pulled forward. I landed on Daniello, who was ready for me as he pushed me beneath him on the seat he was just sitting in and cupped my face roughly.

  “Shut the fuck up, Taylor,” he growled before his lips slammed into mine. I moaned loudly as his kiss disintegrated thought, disintegrated space and time, and lured me into a desperate state for more. I was lost as I clutched him to me as tightly as I could and pressed my angry, hard nipples against his chest as he stroked me with his tongue, tasting, sucking, and fucking my entire world up. I was completely wrapped in him, my body begging for more as his hand slid up my dress and stroked over my lavender lace panties. Lightly, I pushed my hips up, needing more.

  “Yes,” he whispered, licking his lips and eyeing me as he pulled me up to sit next to him.

  The car stopped, and I gave Daniello a curious stare. How long had we been kissing?

  Daniello adjusted his ready cock, and no amount of it could cover his arousal. Rocco opened the door, and I took his hand and stepped out. We were at The Boathouse, a restaurant I wasn’t familiar with but had heard of for good dining. I looked to Rocco who was whispering Arabic at Daniello, drawing the conclusion Rocco was Egyptian or part mutt as well.

  I walked away, into the restaurant, leaving the two to argue, realizing that Rocco was the same man that Daniello had been arguing with at the club a few weeks back.