Apple Pie Angel

by Lynn Cooper

  “I won’t eat it because I don’t deserve it.”

  Lacey couldn’t stand his self-deprecation any longer. It was the last straw.

  “Now that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. How can anyone not deserve a piece of apple pie?”

  He hung his head. “Apple pie is America and freedom on a plate. I’m not free, and I haven’t been for a long time. Your dessert symbolizes the clean-cut and well-behaved.” He rubbed a dirty hand across his full, unkempt beard. “Do I strike you as being either?”

  She refused to allow her sympathy to diffuse her anger. Although she wasn’t privy to all he had been through, it was obvious that whatever it was, he had wallowed in it for way too long.

  Setting the box down on the ground, she reached inside, grabbed some paper plates, plastic forks and napkins and shoved them at him.

  “No more whining, Chance. You’re as free as you choose to be. Your behavior is whatever you make it. As for being clean-cut, I can trim your beard for you, and you are welcome to use my shower any time. Now give everyone a plate while I slice the pies.”

  He shook his head. “You’re something else, Lacey Burke. If we weren’t standing in the middle of hell, I might believe you were an angel.”

  CHANCE HADN’T MEANT TO make her mad, but hot-a-mighty if she wasn’t sexy as all get out when her temper flared. Not many things—truthfully, not anything—had been able to shock him in the last five years. But seeing her last night underneath this filthy trestle had effectively shocked the shit out of him.

  Lacey was the woman of his dreams, ones he thought were long dead. Visions of her had been infiltrating his sleep for over a month now. Her natural beauty and vitality stimulated his mind and body, pulling them from a depth of despair so dark and cold it could only lead to death. But it wasn’t just the overwhelming physical attraction and animal lust or the intense urgency he felt to fuck her; it was who she was on the inside that drew him like a magnet.

  The woman was courageous. It took balls to come to this part of town during the day, much less at night. She obviously had a heart of gold, wanting to bring a bedtime snack to strangers, some of whom were dangerous. But since Chance had forbidden her from coming to the trestle again, Jock or nobody else would be bothering her.

  Even though he had accused her of behaving stupidly, he could clearly see she was intelligent. Someone he could really talk to about the important things in life. Until he saw her serving at the soup kitchen, he had almost forgotten what those important things were. He had wanted to ask her why she had suddenly stopped coming to Eva’s, but there was no time. After they finished serving pie to everyone, it was pretty late. She had mentioned having to be at work early the next morning. So he made sure she got to her car safely and then watched despondently as she drove away.

  It killed him to see her taillights disappear into the night. He had made it clear she was never to come back, and he didn’t think he could ever leave. Knowing he wouldn’t see her again tore what was left of his heart into shreds. And God knew there wasn’t much of the barely-beating muscle left in his chest to start with. Charlotte had taken most of it with her when she left him all alone in this shitty world. Not a day passed by that he didn’t think about her. He could still see her pretty, sweet face. Hear her silly laughter—it always dissolved into snorting which made her laugh even harder. He missed her so damn much. Chance had killed for Charlotte. He had gone to jail for it. Yet, he still lost her as well as his will to live. To try.

  Lacey Burke had stirred a desire in him to stand up again. She had all but asked him to give life another chance. But he wouldn’t answer her precious plea. He didn’t have it in him to suffer another loss. Even if he could have Lacey, he couldn’t hold onto her. She wouldn’t want a broken man, and he wouldn’t want that for her. A woman like Lacey Burke deserved way better than a man like Chance Taggert.

  FINN THREW A PLATE of meatballs up against the far wall of the kitchen. Whoever said Italians had bad tempers had obviously never been around any Swedes. Lacey nearly jumped out of her skin when the dish shattered into a million pieces. Noodles flew through the air, and marinara sauce splattered her waitressing uniform.

  Finn shook his fists in the air. “For one month I am patient when you miss the lunch-hour rush. But now you show up late for the breakfast crowd, too. I am finished with you! You are fired!” he bellowed before turning on his heel and stomping out the kitchen door.

  Lacey said nothing. She had no defense. She had overslept this morning, and there had been no way she was going to speed to make up the time. The last thing she needed was another traffic ticket. Although she wouldn’t mind being sentenced to another thirty days at Eva’s Soup Kitchen, especially if it meant seeing Chance again. He had told her in no uncertain terms she was to stay away from the train trestle, but she had no intention of obeying. If she was going to be jobless for a while, then she would have plenty of time for pie baking. And, she could easily be at the trestle each evening before dark. Surely Chance couldn’t find fault with that.

  Alice—a gum-smacking, chain-smoking waitress who had been working tables since the invention of electricity—walked up and placed her boney arm around Lacey’s fleshy shoulders. “Finn’s such a blow hole. Him firin’ you had nothin’ to do with you bein’ a few minutes late. He’s got himself an ulterior motive.”

  Lacey furrowed her brow. “What makes you say that?”

  “Before you got here, I heard him on the phone with his sister, Heidi. Apparently, her brat of a teenage daughter is givin’ her a fit. So, she’s sendin’ her to live with Finn. Figures workin’ for him in this shithole will straighten her little rebellious ass out somethin’ fast.”

  “Ah,” Lacey nodded. “He’s giving my job to his niece who he doesn’t have to pay wages.”

  “You got it, honey! He’s a real ass-wipin’ sonofabitch if I’ve ever seen one.”

  While she untied her apron and reached for her purse, Lacey couldn’t help but smile at Alice’s crude language. She was a sweet old woman with a foul mouth and an endearing sense of protectiveness toward those she loved. And Lacey had no doubt Alice loved her.

  The two had become fast friends when Lacey first arrived in Stanton. After she had run away from her childhood home, desperate to escape her highly-dysfunctional parents, Finn’s Diner was the first place Lacey had stopped at on her way to wherever.

  But then she got some delicious Swedish meatballs in her belly and met Alice. The next thing she knew, the HELP WANTED sign in the window was taken down, and Lacey was staying with the old waitress. The two were roommates for about a month until Lacey found an apartment of her own. That was three years ago. And, as they say, the rest is history. Now, she was, too.

  Lacey would miss seeing Alice every day at work, but they could still visit each other. This wasn’t the end of their friendship. It was the beginning of a new adventure. Another chapter in Lacey’s life.

  Smiling brightly, she grabbed Alice in a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon, my friend.”

  “What will you do now, honey?”

  “I’m going to do what I started out to do three years ago.”

  “Lord, help us all. That dream of yours is mighty lofty, and it ain’t comin’ cheap.”

  “Nope, but it will come. I can feel it.”

  Leaving Alice standing behind the counter, shaking her head, Lacey stepped out onto the sidewalk. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with fresh, crisp October air. In her soul, she knew she had reached a turning point—a red-letter day full of promise and hope. Specifically, the promise she had made to herself to see Chance that evening, and the hope of living her dream. Maybe even living it out with him.

  WHAT THE FUCK? CHANCE jumped to his feet. He knew it was her before spotting the peeling silver paint of her Honda Accord. He could hear the loud, dangling muffler. He just hoped to God it didn’t backfire. Anything sounding like gunfire around these parts drew more in return. She could easily start an all-out gang war
with the rattletrap she was driving. Damn it! She wasn’t supposed to be here. He had given her a direct order to stay away. He would need to make a mental note: Lacey Burke does not take orders well.

  He lunged out from under the trestle and sprinted like mad toward her car. Something in the sound of her engine alerted him to the impending backfire. Chance had barely reached the driver’s side door when sparks flew out the tail pipe. It was followed by an ear-cracking explosion that emulated a gunshot. In less than a heartbeat, bullets started flying from opposite sides of the bridge. The damn Snakeheads and Hammerskins were exchanging ammunition. A thick billow of smoke from the backend of her car offered him enough coverage to jerk the door open, push Lacey down across the front seat and shield her with his body.

  The hammering of her heart echoed against the outer wall of his chest. For a few seconds he couldn’t distinguish the beating of hers from his.

  Her voice came out strained and breathy. “What has happened?”

  He tried to raise up enough to keep from crushing her but not so far as to catch a bullet in the brain.

  He decided not to sugarcoat it for her. Maybe if he was blunt enough, she’d get the message she didn’t belong here. “You and your rattletrap have ignited a turf war between two rival gangs.”

  She gasped, sending little puffs of her sweet breath against his cheek. Of course, he wasn’t giving her much room to breathe. His hard, muscular torso was pressed flush against her soft, beautiful breasts. She smelled like cinnamon and apples. Fuck! Her and those damn pies were going to be the death of him.

  She squirmed beneath him, and he couldn’t control his cock any more than he had been able to control her. This time he cursed out loud. “Damn it, Lacey! Be still. I’m only flesh and blood here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whimpered.

  He wasn’t sure if the tears glistening her warm brown eyes was out of fear of a bullet or fear of him and his jutting erection. He tried to mentally will it away, but the harder he tried, the harder it got. She was just so damn gorgeous. So curvy. So soft. He wanted to melt into her femininity. Lose himself between her thighs. If he didn’t taste her soon, he was going to lose his mind.

  He attempted to lie in an effort to comfort her. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered, soothingly. Then a stab of guilt sliced through his gut. He didn’t want to lie to her. Ever. Even if it temporarily made her feel better. He had tried to push her away. To warn her off, but she didn’t listen. “What I just said isn’t true, Lacey. And I always want to be honest with you. This particular instance is your fault. I told you to stay the hell away. You should have listened to me. This part of town is dangerous. I’m dangerous. Why the fuck didn’t you listen to me?”

  A tear slid down her lovely face, and he wanted to rip his eyeballs out to keep from seeing. Her bottom lip quivered when she spoke. “Are we going to die?”

  “You’re not. I’ll make sure of it. I might. But not before I do this—”

  He gripped her chin and took her mouth hard and fast. Desperately and passionately. The kiss was primal. Nothing but heat, growls and teeth. There was a very real possibility his rock-hard prick would rip through his tattered jeans. He might very well die with it hanging out. But Lacey tasted like heaven, and he couldn’t give a shit how things ended for him as long as she was safe.

  IF SHE DIED RIGHT now, Lacey would leave this world happier than she had ever been in her life. Chance was kissing the shit out of her. It was hotter than hell, and his tongue was tastier than any apple pie that had ever crossed her lips. She was still amazed at how delicious his breath and mouth were. Everyone knew living on the streets wasn’t always conducive to regular bathing or good hygiene. But he had apparently somehow taken excellent care of his teeth.

  She had never been kissed like that before. It was earth-shattering and mind-blowing. Floating on a cloud of endorphin-induced euphoria, she no longer noticed the bullets whizzing past their heads. No longer paid any attention to the sparks when one glanced off the hood of her car. No longer cared about the damage being done to the Honda. As long as she was tucked against Chance’s chest, engulfed in his arms and utterly at the mercy of his mouth, she was doing just fine.

  When his lips left hers, she groaned in frustration. Then sighed in pleasure as they nuzzled her neck. Sighing turned to full-blown moaning and writhing when he sucked her sensitive flesh hard. He might leave a hickey if he wasn’t careful. She was secretly hoping he wouldn’t be careful.

  Instinctively, she ground her hips against his, pulling an animalistic groan from him. His thick, brown hair was just as untamed and unruly as he was. Lacey couldn’t resist running her fingers through it as she asked softly, “Are we going to have sex now?”

  She panicked when his lips stopped teasing her and his body grew still. His voice was strained with unfulfilled desire.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  The feel of his calloused hand caressing her cheek tickled the pleasure center of her brain. She imagined what it would be like to have such roughness cupping her breasts, fingering the folds of her womanhood.

  “First, we’re lying right in the middle of a war zone. Second, I’m filthy, Lacey. I don’t want to soil you or your reputation.”

  Wiggling her hand between their bodies, she smoothed her palm over the length of his erection.

  He growled and caught her wrist. “You’re not making this easy.”

  She could barely think with his fingers gripping her, trapping her hand against his steely flesh. Yet she sensed the careful restraint he was exercising so as not to squeeze too tight.

  “I’m not trying to make it easy. I’m trying to make it hard.”

  His voice rumbled low and dangerous. “You need it harder than this?” he asked, thrusting his pelvis into hers.

  His body heat seared her through their clothing. She was so glad she had traded in her heavy denim blue jeans for a lightweight knit skirt before leaving her apartment or else she would surely be burning alive beneath him. Plus, it allowed her to feel his erection in great detail. His cock was long and thick and had a nice big helmet. She was desperate to feel him inside her.

  “No, I just need it.”

  He cursed. It was sexy, and she loved it.

  “Fuck. I’d crawl across the fiery coals of hell on my belly to pound your pussy, but I won’t take you in a car under gunfire when I am filthier than any pig. I respect you far too much.”

  She couldn’t hide the disappointment on her face. She wasn’t a whore. But there was a good possibility one or both of them could be killed. If it came to that, she didn’t want either of them to miss this opportunity. Pulling her wrist from his grasp, she pressed his palm to her pussy and said, “If we’re in the middle of hell, you can’t expect me to act like an angel. So touch me, Chance. Please.”

  Lacey licked her lips like a sex-crazed slut while holding his gaze. She watched his eyes darken and listened to his breath coming hard as he eased his hand between her thighs. She edged her legs wider, too wanton to deny him or herself.

  Chance growled. He did that a lot. It was good. Really good. His growls sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, sending white-hot heat straight through her sex.

  When a long, strong finger fluttered across her feminine folds, she cried out.

  Grabbing a fist full of her long, wavy hair, he groaned, “God, Lacey, you’re so sexy.”

  Her eyes watered when he gave her thick locks a firm tug. Pulling her head back, he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth and bit it. Her peepers weren’t the only place drawing extra moisture. She wondered if Chance would notice the rush of liquid between her thighs.

  A rakish smile slashed across his handsome face, stealing her breath. “Hmm, my Apple Pie Angel likes it dirty and a little rough.”

  Before she could respond, they were interrupted by a cane tapping against the driver’s window. Neither had noticed the abrupt cessation of gunfire.

  Lacey peered over Chance’s sho
ulder at an older man who looked to be around seventy. Outdated glasses with scratched lenses hung around his neck on a lanyard. She couldn’t help but wonder at their effectiveness. Being homeless, it was highly unlikely his prescription was recent or even from the last decade.

  Meanwhile, she felt the vibration from Chance’s groan clear to her toes. Watched in fascination as his triceps muscles flexed when he pushed himself off her and opened the door. She sat up, straightening her clothes while Chance spoke to their visitor.

  “You shouldn’t be out here, Professor. You could have caught a bullet.”

  “Nonsense, Romeo. It was only Mercutio and Tybalt dueling in the square again. I’ve taken them in hand. All is quiet now. You and Juliet may resume your frolicking.”

  Lacey’s face burned in embarrassment and she instantly felt the need to apologize.

  “Professor—”

  “You may call me Shakespeare, Juliet. It’s only proper after you’ve lain with Romeo, don’t you think?”

  Chance gave Lacey a just-go-along-with-it look and said, “The professor left teaching after a rather intense psychological episode. Since then he has been the trestle’s resident Bard.”

  Lacey nodded and smiled. “I see. In that case, it’s very nice to meet you, Shakespeare. I’m sorry you found us in such a compromising and awkward position.”

  “Fret not, Juliet. The course of true love never did run smooth,” the professor said, turning his attention to Chance. “No more hiding in the hedges, Romeo. Climb the balcony with a thorny rose upon thy lips and take Juliet away from this hell hole. But leave the apple pies.”

  TAKING LACEY HOME SHOULD have been the easiest thing in the world. But it wasn’t. After they had gotten the professor safely settled under the trestle, Lacey had handed Chance the keys to her car. He took them. Her eyes were pleading and hopeful, and that killed him because he couldn’t be anything better than he was—a murderer. A man damaged beyond repair.