“Wow. Nice place.” She strolled deeper into the apartment. The loft opened to a large living room decorated in different hues of gray with a bank of floor to ceiling windows that had a view of the river. A chrome and steel central kitchen and formal dining area completed the spacious room. She ran her hand over the ash colored leather sofa. The dark masculine colors suited him.
“I didn’t decorate.” He leaned against the wall to the kitchen, his arms folded across his wide chest, long legs crossed at the ankle.
She wasn’t surprised. He didn’t seem the decorating type. “I said it to be polite.” She shrugged. “So, why are we here?”
“Your house has been compromised twice by Vito and you. Here is a better option.”
He hadn’t moved from his spot, yet he seemed relaxed as if being here eased his tension. “So you bring me here without asking me?”
He pushed off the wall and approached with a loose-limbed gait which accentuated his strength and sensuality. “Bodyguards do that sometimes.”
“That’s kidnapping.” She glared at him.
A careless lifting of his massive shoulders, titillated as much as it annoyed, was his answer. He clasped her chin and angled her head to peer at her bruised cheek. “Did you get hit again?”
“No.” His question irked her. She could take care of herself. Though she should be grateful he didn’t see her in action. “I’m not staying here.”
His gaze flickered lower, swept down her entire body. “You will stay here or I will break your legs and make you stay.”
His dark eyes threatened, yet captivated, and heated her skin. Her nipples tightened under the tacky sweater. She wanted to pull her coat closed, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. Then again, she was tempted to strip off her coat, no—strip everything off and see if his cool nonchalance shattered.
She couldn’t. That’s what Ridley wanted, to use her like a whore, and Emeline wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. Even though she wanted him—badly.
“I’m not fucking you,” she said to herself…then realized the words had actually left her mouth. Horrified, she froze and waited for Avery’s reaction.
His face turned to granite, his eyes flinty. He crowded her with his body so close the heat of him baked her. “I’ve had enough women fuck me.”
Whoa. Her breath left her in a rush, along with anything else she could possibly say.
Avery returned to the front door.
“You're leaving me here?” Apparently, she did have more to say.
“I’ll be back.” He punched in a code into the security panel. “And yes, I’m locking you in. You’ve blown your trust with me.” The door slammed behind him, clicked twice, and the alarm gave a long beep.
A scream almost tore from her throat when the absurdity of her situation dawned. Avery didn’t trust her. He had every right not to. She couldn’t fault the man for following his instinct. Those instincts had saved his life more than once.
Maybe she should tell him and get the full force of the Nicolis name behind her and ram it down Ridley’s throat, watch her choke. An animated scene played in Emeline’s head, making her grin.
Tell Avery the truth and risk him telling me to go scratch myself for lying? Then where would I be? Emeline plopped herself onto a high stool at the breakfast bar and searched through her phone. She hadn’t deleted any of her contacts at the Order. Now, she started dialing, one number after another. Someone had to know something that could help her.
Most went to voicemail. Some just rang. Only Natalie answered, but she was on assignment in Egypt, following Brayden Nicolis. She’d landed only a few hours ago. Having come straight from England to cover the assignment, she was out of the NYC loop. Everyone else she tried didn’t answer.
She had to figure out what Ridley was doing and why, before she became the next victim and Grand became an orphan at the tender age of ninety-two. But Ridley wanted Avery, and Emeline was the go-between. That was the key keeping her alive.
That would change when he found out she was lying to him. She needed to get the pieces of the Orb back from Ridley and the Key from Vito. Nothing that could open the gates of hell should be bought and sold. It needed to be buried right next to the long lost Jimmy Hoffa.
For now, she was stuck in Avery’s apartment. God, how she would’ve loved access to this place when she was a watcher. Getting inside here was her holy grail, the mission she most desired until she had to walk away.
She wandered through the rooms, searching for clues to the man she had studied for years, yet there was nothing really here. No personal pictures, no jewelry, no discarded item out of place to even say he lived here. A simple king-sized bed dominated the master bedroom. The locked cabinet in the corner probably held weapons, but the keypad prevented her from jimmying it. She found condoms and an assortment of porn magazines inside the night table in the second bedroom and the graphic tees EJ favored hanging in the closet.
The last entry she had seen in Avery’s file mentioned the brothers’ frequent stays at a shared apartment. That was a week after Grand showed up. She’d returned to the Order to resign and have a final peek at Avery’s file.
Her skin itched from the fruit punch drying on her skin and turning her clothes into a cement block. She needed a bath, desperately. One hour ticked by. No Avery. Another round of snooping, she discovered a washer and dryer located in a utility closet. A mini-war raged within her, should she or shouldn’t she?
In the end, Emeline gave in. She stripped and tossed in her shirt, pants, and underwear. She raced to his bathroom and inside the glass enclosed shower. No shower gel, only a bar of soap rested on a ledge which smelled like him, musk with a touch of sandalwood, and generic shampoo.
Water pulsed from several showerheads and cleansed the sticky punch from her skin. Towels made from Egyptian cotton were stacked in a linen closet. She dried herself quickly and spotted a dress shirt hanging on the back of the bathroom door. Still damp from the shower, she stuck her arms in the sleeves and drew the material around her. The shirt came to her knees and dangled from her arms. His scent lingered on the collar. She buried her nose in the material and inhaled. All male. It smothered her in a way that left her filled with futile longing.
Weary, she stretched out on his bed—picked a side—and pulled the blanket, at the foot, over her. He’d locked her in here, and she made herself comfortable. So why couldn’t she fall asleep even when exhaustion dragged her down?
Because it didn’t feel right lying in Avery’s bed, wearing his clothes. All of this was wrong, starting with her. But what choice did she have? Seducing Avery would get him on her side and temporarily please Ridley. Win-win situation. Her stomach rolled, not because she wasn’t attracted him. The man was hot, and complicated, and deadly, all of the combinations she should stay away from, but couldn’t. She never had in the past, and her libido probably wouldn’t let her start now.
Still, she wouldn’t sleep with him in order to trap him. She’d been low before, done things she would never brag about, screwing Avery for Ridley’s agenda—no way. No how.
She tossed her clothes in the dryer and retrieved a butcher knife from a block on the kitchen counter. Determined, she sauntered up to the locked cabinet in the bedroom. Ridley was out there. Emeline would leave, but she wouldn’t go unarmed.
The front door opened. Lost in thought, she hadn’t heard the alarm deactivate.
Damn!
Footsteps—distinctly different from Avery’s—thudded down the short hallway. Who’d come to kill her now? She eased to the bedroom door, knife in her hand, and peered out.
And into the wrong end of a gun.
Chapter Sixteen
Never bring a knife to a gun fight. Common sense, but Emeline must’ve missed the memo. Worse, she froze. In the microsecond where she might have had a chance to strike a blow, all of her muscles locked up. Until she heard the surprised gasp and low whistle. A distracted opponent could be defeated.
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With her free hand, she knocked her opponent’s arm to the side. Only then did she spot the massive size of the man. She’d thought Avery was tall, this guy was taller and wider. Built like a sixteen wheeler. If he had come here to kill Avery, what would he do to her? She didn’t waste her time throwing a punch that would bounce off his chest, or trying to reach his throat. She went for the gonads, pressed the tip of the butcher’s knife to the seam below the zipper of his jeans. That was the only way to stop a man with intent to kill. Give him something to think about—like ejaculating dust the rest of his life instead of the little swimmers he's so fond of.
“Whoa! My bad. You win.” The gun dangled on one finger in front of her face.
The dim lighting in the hallway kept his face in the shadows but nothing could hide the humor in his words. She hadn’t won. He let her win.
Emeline snatched the gun and pressed the muzzle center mass, right over his heart. She didn’t remove the knife. A bullet in the heart or a wounded dick? Who knew which would frighten him more?
“Back up,” she said not wanting to lead him into the bedroom and give him any ideas. They cleared the hallway and the recessed lighting in the living room bathed his features.
EJ Nicolis smiled down at her.
“Hello, beautiful,” he said.
Shit! DOUBLE Shit! She couldn’t drop the knife and gun and tell him to have a seat. She didn’t know him. Technically.
“Who are you?” she said.
“I’m EJ. Avery’s brother. Don’t you see the family resemblance?” He tilted his chin and flashed a set of pearly whites. She almost laughed. God, he was cute with his dimpled cheeks and freckles, the complete opposite of Avery’s brooding countenance.
She shook her head. “Not really.” Avery’s record said they had different fathers.
He shrugged. “You’re not the first to say that. But I can prove we’re brothers. Don’t shoot or maim me. I’m cute, but I still need my dick.” Slowly he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He pulled a battered picture out of a compartment and held the photo up to her. “See, that’s us ten years ago.”
Avery looked the same, big, bald, and angry. EJ had a mop of reddish hair and a skeletal frame waiting to fill out, but the grin and freckles were indelible. “All right, I believe you.” She moved the knife from his precious and lowered the gun as she took a step back.
He held out his hand. “Can I have my gun back?”
Yeah, she had no reason to keep it. But not wanting to look completely trusting, she unloaded the clip and checked the chamber. Butt first, she returned his weapon and ignored his raised eyebrow.
“So, what are you doing here?” Emeline folded her arms.
EJ shoved his empty weapon into the small of his back, then folded his arms which made him appear wider and a bigger threat, not counting the dimples and freckles. “That is my question since I’ve proven who I am.”
“Emeline Gamble. I’m a client of your brother.” Not that she wasn’t sure he knew that already. “I’d shake your hand but I’m not letting go of my knife or your bullets. A girl can’t be too safe.”
“I wish my clients chose to dress like you.” He canted his head and gave her an appreciative appraisal.
“Does that include the men?”
A chuckle rumbled through his chest. “I think I like you, Emeline Gamble.”
Somehow, she didn’t think he said that often and that made her smile.
“Thirsty? I could use a beer. How ‘bout you?” EJ unzipped his coat and shrugged the leather jacket off, exposing two nine millimeters strapped into shoulder holsters and knives strapped to his sides. He tossed the coat on the back of the sofa and kept moving to the kitchen.
Emeline barked out a laugh and followed him. She tossed the useless clip of bullets and placed the knife back into the block. “Yeah, I could use a drink.”
***
Avery left Emeline in the apartment partially out of spite, partially out of concern, but mainly to keep her in one spot while he did his own investigation. He tried not to think about her in his apartment, touching his belongings, invading his space. He’d never brought a woman there. Didn’t want anyone’s presence lingering, poisoning his serenity, and disturbing the center of calm he needed to maintain the aura of control. Having EJ there on occasion was bad enough.
Some days were easier to present the façade that he had control of the darkness dwelling within. A part of him reveled in blood and destruction, and the gore. But after the battle at RedZone, he’d changed. His internal walls had cracked and each day the breach widened. It had to be the lack of sleep. Insomnia made everything fuzzy, except for Emeline.
Today had truly tested him. First the club. Meeting the object of your obsession wasn’t always recommended. Then her home. Being in close quarters with her and not able to touch her strangled him, yet gave him hope. A hope he wanted to explore, though wouldn’t, couldn’t, and at all costs shouldn’t. Until the tracking device beeped and he found her fondling Lincoln.
Irrational fury coursed through him. Emeline wasn’t his and he had no right to go ape-nuts seeing her with another man—with her hands stroking his hard dick. His teeth grated against each other. A grin spread as he relived the tender moments when his knuckles met Lincoln’s face.
Avery parked the Range Rover and walked through the quiet residential area as far as possible before the police and a crowd of lookyloos stopped him. Up ahead, the EMTs rolled a woman out on a stretcher from the same house he’d dragged Emeline out of an hour ago. So much for interrogating anyone.
“I heard she’s catatonic,” someone nearby said.
“Liquor and drugs?” Another replied.
“I’ve never known Belinda to do anything hardcore, but who knows?”
Emeline hadn’t said anything about her friend being catatonic. Big omission. What else wasn’t she telling him? An itch started deep in the damaged muscles on his right shoulders. He scanned the crowd, looking for a threat. College age kids with a few adults mixed in focused on the unfolding drama. Agitated, he rolled his shoulders lessening his building anger.
Control.
He returned to the car, passed a local news van as he left the neighborhood, and drove back to Emeline’s home. The door to the roof was hidden next to her closet. From there, he traced her steps across several rooftops and stopped before the final jump to the apartment building across a wide alley. He judged the distance and was certain with his long legs and strength he could make the leap. How had Emeline done it? With her shorter, slim build, there was no way she made the jump.
Another lie?
He doubled back to her home. The full-sized bed dominated her small bedroom. Perfume, lotion, and other random bottles were scattered across her scuffed dresser. He opened a drawer and his hand vanished in a sea of frilly items. He extracted a scrap of cream lace and immediately imagined it settled between her thighs. Lust punched his gut.
I’m not going to fuck you, she’d said. As if that was the only thing he wanted from her. He wished things were so simple. Her words imprinted an image of her splayed naked on his bed, awaiting his return.
The lace slid through his fingers. He didn’t feel like a perv until he slipped the panties in his coat pocket. More items drew his attention. Panties and bras, each were inspected as if he were an expert on women’s clothing. Wasn’t a hardship imaging each delicate piece draping her luscious body. Finally, he picked out a red, transparent confection that made all of him hard. He clutched the delicate gossamer in his hand, wishing he held her as he did the strip of fabric.
Focus.
Avery dragged a shaky breath into his lungs and forced his lust to the basement of his soul. A pair of jeans and a thick sweater, some toiletries in her bathroom and her coat from the downstairs closet completed the care package. He locked up and left the house.
Anxiety prodded him when he entered the loft and rode the elevator up to his apartment. Not knowing what you’ll find on the
other side of the door would do that to a person. It felt strange coming home to someone. Someone you wanted. He stopped to gather some calm and a nervous chuckle rumbled through his chest. What had she done to him?
Laughter echoed from inside, light and infectious. Raw need knifed him. What had amused her, he wanted to know and see joy on her face, bask in the glow. A deeper, very familiar laugh joined hers.
Oh Hell! He pressed the keypad and entered his private domain. Wasn’t so private with EJ and Emeline sitting on the sofa like long lost pals. Both had beers and stupid grins on their faces. Emeline looked comfortable as if she liked being around his easygoing little brother more than she liked being stuck with him.
“Hey. I saw your lights on so I stopped in.” EJ climbed to his feet.
No he didn’t. His bike wasn’t parked in the usual spot when he visited. EJ came to snoop. “Now you can leave,” Avery grunted harder than he intended, but EJ laughed.
Emeline stood. He noticed his shirt—and her bare legs. Was she naked? The hem skimmed her knees, that didn’t stop him from imagining her body beneath.
She sauntered up to him. Flashes of her café au lait thighs titillated. “Looks like you're not going to have to break my legs.”
Damn him if they weren’t gorgeous. Tanned and shapely, the kind of legs a man would love to lick his way up to the treasure between. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
“I’ll leave you two alone so you can talk about me.” She headed towards his bedroom.
EJ joined Avery. “Tell me you’re hitting that.” He did not whisper.
Emeline jerked to a stop. She spun and nailed them with a frigid stare. “No one is hitting anything over here.” Her finger swept from the crown of her head to the tips of her manicured toes. Then she stormed into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.
Avery grabbed EJ by the throat. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
“I came to tell you the game plan. Starting tomorrow, we’re checking out all the abandoned warehouses for the quimaera. I was gonna crash here tonight. Tension’s thick at RockGate. Roman’s all glowy eyed. Everyone’s staying clear of him. Plus, they got a kid now. She’s cute and all, but it’s still weird. Everything is mega weird. And your eyes aren’t exactly normal either. Didn’t mean to cock block.” EJ spoke fast, as usual.
Evermore (Descendants of Ra: Book 3) Page 14
