by Mia Kayla
I peered up at him, taking in over six feet of potent masculinity. "Okay?" I wasn't expecting an answer, and I couldn't find my next words being this close to him. Instead of the cat, Cade got my tongue.
"No need to call those contractors. I decided and got it fixed myself. You can just take out the expenses from my rent. I have the invoices upstairs." With his finger, he swiped at my lip lightly. The movement was slow and sensual, and it shocked me with heat. When he brought his fingers to my lips, I stilled.
"Powdered sugar," he explained, then winked. He turned around and stalked toward the end of the bar. "Follow me," he said again.
Oh. My. Goodness.
"Where are we going?" My voice trembled, and a flush of adrenaline tingled through my body.
"My apartment."
I staggered and stopped mid-step, making him turn around.
"Don't worry, Angel." His tone lowered, husky, sexy, and soft, and I pressed my thighs tighter together to stop the ache. "I'm not going to take advantage of you. Well ..." He chuckled darkly. "… unless you want me to. Just say the word, and I'd be happy to oblige."
"No, no,” I rushed out. “That wasn't what I was thinking." I blinked, catching my breath, and then followed him into the steel freight elevator in the back of the building.
The elevator could’ve fit a king-sized mattress, but with Cade and his broad immense frame near me, I felt claustrophobic. His presence was overwhelming, overpowering, over-the-top.
Never in my life had I met a man so beautiful, so masculine, so intimidating that I had difficulty even looking at him, yet I couldn’t look away.
The air was charged, and I wrung my hands together in front of me, concentrating on anything but him, focusing on the sounds of metal scraping metal and the squeals and squeaks of the elevator rising to the top floor.
"You live here?" I finally asked, finding my voice.
I knew the prior tenant above the restaurant had been a legal firm.
"Yep. Moved in two weeks ago."
When he keyed in, I walked into the room and noted the floor that had formerly been carpeted was now dark mahogany wood.
In the middle of the space was a literal gym, complete with a treadmill, a power lifting station with weights, a workout bench, a rack of kettlebells, a weight tower with dumbbells, and a boxing bag. Backed up against the wall was a dresser and an awkwardly placed king-sized bed. A few of his personal belongings were scattered on the bed and on a single side nightstand.
"This is where you live? This isn’t an apartment. This is a gym."
He pointed to the corner, a look of amusement on his face. "There's the bed. Would there be a bed at the gym?"
"No," I choked out and took a step back. The way he looked at me made my skin flush and my mind race with forbidden thoughts.
"It's a comfy bed,” he added with a wry grin. “Try it."
Maybe I should’ve been frightened; handsome men could be serial killers, too.
But as I took in his crooked smile, I could tell he was only trying to get a reaction out of me. And he was succeeding in every possible way. He was probably used to women everywhere reacting to him like this, wanting him, dropping their panties, and begging him to take them.
I gulped. "No, I'm okay. Thanks."
He stepped toward me, and I jerked back, but he took another step, then another, and another until I was backed up against the wall. "I'm sorry. You said you had some invoices to give me." My voice squeaked like a teenage boy in the midst of puberty.
He angled toward me, his nose barely touching my nose and inhaled deeply. When he leaned in, I stilled, before he reached for something behind me and took a step back, leaving me feeling instantly cold and bereft.
"Yes, why else would you think I took you up here?" He let out a low laugh and pulled out my hand, pressing the receipts into my curled fingers. Sweat formed behind my neck as I peered up at him, hypnotized again by his over-the-top fineness.
When his cocky grin surfaced, I pulled my hands from his.
My assumptions were right, he was doing this on purpose, and the worst thing was, I was falling for it. My body was betraying me in more ways than I could count.
The thought made me want to get out his boxing gloves and teach him some manners.
"Those are your copies. I have the original receipts. You can just deduct it from next month's rent. I have one more lying around here somewhere." He glanced around toward the other end of the room at another set of drawers.
I unfolded the crumpled receipts and stuck them neatly in my folder. When he walked toward the drawers, my shoulders relaxed. I could finally think, finally breathe, finally function.
I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to focus and not act like a thirteen-year-old girl with a crush. "The rent here must be killing you. Why don't you find a normal apartment?" I managed to say casually.
"The rent isn’t the problem. I can afford the rent," he said, shuffling through another set of file cabinets. "Anyway, I'm not staying long."
My shoulders sagged as I watched him filter through his papers. I shouldn't have been disappointed by his words, but I was, which made absolutely no sense because I hardly knew this man.
"I moved here two weeks ago to make sure Allswell was up and running by opening night. I'll make sure that everything is running smoothly before I hand over the reins to my manager on-site—Kristy.”
I cleared my throat, trying to act like I didn’t care. "Then where will you go?"
He picked up the pile of paper receipts. "The next place. Wherever I decide to set up. Probably Toline in Texas. It's up and coming. My two brothers, who are my investment partners, and I are looking to expand. I move wherever we decide to set up our next restaurant or club."
Brothers? There are more like him out there?
It was difficult just being around him. I couldn't imagine three more Cades walking around.
"Is your family from around here?"
Suddenly, he lifted his head, and his face shut down. I thought our conversation was over until he spoke again. "My brothers are all over the place. My mother, she's back in Kritell in Ohio, about five hours away."
By the tone in his voice, I knew his family was off limits, so I asked the next question that popped into my mind. "Don't you get lonely?" I imagined his life, hopping from city to city without any family. Besides moving away to college, I'd lived and grown up in Rosendell, with my family just minutes away from me.
"No. Plus I go home often to visit my mom. So, no, not lonely."
"Really?" I raised my eyebrow, being nosy and knowing it.
He took a step toward me, and my stomach flip-flopped. "Trust me. I don't get lonely."
"Okay," I said, backing off because I was afraid he’d start giving me the gory details. I tapped my heel against the hardwood floor and fidgeted with the edge of my shirt.
"You're nothing like your sister." He eyed me with curiosity, his tone low as though he hadn’t meant those words to slip.
He didn't have to state the obvious.
I held my chin higher, wanting to tell him I had qualities that outweighed hers that couldn't be seen. I was loyal to a fault, compassionate to all those around me, and had graduated summa cum laude at Yale.
He reached out his hand, and I froze. Then, with his fingertips, he smoothed out the wrinkles on my forehead and our eyes locked, the magnetic pull between us was undeniable. His eyes brimmed with curiosity, and I could feel the sexual magnetism bounce off him. "That's a good thing,” he added, his voice seductively low, “that you're not like her."
His words snapped me back to focus. "Hey," I said. “That’s not very nice.” Another quality of mine was that I loved my family to a fault. Sometimes putting their happiness ahead of my own. "That's my sister."
"I didn't mean it as an insult to her. I'm just noting the difference."
"Yeah," I muttered. "Plain to beautiful. I've heard it before."
He leaned in and brushed an escaping stran
d of hair from my face. The touch was so intimate that a dizzying current raced through me.
"You don't see yourself very clearly, do you?" His voice was low and intense.
I took a steadying breath. "No, I do." I've always been sure of myself. That's what I prided myself in. I was the dependable one. Not the most beautiful, but I was comfortable in my own skin.
"I don't think so." He angled closer, so close that I could smell the mint of his toothpaste on his lips. "But I see you very clearly. I haven't seen a sexier little thing in a long-ass time."
I gazed up at him, shocked by his words. His focus flickered to my lips, and I breathed in his scent, a mix of cologne and masculinity, and my body zinged with arousal.
My eyes fell at half mast, about to kiss him, when clarity and sanity pushed to the surface. "I have a boyfriend." My voice was barely above a whisper, as though I wanted to fully disclose my status, yet I didn’t want him to hear it.
His response was immediate. "I don't care."
I blinked out of the haze, out of the cloud of Cade. It was exactly what I needed to hear to slap me out of my daze. "I do care. You can't touch what's not yours."
Amusement filled his face. "Why were you going to let me kiss you, then?" he challenged.
"Was not!" I retorted though I wasn't exactly sure. "Are you admitting you’re a homewrecker?"
"Not at all, baby doll. I've never slept with a married woman."
"Well, that's good to know," I said without thinking.
He inched closer, those steel gray eyes intensifying. "But you're not a married woman, are you?"
I swallowed hard. "Even though I have a boyfriend, that wouldn't stop you from sleeping with me, would it?"
This man was danger personified.
"Angel,” he began, his profile strong and serious, “everyone has a choice. Everyone. It's if you can live with those choices, that's what makes you or breaks you. Me? I live with my choices every single day. And hell, if I wouldn't choose to bed a sexy thing like you." He shrugged a shoulder, unaffected. "In this situation, I have everything to gain, and you have everything to lose, so here it's lady’s choice."
I would’ve never guessed how those words, his words, would haunt my future.
His boldness caught me off guard, and I scoffed out one word, "Never."
"Angel, never say never. I've learned that can bite you in the ass." Then he winked, and my temperature rose. I wasn't sure if it was that I was irritated at him for thinking he could have me or that I was so aroused at the thought.
After a beat, he turned and headed for the door. "After you."
I walked in front of him, but the heat of his stare scorched me the whole way back to the elevator. When I turned around, his eyes were focused on my ass. He didn't even try to hide that he was checking me out.
With a shrug of his shoulders, he said, "What? I can't touch, but baby, don't tell me I can't enjoy the view."
"You're horrible," I muttered, stepping into the elevator.
"You're beautiful," he said, catching me off guard yet again.
"Stop flirting," I said.
"Flirting is harmless." He turned the key and pressed the down button on the elevator. "And I think you like it when I flirt with you."
"I certainly do not." It was hard hiding a lie when my face was flaming red.
"I think you do." He leaned in, so close that I got a whiff of his intoxicating scent again. "You're so damn beautiful. And the hottest thing is, you don't even know it."
"Whatever. You're flirting again," I whispered without the bite in my voice.
"No. Just telling the truth." He angled toward me as I backed against the wall of the elevator. Caging me in, he placed his forearm right by my head. "Flirting would be like this."
I peered up at him, taking in over six feet of oh-all-man.
"Listen, sexy. Allswell is having a ladies' night next weekend. You get in free, and cocktails are half off from seven to nine. I want to see you there." He ducked his head, gazing at me with that stupid crooked smile on his face. "This is flirting, and dangerously, I might add."
I inhaled deeply, biting my lip, using the wall behind me to keep me upright, keep my weak knees from giving out.
Oh, goodness gracious, great wall of fineness.
"Now you can tell me to stop flirting," he murmured.
"Stop … Stop flirting," I said weakly, not convincing even to my own ears.
He leaned in even closer and whispered softly in my ear. "All you have to do is say stop, Angel." He backed away as though it hurt him to do so, then the elevator pinged open, and he motioned for me to exit before him.
But I could still feel his eyes on me, watching me. And god, I hated to admit it, but it felt good for once to feel ... to feel ... what was the word? Wanted. That’s it.
He made me feel wanted.
Chapter 5
The drive to Clarington took only thirty minutes, but riding with Roland in a silent car made it seem like an eternity.
"I got your father a bottle of Haut-Brion. Do you think he'd like that?" Roland's focus didn't stray from the traffic forming in front of us.
"Yes, it’s his favorite."
He'd asked me a week ago what he should get my father. Did he remember that the Haut-Brion had been my idea?
The overhead moonlight highlighted Roland's features: the tall bridge of his nose, his clean shaven, strong jawline. He knew me more than anyone else on this planet, and we shared so much history, so many years together. Our parents were great friends, our families interconnected like puzzle pieces that formed a single, solid, happy picture.
But that was no reason for our relationship to be like this—routine, boring, predictable. I refused to live in an endless cycle of unhappiness.
Stepping into my parents’ foyer, the scent of Grandma's sweet apple pie hit my nostrils as my heels clip-clopped against the imported black Italian marble floors. I heard the commotion in the kitchen and my sister's loud laughter echoing through the corridor, followed by my father's voice, most likely the guilty culprit making her giggle like a little schoolgirl.
"Honey, I'm home," I announced. "Where’s the birthday boy?"
My father was sitting at the kitchen table, and I rushed to him and hugged him full on. I pulled at his Santa-like beard and planted one long kiss on his cheek until his belly shook with laughter.
"How's my old man?" I reached for his hand and jiggled it between both of mine.
"Still alive and healthy at the tender age of twenty-one." He winked.
Nana waited patiently in line behind him, needing and wanting some affection. She enveloped me in one of her infamous, tight hugs. At 5' 2”, including her gray full bouffant, she had the strength of a bear. She gripped me to her chest, almost constricting my lungs of air. "My beautiful Angie. So pretty. Always prettier, every time I see you."
"Whatever, Nana." I laughed. "I just saw you last week."
"And look at you, Roland." She pulled back and snickered. "You look just like your daddy. We'll have to fix that." She walked up to him and tiptoed where the top of her bouffant hair met his chin.
Roland fidgeted while Nana undid his tie and tugged the side of his button-down shirt, untucking it. "See? Much better already."
Nana made him nervous, and it amused the heck out of the rest of our family. Well, everyone except my mother.
My mother approached, disdain on her serious face. "Agnes, please don't torment my future son-in-law."
Roland and my mother touched cheeks in their typical formal greeting. I held my tongue. Marriage between us was inevitable; it was the next step in our relationship. But I wanted to be elated when he popped the question, and until I was sure there were no more empty promises, I knew that I wouldn't be.
Tene was making her infamous dip at our marble kitchen counter underneath the dangling pots and pans from the hanging rack.
"Hey, I need to talk to you later." I raised an eyebrow and threw her a glassy stare.
&nbs
p; She let out a short laugh. She had led me right into Cade's restaurant this morning, and she was going to get an earful from me.
When the doorbell rang, my mother flattened her unstained apron. "Roland, your parents are here."
Roland walked out of the kitchen, followed by my mother, who turned around and clicked her tongue.
"Angelica." Her tone said that I should come along.
Tene crossed her eyes and touched her nose with her tongue, making me laugh. I pointed my finger in her direction and squinted. "We're not done here, sissy."
"Oh, boy, I'm in trouble,” Tene said, amused, “and you know how I love to get in trouble."
In the foyer, Kathleen Spencer stood tall, with her hair neatly pulled back in a sleek blonde ponytail. Not one hair on her head was out of place. She clutched her Louis Vuitton purse tight to her side as her floor-length white linen skirt laid at her ankles.
"Liz, lovely like always." She touched cheeks with my mother like the Europeans they weren't and approached me and my father. "Leo, dapper as always." After giving my father a slight hug, her arms wrapped fully around me, in an embrace to rival my grandmother’s. "My sweet Angelica. How did my boy get so lucky?" She cupped my face, and her easy grin surfaced.
One of the things I loved about Roland was his mother. She always welcomed me with a motherly love that I sometimes lacked from my own mother.
"Roland." Her voice softened with such reverence for her golden boy. "Son, what happened to your tie?" Her hands flew to his neckline as she redid the tie that my grandmother had messed with. My father chuckled when Kathleen began to tuck in Roland's shirt.
"Mother, please." He backed away, stuffing his own shirt in his pants. Sometimes Tene would joke that she believed Roland's mother still nursed him. She asked me if he fell asleep at my breast, making suckling noises.
When I caught the humor on my father's face, I had to turn away or else I would’ve busted out laughing.
James Spencer stood tall behind his wife, peering down at his smartphone, most likely taking care of business. Also in the world of finance, James, along with his brother, owned one of the largest accounting firms in Rosendell.
