by Kali Argent
Cerberus was the most sophisticated and extensive home security system the company had to offer, and also the most expensive. When she’d argued about the cost, Rayce had simply told her not to worry about it, and he wouldn’t listen to a word otherwise.
Her patio doors had been replaced, the new doors sporting thick, impact-resistant glass, double-bolted locks, and two, shiny new security bars. Every window had been outfitted with sensors, and security cameras had been installed on her deck, front porch, and each side of her house. The new console contained the standard keypad, but also emergency buttons for the police and fire departments, as well as a button to contact the company directly, and a panic button that instantly triggered her alarm.
The techs had walked her through how to set her new master code, but she’d also been asked to provide a distress code. If someone entered her home and forced her to disarm the system, she could enter the distress code to immediately alert WSS, who would in turn dispatch their own armed security response team and alert local authorities.
It was the very definition of “overboard.” The only thing missing was a panic room and a personal bodyguard. Still, she had to admit she felt a hell of a lot safer, even if she had a twinge of guilt every time she remembered she hadn’t actually paid for any of the upgrades.
Unfortunately, reminders were everywhere.
With her empty coffee mug in hand, she stood from the wooden bench on her front porch, her gaze immediately drawn to the surveillance camera in the corner. Shaking her head, she carried the cup into the house and around the corner to the kitchen to refill it. Since she was ahead of schedule on her own work for once, she’d decided to take the morning off to enjoy the beautiful weather and a new book from one of her favorite authors.
Normally, she’d pursue such activities on her back deck, but the space felt tainted now. Besides, from her front porch, she could watch her neighbors walking their dogs, riding bikes with their kids, or simply strolling around the block to soak up the sunshine. Some of them she knew, and she waved when they passed, and for the others, she created colorful backstories and exaggerated personalities.
One woman in particular had sparked her interest already. She’d been older, at least in her sixties, with curly, silver hair and a pair of sunglasses half the size of her thin face. She’d been wearing a neon pink T-shirt with matching shoes and a pair of black yoga capris. On the end of a dainty leash, she’d led an even daintier Pomeranian, both of them practically prancing down the sidewalk as they passed.
Phoebe had decided to name the woman Muffy. Muffy Flannigan and her pooch, Cupcake.
“Would you like a spot of tea, Cupcake?” she said aloud in a terrible British accent as she poured her coffee. “Tea and biscuits for my little snookum.”
“Who the hell are you talking to?”
Phoebe screamed and promptly threw the half-full coffee pot at the intruder in her kitchen. She missed by a good two feet, and the carafe sailed over the island to smash on the hardwood floor, spraying hot coffee everywhere.
“Jesus Christ, Mary, and Joseph!” Leaning back against the counter, she pressed her hand over her racing heart and glared. “Rayce, you scared the fucking hell out of me! Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?”
The asshole laughed until his face turned red and tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Oh, sugar, that was priceless. We really have to work on your aim.”
“Screw you.”
Rounding the island, he sauntered over to her, laughing more when she tried to bat him away. “Aw, don’t be like that. I’m sorry I scared you.”
“And made me break my coffee pot.”
“And made you break your coffee pot,” he repeated. “I’ll buy you a new one. Promise.”
Phoebe pretended to pout for another minute, but gave up the pretense when he began poking her in the ribs. “Okay, okay! Stop. You win.”
“There’s that beautiful smile.”
Tangling his fingers in her hair, he tilted her head back and bent to claim her lips in a hard, deep kiss that stole her breath. They’d spent every available moment together since Phoebe had received the last email, and Rayce had spent more nights in her guest room than he had in his own condo in Dallas. In all that time, he’d never kissed her like this.
Not that she was complaining.
“What was that?” she asked when he pulled away.
“Just missed you.”
He’d had two more events over the weekend which had required his presence, both several miles west of Fort Worth. It just hadn’t been practical for him to make the drive to her place after either event, meaning she hadn’t seen him in three days.
“Hmm,” she hummed, winding her arms around his neck and stretching up for another kiss. “I missed you, too. I’m still mad that you broke my coffee pot, though.”
“I’m not the one who threw it across the room.”
Speaking of which, she should probably clean the mess up before it ruined her floors. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
“Maybe, but how many times have I told you to keep your damn door locked?”
Phoebe pulled a dishtowel from the drawer on her right, then dug around in the cabinet under the sink for the spray bottle of all-purpose cleaner. “Don’t start on me,” she warned. “I have been keeping my doors locked. I was outside reading, and I only came back inside to get more coffee. If you’d been just two minutes later, you’d have found me on the front porch instead of in the kitchen.”
“You were outside?” Rayce retrieved the broom and dustpan from the pantry to sweep up the broken glass from the carafe. “Is that really a good idea?”
They’d had the argument many times before, and her answer hadn’t changed. “I’m not going to lock myself in here like some old hermit, and I’m damn sure not going to let some crazy asshole scare me out of my own house. This is my house. It’s the first thing in my life that has ever really been mine.”
“I know. I know. I just worry about you when I’m not here.”
“And I appreciate that.” Kneeling on the floor, she began mopping up the biggest puddle of coffee with her dishtowel. “As long as you realize that my life can’t just stop because of someone else’s issues.”
He’d asked her almost every day during the past two weeks to come stay with him in the city, but she’d refused. Her house wasn’t just bricks and mortar, wood planks and plaster. It was her home. It was her sanctuary. She’d worked too hard and survived too damn much to have someone take that away from her.
“I know, sugar. I’m not trying to fight with you.”
He did know, because she’d told him. She’d told him a lot of things about her past, but she knew very little about him. It seemed kind of unbalanced.
“What about you?” she asked when they’d finished cleaning up the mess she’d made. “What’s important to you?”
“You’re important.”
She’d expected the answer, but it didn’t make it any less sweet. Still, not what she’d meant, and he knew it.
“I don’t know,” he said when she continued to stare at him. “I guess I just don’t care about things like you do. My condo is just a place to sleep and shower. I like my job.” A slow smile stretched his lips. “I really like my truck.”
“I’ve noticed. Why is that?”
She’d expected some typical guy answer that somehow involved his dick. Instead, his grin turned sheepish, and he ducked his head.
“It’s stupid.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “Suck it up, tough guy.” She sashayed over to him, poking him in the chest and pushing him backward until they stood in front of her sofa. “Sit, and tell me this ‘silly’ thing that makes you love that pickup so much.”
“Okay, fine.” He fell onto the sofa, dragging her down with him and making her laugh. “My dad worked two jobs, so he wasn’t around much when I was a kid.”
Not remotely what Phoebe had been expecting to hear, but it sobered her instan
tly. “I’m sorry, Rayce. That must have been hard.”
“It wasn’t all bad, but it did mean that a lot of stuff fell to me. I knew how to unclog a sink and replace the heating element in the toaster by the time I was nine.”
“Impressive. I could barely make toast when I was nine.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised. Ow!”
He jerked back and pretended to be in pain when she punched him, but really, she’d probably hurt her hand more than she had his arm.
“Anyway, if you’re finished beating me.” Laughing, he held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Truce?”
“Fine, but no more talking about my cooking skills.” Or lack thereof. “Where was your mom?”
“Usually at the hospital.”
It took a moment for Phoebe to register what he meant, but when she did, her heart fell, and tears welled along her lower lashes. “With your sister.”
“Yeah. I don’t really remember a time when Lily wasn’t sick.”
“That’s a really pretty name. How old was she.”
“She was twelve when the cancer finally took her. Mom kind of checked out for a while after that, so I learned how to take care of myself.”
“I’m so sorry.” She remembered the last couple of months with her mother, how weak and frail she’d looked, how thin. She couldn’t imagine being a child and having to deal with that. “So, your truck?”
“My dad worked the graveyard shift—stocking shelves, building display cases, and stuff—at this toy store that used to be on Haskell. I think it’s a tavern now.” He shook his head. “Anyway, every Saturday morning he’d come home with a new diecast model car, and even though he’d worked all night, we’d watch cartoons and play with those cars on the living room floor.”
Phoebe swiped away the stray tear that tracked down her cheek. “He sounds like a great dad.”
“He was.” Rayce coughed to clear his throat. “So, I had all these toy cars, lots of sports cars, buses, tractors, firetrucks, you name it. The pickups were rarer, not too many of them, but they were always my favorite.” He smiled and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “There you have it. I like my truck, because it reminds me of Saturday mornings with my dad.”
“That’s really sweet. Thank you for telling me.”
“God, I love your smile. It brightens my whole damn day.”
Heat started in her neck and crept into her cheeks, traveling all the way to the tips of her ears. She didn’t know what to say to that, so she ducked her head and kept quiet.
Clearly, that hadn’t been the response Rayce wanted, because he slid a knuckle under her chin to nudge her head back up.
“Hey, look at me. You know, I read one of your books.”
Phoebe died a little on the inside. “I know.”
“The storyline was good, but I have a question.”
Not what she’d expected, but at least he hadn’t hated it. “Okay?”
“Those sex scenes, how much is truth, and how much is fiction?”
Yep, mortification complete. Death imminent. “I, uh, well—”
“Is your neck really that sensitive?” As he spoke, he skimmed his fingertips down the side of her throat, making her shiver. “It is. Interesting.” Moving closer, he leaned in, whispering his lips against the shell of her ear. “And here?”
A shiver rippled down her spine, and a needy moan burst from her lips before she could stop it. Heat started in her belly, the forgotten embers of desire blazing to life, and a slow, deep throb started between her legs.
“No pressure,” he whispered before straightening. His eyes dark with desire, he watched her for several long seconds before continuing. “You tell me when you’re ready.” With exaggerated slowness, he leaned in, his lips just a breath from hers. “This is enough for me.”
Then he tilted his head and closed the distance, the tip of his tongue teasing the seam of her lips. Phoebe forgot how to breathe. Her legs trembled, the muscles in her thighs quivering as Rayce delved deep, tangling his tongue around hers, searching and exploring. The room tilted and spun, the dizziness forcing her eyes closed, and she arched against him with a quiet gasp.
Every light touch and gentle stroke tightened her nipples and sent pulses of pleasure straight to her core. Her entire body responded to his touch, to his taste, and yearnings she’d buried years ago awakened with fierce, demanding need. Sliding her hands beneath the hem of his cotton T-shirt, she mapped the expanse of his back. His muscles flexed beneath her fingers, his skin so warm, so soft. She needed more.
As if reading her mind, Rayce broke their kiss, pulling away just long enough to tug his shirt off over his head. The sight of his smooth, bare chest made her mouth water and her body tremble. God, he was gorgeous, a perfect male specimen, and he was all hers.
“Too fast?” he rasped, the cords in his neck straining.
Phoebe shook her head.
That seemed to be all the confirmation he needed, because in the next heartbeat, he’d divested her of her sweater, discarding it somewhere over the back of the couch. Chilled air swept over her exposed skin, raising the hair on her arms and tightening her nipples into hard, tingling buds. Burying his hands in her hair, Rayce attacked her mouth again, urging her back onto the cushions as he covered her from hips to sternum.
“Tell me you want this.” His lips traveled along the curve of her jaw to the hollow behind her ear. “Tell me you want me, Phoebe.” Untangling his fingers from her hair, he slid one arm beneath her, lifting her as he rocked his trapped erection against her core. “I need to hear you say it.”
She could say no. She could push him away, and he’d let her. Her body wanted everything he offered, but old worries and new doubts slithered through her mind, the poisonous remnants of her past relationships. Phoebe had never been one to engage in casual sex or random hookups, but she knew the difference between a fling and something more meaningful.
The way Rayce looked at her, the way he touched her, kissed her, held her—none of it felt casual.
“I would never hurt you,” he whispered when she didn’t answer him right away. “I’m not him.”
When he started to pull away, she clutched at him, digging her fingers into his shoulders, and swallowed audibly. He was right. She’d been manipulated before, damaged, controlled, and demeaned, but the man in her arms hadn’t been the one to hurt her.
He wasn’t Tucker.
“I know who you are,” she answered, the lump in her throat making her voice tight, weak. Her heart thundered, pounding inside her chest, but she trusted her instincts and followed her heart. “I want you, Rayce.”
With a low groan, Rayce lowered over her again, keeping his arm around her waist to hold her tight. She stopped thinking, stopping worrying, and grabbed the back of his neck, then circled her legs around his waist. Damn, he was big, a solid wall of pure muscle encased in sun-bronzed skin, and she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything.
Arching against him, she nipped at his bottom lip, catching the flesh between her teeth and tugging gently. The sound he made, the deep rumble that vibrated his chest, nearly undid her. His natural musk mingled with the spice of his cologne, the scent filling her head and making her dizzy with lust.
“Before this goes any farther,” he muttered against her lips, his voice breathless, “do you have protection?”
Phoebe shook her head, wound too tight to filter her response. “I haven’t been with anyone in almost four years.”
She was on the pill, just in case something ever did happen, but she didn’t keep condoms around the house in anticipation of it.
“Oh, sugar.” Rayce kissed her forehead and sat up on the edge of the sofa. “I have some in my truck. Hold that thought.”
She followed him halfway to the door by the time his words fully registered with her adrenaline-soaked brain. “You keep condoms in your pickup?”
His laughter was tight and a little strained. “Just since I met you.”
Lifting her easily with one arm, Rayce stumbled down the hallway, bouncing off the walls and knocking framed paintings to the floor. Phoebe curled around him, her legs locked around his hips, her fingers buried in his hair, clinging to him in desperation as he carried her to her bedroom. A hunger like she’d never felt overwhelmed her, and she felt wild, primal, teetering precariously on the edge of control.
The door bounced off the wall when Rayce threw it open to stagger into her room, his booted feet thudding over the beige carpet. Sunlight poured through the open curtains, illuminating her unmade bed in bright, golden light. Delirious with need, Phoebe half expected to hear angels sing.
Kneeling at the foot of the mattress, Rayce pushed the sheets, blankets, and pillows to the floor with one wide sweep of his arm. Gently, he lowered her to the center of the bed, then slid down her body, licking and kissing a trail of liquid heat from sternum to navel. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of her black sweatpants, he flicked his wrists and pulled, dragging the soft cotton off her hips and down her legs.
“Gorgeous,” he breathed, sliding his hands up the back of her calves. “Perfect.” He pushed at her knees, parting her thighs and spreading her open to his gaze. “Fuck.”
Pinning her to the mattress, he skimmed his nose over her bare mound and teased the top of her cleft with his tongue. He teased her again and again with featherlight touches and barely-there kisses until Phoebe felt she’d go mad from the torture. Naked and vulnerable, aching with need, she writhed against the bed, arching her back and rolling her hips, frantically trying to get closer.
