by Ava Miles
He brought out a platter of already prepared Oysters Rockefeller. “I fired up the grill before I picked you up. This will just take a moment. Why don’t you bring your drink out to the deck, and you can watch me?”
Oh, the way he said that…
“I might just stay in here.”
His mouth twitched. “Too bad. It’s a pretty good show.”
Yes, this is why The Tattooed Chef garnered big ratings.
Her laughter sputtered out. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Absolutely. Can you bring my drink too?”
With both hands holding their drinks, she followed him out onto his massive deck. Terrance was already laying the oysters on the grill, shell down, in a straight line.
“About dance class last night…”
“I was hoping you weren’t going to mention it,” he said as he closed the lid and picked up his drink.
“Are you kidding? You show up with Rhett, Rye, and Clayton, and take off your shirts in my class… And as for Jill teaching you, that girl is in big trouble.”
“I wanted to show you how much I want to be with you again. You never thought I’d come, did you?”
She took a drink, taking her time with her answer. “I thought you might welsh or walk out early. And I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.”
“You threw down the gauntlet, and trust me, part of me thinks it would have been easier to whirl chainsaw blades over fire than dance like that in front of a bunch of women.”
“Hence your boys.”
“You know them. They weren’t going to let me go into the den alone.”
Now that the sun had set, the night was all around them. She saw the first star over his right shoulder and made a wish.
Please don’t let me get scared again.
“What were you all thinking, taking your shirts off like that?” She already suspected, but she wanted to hear his side.
His laugh was more of a snort. “We hoped to throw off either you or your class. As you could tell, we weren’t experts. Especially when you got sneaky and changed the music on us.”
He checked the oysters and fished out some tongs from under the grill cabinet to remove them and nestle them back onto the platter.
“That didn’t work so well for me,” she commented, grabbing his drink as they headed back inside.
“Thank God. I had this horrible vision of being emasculated in front of Dare’s female population.”
Emasculate him? There wasn’t a girly enough song on the planet to make that happen.
“You guys did really great for your first time, but don’t you dare tell the other guys I said so.”
He set the tray down on the counter and made the motion of zipping up his lips. “I promise. Hearing you say it is enough to rebalance my testosterone.”
Her laughter bubbled out. “I have a hard time imagining it’s deficient.”
Their gazes locked, and his hands stilled on the counter. Like he wanted to touch her and was fighting the urge.
“Come on,” he said, his voice husky now. “We need to eat these while they’re warm.”
Arranging them on a serving dish, he carried them to the dining room table. “Hang on. I forgot to light the candles.”
Candles? Oh boy. He was going all out, and her chest was growing tighter by the minute. Arousal and romance were an impossible combo to fight. She sat down and put her white napkin in her lap. The flames danced on those twin pillars after he lit them. When he finally took his seat, he extended the platter to her.
“Ladies first.”
It was another joke between them, and heat flashed through her body.
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
Yep, no way she was going to last the night. Maybe she could text Jane in the bathroom to call her with a fake emergency. But that would be wimping out, standing down out of fear, and she wasn’t going to do it.
The soft, delicate oyster slid into her mouth, and as she chewed, her tongue danced with the flavor of bread crumbs, melted parmesan cheese, chopped spinach, and other spices followed off by the tartness of the lemon he must have squeezed when she wasn’t looking.
“Oh, these are so good. It makes me miss New Orleans.”
“When is Rhett playing there again?” Terrance asked, making his own sound of appreciation when he sampled the first oyster.
“We don’t have anything planned yet. He and Rye are talking about taking Abbie and Tory there sometime in the fall after Rye’s summer tour is over. We’ll see. If that’s the case, I may not go with him. He won’t need me to play recreationally in the casinos there.”
“What’s it like being his publicist now?” Then he wiped his mouth. “Is it okay to talk about you being Vixen?”
She wasn’t sure what he planned on asking. Nor was she sure if she was ready to answer all his questions, but this one seemed harmless enough.
“I love it, honestly. It’s been fun interacting with his fans and thinking up inventive ways to promote him. Now that he’s given Annie to Jane, we don’t have the dog to add to his flamboyance, but he’s fine with that. With Rhett’s colorful way of speaking, I usually have plenty of things to tweet about or supply to the media.”
He chewed thoughtfully, and she knew what was coming.
“Do you miss being Vixen?”
“Sometimes. You didn’t tell me what you made for the entrée.”
For a long moment, he only sipped his cocktail. Like he was waiting her out. Well, she wasn’t going to bite. If she started talking about Vixen, it would only dredge up the past and other questions she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer tonight.
“I made Shrimp Creole,” he said finally. “Another one of your favorites.”
He’d kept an eclectic menu at The Peacock, developing regional specials to suit the various poker players. Cajun had been on the menu as a special for a week during their summer together, and she’d been in seventh heaven.
When the last oyster was gone, he rose and grabbed the platter. “I just need to finish our dinner.”
This time he didn’t ask her to come into the kitchen with him, and it seemed as though the earlier spell between them, the one where everything was easy and light, had been broken. Now the heaviness of the past and her secrets hung between them.
She pushed back from her chair and headed to the kitchen, determined to restore it. He was flipping shrimp in that spectacular move chefs make, jerking the pan from front to back to somersault the food through the air like a circus performer.
“I didn’t tell you who I really was before because no one but Rhett and Jane knew,” she said in a hushed voice.
Even through his jacket she could tell the muscles in his back were tense. He set the pan down and turned to look at her.
“I don’t want to go into everything,” she continued, “but Jane and I both had our reasons for becoming Raven and Vixen. Can we leave it at that for now?” She reached for her diamond necklace to anchor herself. “I don’t want to spoil tonight.”
He turned down the flame on the stove and approached her. “If there’s one thing I thought you knew, it was that you could trust me.”
She shook her head. “We never trusted anyone with the information. Well, except for Mac… Rhett told him in strict confidence. I wanted to tell you…”
“But you didn’t,” he said softly.
“But I didn’t.” And there was regret in her voice.
His progress back to the stove was slow, even though he finished off the entrée with his trademark efficiency. He took another platter out of the refrigerator and set a pan on the burner, adding olive oil. As it warmed, he slid the circular cake-like objects from the platter into the pan. That done, he drew out another platter, this one filled with sliced okra.
She fiddled with her clothing as he cooked—he was either totally immersed in cooking, or he was gathering himself.
It wouldn’t surprise her one bit to hear him constructing a new wall of plas
ter and brick between them.
And she wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Not one bit.
When he brought the food to the table, her appetite had disappeared, but she pointed to the cakes anyway and asked, “What are these?”
“Andouille sausage and goat cheese cakes made out of grits. I hope you like them. Unlike creamy grits, they have a nice crunch to them. I like the structure it gives to the meal.”
She served herself a small portion of food. The silence grew heavier between them as they started to eat.
“This is really good.” As a compliment, she knew it was weak, but it was becoming more difficult to speak.
She knew she had two choices.
Tell him some of her past.
Or remain guarded and leave as soon as she pushed around the food on her plate.
“I forgot the wine,” he said and made a motion to rise.
Didn’t that speak volumes as to how tense things were between them now?
“No need. The cocktail was enough for me.”
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing as he sat back down. Only speared a large tiger shrimp and chewed.
The awkwardness between them was like a heavy fog descending from the mountains, obscuring the way forward. As she took small bites of the delicacies he’d created especially for her liking, she could feel herself drawing away.
If she told him why she became Vixen, it would mean something. And she was so afraid of going back to that place with him, of making herself vulnerable.
She was afraid to care about him again. To have him show her that there could be so much more than simple fun and sex. To trust a man was the biggest gamble of all, as Vince had taught her. What if the violence was still in Terrance, and it resurfaced again, destroying her faith in him?
“You’re not eating much,” he finally commented, and truth be told, he hadn’t cleared his plate either.
Her mouth lifted at the corners. “The food is excellent. I guess I’m not as hungry as I thought. Perhaps you should take me home.” The words made her want to cry as she said them, but she forced them out anyway.
He wiped his mouth and rested the napkin on the table. “All right.”
Why wasn’t he arguing with her? Why wasn’t he pressing her to tell him? Just yesterday, he’d shown up at her dance class and danced—actually danced—to a series of embarrassing songs just to go out with her again.
Would Terrance Waters ever make sense to her, and would she ever want to stop running away from him when her heart asked for more? Her earlier wish on the star rising in the sky had amounted to nothing.
Rising from the table, he strode to the front door without further comment and grabbed his keys. She set her napkin aside and picked up her purse and shawl on the way out. This time he didn’t open her car door. They drove in silence back to her house.
When they arrived, he didn’t even put the car in park. Only turned to her, running his gaze over her face.
“Goodnight, Elizabeth.”
“Goodnight.” Her chest hurt, and she could barely breathe out the word.
He didn’t wait until she was inside before tearing out of her driveway—the only indication he was angry.
When she closed the door and leaned back against it, her eyes started to burn. Her vision wavered.
She didn’t want to feel this with him again.
Sharing the full story of her past was something she’d never done directly with anyone outside of Rhett and Jane, and heck, she’d only filled Rhett in on certain details last month. Matt, Mac, and Abbie knew she’d been stalked—she’d shared that information with their tight circle before she and Jane were unmasked as Vixen and Raven—but they didn’t know the specifics.
Only Jane and now Rhett knew Elizabeth Saunders wasn’t her real name. Liz Parenti had died long ago, but she was like a ghost who haunted Elizabeth wherever she went: the poor girl from the trailer park whose mother sometimes stripped in two-bit dance clubs and whose father ran a broken-down dusty patch of mobile homes, drinking all day.
Terrance wouldn’t settle for less than the full truth. There was no way she could tell him, “I needed a change, so I became Vixen.”
But how was she supposed to tell him about Vince? Especially since he possessed his own violent temper.
She’d run from Terrance out of fear, but not just the fear he’d turn out to be like Vince. He was the only man who’d made her want to wash all the makeup off, remove the wig, and let him see Elizabeth.
Well, now he could see her for who she was, and he wanted to learn more.
He cared about her.
Other than Jane and Rhett and their growing circle, no one had ever cared about her.
She still wasn’t sure anyone other than her new family could, but Terrance was offering her that chance.
Could she take it?
She clenched her eyes shut and listened to the silence in her home. It was deafening. She didn’t want to be here. Not when she could be with Terrance again—laughing and joking, making love.
He wasn’t like Vince. He wasn’t.
Pushing off from the door, she ran to the garage before she could lose her courage and turned on her car. Backing out, she realized she didn’t want to be lonely anymore.
She wanted to be Terrance’s, regardless of how it turned out.
If things went bad, she could always run again.
Chapter 18
Terrance’s fists were already swelling and bruised from hitting the bag, but he had been too pissed to put on boxing gloves or change into work-out clothes. He’d just stripped down to his briefs and started pounding. He switched to the jab, straight right, left hook boxing combination he’d been taught by a celebrity boxing friend and felt sweat gather across his bare chest.
She’d closed him out.
Again.
The hurt had been too monumental for him to do anything but sit there, barely tasting his meal, his gut twisting. He’d hoped to finally get to know the real Elizabeth.
But she hadn’t dropped her mask.
No, she was more mysterious now than ever. He punched the bag again, adding some footwork, needing to burn off his anger and the devastation under it.
She had her secrets—he knew that much—and he wondered again why she’d had the bat by her door. Did she have some crazy ex he didn’t know about? Is that why she’d become Vixen?
His mother had been a woman of secrets, and he’d come to hate her for it. All her lies about where she spent her days, how she spent the paltry sums of money that crossed their threshold, who his real father was.
By the time he was ten, she’d named five different men. He’d stopped asking.
His breath was wheezing out. He didn’t need Elizabeth and her complications. And he certainly didn’t need to feel like shit over her.
He’d been crazy to think they could rediscover the good times between them without lifting up the doormat and seeing all the grubs crawling beneath it.
He finally cursed like he wanted to, punching the bag once for each word that echoed in the empty room.
“Fuck. Shit. Damn…” He kept a mental count as his knuckles cracked and bled. He lost one thousand dollars to his Cuss Fund by the time he was done.
When he rested his head against the bag, defeat rained down on him like lead.
The doorbell rang, and he straightened. Were his ears playing tricks on him? A moment later, he heard it again.
What the hell? If some pizza delivery man was lost, he was about to become the convenient target of Terrance’s rage. His kitchen staff scattered when he got this pissed.
Wiping the blood from his knuckles on his briefs, he decided he didn’t give a crap if his unexpected visitor saw him like this. Hell, he’d been this exposed at Elizabeth’s f-ing dance class.
As he ripped the door open, he shouted, “What in the hell do you want?”
When he noticed it was Elizabeth standing there, he had to brace his hand against the frame.
>
“I’m sorry,” she said, her face white. “I…became Vixen because I was running from something, and other than Jane and Rhett, I’ve never told anyone the whole story. Rhett didn’t even know until recently…”
His hand slid down the frame, as an emotion slid through him, something violent and hot. “We can’t do this. I thought we could, but we can’t. I…goddammit, Vix, you hurt me again, and I just can’t take it.”
She stepped forward and raised a shaking hand to his jaw, caressing it. Her blue eyes were like the ocean at midnight. “Do you think you’re the only one? It hurts me too, and I don’t like it either. That’s why I…left you without anything but a note before. I was so scared.”
“Oh, babe,” he whispered and lifted his hand to cup her cheek.
“I missed you,” she whispered, “and I can’t handle seeing you again. Remembering how things were between us. How they still are.”
Her skin was like velvet without the heavy makeup she used to wear, and the tears in her eyes made his belly quiver.
“I missed you too.”
“Then,” she said softly, brushing her body against him, and he wasn’t sure if it was a question or a request.
He only knew he couldn’t refuse it.
Yanking her mouth to his, he fused them together, devouring her. All of the time spent apart made his hands impatient as he pulled her inside the house and slammed the door behind them.
She grabbed his head and opened her lips to him, and God yes, it was just as he remembered it. The hottest kissing he’d ever experienced. Her tongue slid inside his mouth, and he groaned as his stroked hers. One hand slid down her hip and cupped her sweet round butt, pulling her to him. She moved her body against him in that slow sensual way of hers, the one that had tortured him at the dance class, the one that always drove him to the edge of madness.
Soon she was yanking down his briefs and grabbing a hold of him. His hips jerked in response. Slow down, part of him thought, but there was no way. He’d been without her for too long, and yesterday had aroused him to a fever pitch.
His hands tore off her silk shirt, sending buttons flying and pinging off the hardwood floor. She reached behind and took off her bra, then pushed her skirt and hose down her thighs.
