by Thalia Eames
Afraid he would leave her again, she grabbed his arms, her eyes flaring wide. The liquid amber of his gaze seared her to the bone.
“Garrett?” she whispered as fear danced across her flesh, making her tremble.
“I’m in control,” he said, his voice sensuous as fur. But those eyes were something else—hunter’s eyes.
Danger stirred the air between them. Garrett was not safe or comfortable. He could destroy her with a word, with a deed, or with the hard length of him—standing ready to drive into her and drive her insane. And she wanted him, needed to be branded by his sex. Fear had no hold when desire had staked its claim so deeply. She couldn’t slice Garrett out without harming herself.
Their breaths synced, his silently filled his chest in a slow rhythm, hers came staccato and quick.
“What is it?” she asked, running her fingertips up the rippled hardness of his stomach. Flicking her fingers up, she flattened her hands and continued upward to rub her palms across the muscles and soft hair across his chest. Silk over iron. All man.
He groaned. Leaning into her touch, he braced both arms against the mattress on either side of her head. The tension in his biceps seemed to fight for control. His eyes captured hers in a look of total possession. Without warning, he nipped her lower lip. A fresh wave of liquid desire washed over her.
“You waited for me. You’re wet for me.” His growl of passion sounded the only warning before his hands slid under her. Strong fingers gripped her ass while his thumbs nudged her thighs farther apart. And he plunged inside her, balls deep.
Her moan split the air. Her fingers gripped his waist. His mouth claimed hers again as he lifted her legs onto his shoulders and rolled them both forward. The motion opened her more fully, the pleasure of his hardness inside her nearly splitting her in two quivering halves.
Garrett’s hips began to move in a torturous loop. A downward stroke into her, halfway around and out, and then deliciously back in—completing the circuit. The tip of his cock hit her G-spot, again and again. Each time she cried out as her body clenched around him.
Caressing fingers traced the lines of her shoulder blades before he hooked her in an overhand grasp. “Give it all to me,” he demanded, whispering the words into the curve of her neck.
Love bites and licks grazed her skin, making her nipples harder. Feeling them press against his chest, he curled and sucked one lusty peak into the heat of his mouth. When she bucked beneath him, he chuckled and picked up the pace. His body pounded into hers until pure bliss sucked all thought away, leaving her a mindless mess.
She arched off the bed, coming so hard only her butt remained on the sheets. Garrett’s arms caught her around the waist as she collapsed. Her sex clenched and released around his, greedy for more.
He continued to piston in and out of her. Each stroke of his hips took her to the edge of overload. Pleasure soaked and trembling, she gasped. Her hands caught in his hair as she came again. This time softly, whimpering his name.
“Look at me.” His words were husky, demanding. “I want you to watch me come.” Panting, nearly used up, she focused on him. With three more deep thrusts, he threw his head back, groaning out her name. He came molten inside her.
Wanton and wanting, she tightened her legs around him, taking him all in.
Hers. For as long as she wanted him, Garrett Westlake belonged to her.
A few minutes passed as quickly as seconds. Her reprieve ended when he turned over to lie flat on the bed and pulled her on top of him. With her back to his stomach, he rolled them both onto their sides. His teeth grazed her earlobe. One arm wrapped around her waist. The other hand slid between her buttocks. He parted her, fingered her clit, and delved inside.
His thickness refilled her nearly to bursting. The pounding rhythm of his lust rocked her relentlessly, so deliciously well she wanted to purr, arching only for him. She moaned as he found a new rhythm, a kind of rolling thrust that rode her hard and drove her crazy with pleasure.
Mercy. She needed Garrett to have mercy on her. But begging only fueled him on. He thrust with greater fervor, kissed more ardently. Every pulse point on her body hummed with sensation. It hurt so good her screams of passion ended in heady smiles.
There, beneath the moon glow that filled the room with a kind of magic, Garrett did what she always knew him capable of. He utterly devastated her and left her in ashes on their bed.
Chapter Sixteen
Garrett’s ringtone shook her awake. Lennox lay on her stomach with her arms curled beneath the pillow. The heavy weight of Garrett’s sleeping form ensconced her. His arms parenthesized hers. Their fingers were intertwined.
He stirred, rubbing the tip of his nose against the skin behind her ear in a caress. “Where’s my phone?” he gruffed.
“I’m going to guess it’s with your pants.” She pointed lazily. “Or more accurately, it’s with that pile of rags that used to be your jeans.” She shook her head and buried herself in the pillow. “How did you do that?” came out muffled.
He grunted and rolled out of bed. She started to miss him immediately but kept her protests quiet. No one liked a girl who got clingy after sex. She contented herself with watching the muscles of his backside bounce as he jogged to the phone. As far as consolation prizes went, watching a naked Garrett jog ranked high on the list. Then he crouched low and… Good morning, sunshine.
“This is Anderson Westlake.”
A pause. His eyes lit up.
“Mr. Spielberg.”
A smile.
“No, I can’t call you Steven, sir. Call me a country boy but that doesn’t seem right.”
Intent quiet.
“I’m actually fairly close to my alma mater. I could be at Coburn Elliott tonight.”
Another smile.
“I look forward to speaking with you about A Theft of Shadows too. Eight p.m., then?”
A beat.
“I’ll see you.”
Her heart stopped when he looked at her. Whatever the famous director had said must’ve made Garrett’s century. The smile lighting his face transported him through time, turning him boyish and very near angelic. The way he’d looked when they’d met. Heaven help her she wanted more of him.
“How do you feel about going back to our school tonight and meeting Steven Spielberg?”
Sudden fear surprised her into silence. She looked away. Sex and hanging out around her hometown was one thing, but a real date might make her crave more dates. “I think I’ll pass. I need to figure out what I’m going to do about money.”
His silence made her turn to look at him.
“Spend mine.” He lifted an eyebrow.
Pandemonium set off in her belly. How much sexual magnetism could one man possess? She didn’t really want to know. He’d already slain her in bed and resurrected her with orgasm after orgasm.
“I need my own money.”
He walked back to the bed and lifted the sheets. She rolled onto her side. Mistake. Her entire body ached. She winced, only exaggerating the pain halfway. Garrett threw the sheet completely off her. His expression filled with concern. “I hurt you.”
He gently rolled her from side to side, perhaps looking for bruises or a dented bumper. She couldn’t tell which.
Grinning up at him, she said, “I hurt good.” He scoffed, continuing to examine her. She had to slap his searching hands a bunch of times before he left her alone.
“You ought to worry about whether or not I’m on birth control.” She sat up and stretched. “What you did to me last night can only be called baby making. I could’ve sworn I heard Barry White singing somewhere in the middle of it.”
Not even a smile. Maybe he didn’t believe in the power of Barry White’s baby-making music.
Consternation carved lines into his face. “Are you on birth control?” He’d gotten too serious.
/> “Yes, for several years now. My doctor prescribed it to regulate my period.”
He exhaled in response and it sounded a lot like disappointment. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Garrett tweaked her nose. “Our children would be amaz— Oh, shit.”
Garrett jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over both their heads. Under the cloud of sheets she stared at him, ready for answers. He yanked her flat onto the mattress. “Get down,” he said, half covering her with his body.
If he wanted an early-morning sex session he only had to ask. She might be half-dead and sore but she wasn’t going to turn down another trip to the Garrett candy shop. That’d be stupid. The man was sweeter and thicker than a Chick-O-Stick.
“Garrett, I—”
A rough knock shook the door. “Are you guys finished doing whatever that was?”
Nox! He’d heard them getting busy all night. The shame of it set the skin at her hairline on fire. She looked to Garrett for help. He slapped a hand over his eyes and sank into his pillow.
“We were,” Lennox called out, “um, playing…a game.”
Garrett groaned.
Nox yelled back, “I can’t wait until I get to play those games. You were screaming so loud I thought you were riding a vicious roller coaster.”
Lennox blanched. What did he say? Uncontrollable shakes overtook her. “Shut your face,” she screamed. “You don’t get to play those games. Ever! Not ever.”
“Whatever,” Nox mumbled.
Garrett burst out laughing so hard it shook the bed. She bopped him one, giving him a momma stare down. He coughed and whistled.
“Come out and meet me in the kitchen,” Nox said. “You promised to make me peach butter and biscuits this morning. You too, Dad.”
Beneath the cover of the sheets Lennox and Garrett exchanged guilty glances.
“Did you hear me?” Preteen belligerence pummeled the door.
“Yes,” the guilty parties murmured in tandem.
Lennox rolled her eyes. “He’s bossy.”
Garrett shrugged. A hint of a smile crinkled the skin around his eyes. “He didn’t used to be. I think he got it from Gran.”
“Figures. We should have that old broad arrested for child endangerment,” Lennox said, throwing back the covers and heading for the shower. “Because if he keeps being a smart-ass, one of us might kill him.”
Twenty minutes later she walked down the hall toward the kitchen, wearing Garrett’s crumpled old dress shirt with a pair of his sweats she’d rolled up until the cuffs floated around her ankles, in the vague shape of inner tubes. She looked bad but at least she’d had a shower and managed to avoid the walk of shame back to her room.
Both Nox and Cash lined up at the prep island. A crate of peaches and most of the ingredients sat out at the ready. “Wow, you boys really are hungry. Huh?”
She rolled up her sleeves and clapped her hands twice. “Let’s get to it.”
Starting with the peach butter, so it could cool while the biscuits baked, seemed the best plan of attack. Her fingers flitted over jars of cinnamon and allspice. Cash and Nox had made a good attempt but they’d added one ingredient and forgotten a few others. “Do we have limes?” she asked.
“I’ll get them,” Nox volunteered, going for the fruit bowl beside the refrigerator. While he retrieved the limes, Lennox sent Cash scrounging through the cabinets for cardamom. Humph, as if she’d put allspice in her world-famous peach butter. A smile touched the corner of her mouth. Amateurs.
“The recipe I’m teaching you boys today is very special,” Lennox said, feeling proud to show Nox something only she could. “If I had a nondisclosure agreement, I’d make Cash sign it. There are companies willing to pay a lot of money in order to sell my peach butter. Milos Foods is the biggest among them.”
“How come I don’t have to sign the nondisclosure?” Nox asked.
“Because you’re my baby.” She winked. He blushed.
“Uh, Leni.” Cash looked sheepish when she turned to him. “I don’t think we have any—”
“Somebody making peach butter?” Paolo grinned as he came into the kitchen. He held up a Ziploc bag filled with a dusky brown powder. “I brought the cardamom.”
Jules followed behind him, her smile equally wide. “No one thinks there’d be cardamom in it.”
Cash shook his head. “I sure didn’t.” With a long hungry stare at Jules, he added, “But I’m glad my oversight brought you here. Maybe I should mess up more often.”
Jules muttered something in Tagalog, showing off her Filipino heritage. Then she sidestepped her suitor and laid Lennox’s favorite brand of flour on the counter. On a second thought, she tossed her hair in Cash’s direction. “That’s not smart. You’re messing up right now and it’s having the opposite effect from what you want. I’m thinking about leaving.”
The man moved like pure sex, despite his limp. When he’d gotten close enough to Jules to make her sweat, he husked, “I’m thinking about following.”
Lennox fanned herself and widened her eyes at Paolo, who chuckled. The fry cook took her iPod and a set of speakers they used at work out of his bag. While he set up the music, Lennox took her first good look at Cash—jaw dropping.
“I must’ve been out of my mind not to have noticed it before but, Cash, you are the prettiest man on the planet. Ian could win beauty pageants but you could take him out.”
Jules harrumphed, old-lady-in-church style.
A dimple winked on Cash’s left cheek. The man had lashes so dark and lush they obscured the color of his eyes. The combination of lashes and his gorgeous face juxtaposed against his cockiness and tough demeanor made him a magnet for female attention. Jules might be in trouble.
“Are you an actor?” Lennox asked.
“Hardly. I’m a former stuntman.” Cash sat down on a stool and patted his leg. “But an injury took me out of the game. Now I’m Garrett’s assistant.” He leaned over the counter to whisper, “And you’d be surprise how similar that is to stunt work.”
Lennox laughed. “I can’t imagine you as anyone’s assistant.”
“I can’t imagine he’s competent,” Jules said, busying herself with cutting peaches into sections.
“I could show you,” Cash murmured.
Lennox closed the remaining distance between her and the dark angel sitting across the counter. “Nicely done,” she said for his ears alone. “Trust me. Keep it up.” She winked.
Cash sucked in his lips to keep from laughing. But he nodded his intention to continue pursuing her best friend. “I’m actually in Garrett’s vice presidential training program, but he and I get a kick out of the look on people’s faces when he intros me as his valet or gentleman’s aide. Most folks settle on ‘assistant’ when they hear that.”
“I know for sure Garrett loves the reactions you get. He can’t resist a good prank,” Lennox said.
“Are you missing my antics?” Garrett walked in and came straight for her.
Whoa, slow down, big fellow.
He cupped her neck, leaning over to plant a kiss on her temple. The weighted silence in the room stopped him mid-pucker. Paolo, Jules, Cash, and Nox all watched as intently as a family planted in front of reality TV. Garrett changed his mind, patted her on the shoulder, then he whistled his way over to take a seat on the stool next to Cash.
“If you’re missing my shenanigans, Elle, I could stir something up for you.”
She shook her head and focused on measuring out a cup of brown sugar—anything to keep a smile from giving her away. “No thanks. What you did to Ian is prank enough for me.”
Nox made a huffing noise. “What about what he did to you last night?”
Little Mr. Smart-ass flung himself across the counter in a fake faint. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my… Garrett. Oh, Garrett. Oh, Garrett.” Nox puffed in feigned ecstasy. Sittin
g up, he turned to Cash. “I didn’t know my dad was god. Does that make me Jesus?”
Jules gasped soap opera style, as though her Catholic heart couldn’t take such blasphemy. She only lacked the iconic dun-dun-dun soundtrack. Never mind she tended to curse worse than witches and sailors combined.
Cash stifled yet another laugh with the back of his hand. Paolo beamed, looking genuinely happy.
“Nox,” Garrett ground out. No way to miss the low warning in his voice.
“What?” Nox had no acting ability whatsoever. His play for innocence fell flat.
Lennox sat the sugar aside and picked up a lime. “Nox?”
“Yeah, Leni.”
“Are you hoping to spend the rest of the day in your room without Wi-Fi or games? Because I can make that happen for you.” Her voice remained calm, so calm menace underscored her words.
Her godson did a double take, his eyes widening. “Um, that’s okay.” He didn’t have to act this time. Being punished hadn’t made his to-do list for the day.
Lennox rolled the lime across the marble countertop, adding enough pressure to bring out the juice. “Then you need to consider what’s appropriate to say and what’s inappropriate.” She finished without looking at Nox. They understood each other just fine.
Nox confirmed their understanding with a mumbled, “Yes, m’am.”
“That boy can’t tell appropriate from making a poo on the Thanksgiving table.” Gran made her appearance in a snazzy gold-sequined tracksuit. She jogged in place, whipped the towel from around her neck and mopped her brow. “I say send him to his room now. Without any peach butter.”
For some reason Gran’s three times a week morning jogs made her feisty. Nox waved his hands in rapid crisscrosses. “Nuh-uh, Gran. I’m gonna shut up. I’m shutting up.”
He attacked the old lady’s waist in a bear hug. “Get off me,” she shouted. “More biscuits for me.” Gran did her best to push Nox aside. It wasn’t working. That boy could double for an octopus. “Look at him. He’s manhandling me,” she yelled. “Lock him up!”
