by K. L. Kreig
A faithful criminal. Could there be a more absurd oxymoron?
“Yeah, St. George’s. Father Tim looks like he’s ready to drop dead any day now, but he’s a great guy.”
“Next time I’m in town on a Sunday, we’ll go together.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“And your brothers? How are they?”
What my mom really wants to know is if we’ve mended fences. When I started getting tangled up with downright vicious sociopaths, the only thing I could do was exile myself from my family. I had to protect them from the vile people I had inadvertently brought into my own life until I could figure out how to get myself untangled. That took a hell of a lot longer than I thought or ever intended.
“Just had dinner a couple weeks ago with Gray, Ash, and the girls. Conn was on a business trip and couldn’t make it. It was nice, actually. And Livia’s doing well, although I’m sure you already know that, Mom. It’s not like you don’t talk to her or Gray probably two or three times a week.”
“Just worried about my grandbabies, you know.” My mom. Always worried about something or someone. “Did you hear that Alyse and Asher have finally picked a destination for the wedding?”
“We talked about that a bit at dinner. Sounds fun.”
They picked some super fancy resort in the Caribbean. As surprising as it is, this will be my first trip out of the country and I’m really looking forward to it. I only hope by then Addy and I will be there as a couple instead of just as guests since I know she’s also invited. She’s become very close with Alyse these past few months.
“Are you okay with flying, Mom?” My mom’s not terrified of flying; she doesn’t like being stuck “in a flying tin can,” especially over a body of water.
“Don’t worry about me, Luke. Nothing a nice prescription won’t cure. So, are you coming home for Easter?”
“Shit. When is that again?”
“Luke, language and it’s in three weeks”
“Sorry, Mom. Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply contritely. All of us brothers have a little bit of trucker in us, but I seem to have gotten the mother lode. When we’re all together, it tends to get worse, though we try to tamp it down for her sake. “Everyone else coming too?”
“Yes, yes. I know for sure Gray and Asher are coming on the Friday before because we’re having Livia’s baby shower the Saturday afternoon before Easter. Not sure what Conn’s plans are.”
Huh. Baby shower. My wheels are already turning. I’m quite sure Addy plans on being in attendance as she’s Livia’s best friend. I’m busy plotting and taking a drink of coffee when suddenly it’s being spewed all over my desk by her next statement. “Why don’t you invite that fiery girl of yours to Easter dinner?”
“Fiery girl?” I cough, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the mess I just made.
“Yes, that pretty little thing from the wedding. What was her name again?”
“What pretty little thing from the wedding?” I am mortified. I think back to when I cornered Addy at the bar and pray that my mom didn’t see that little display of pure male aggression. At the time, I didn’t give two shits who saw me. Now, I care. A helluva lot, if it was my mother.
“Luke, I don’t know what it is about you boys that makes you think I don’t have an eye in my head or two functioning brain cells to rub together. I see far more than you think. I see far more than even you see sometimes.”
“I—”
I’m stunned silent when she practically screeches in my ear. “Addy! That’s her name. Addy. She’s going to be here for the shower anyway so you might as well invite her to stay for Easter. Yes, she was quite smitten with you.”
Smitten? “Christ, Mom,” I chide, trying to suppress a laugh.
“Luke. Anyway, we’ll have plenty of food. I’m sure Alyse and Livia would love to have her stay, too.”
“What makes you think she’s mine?” I ask softly. If I didn’t know how devout a Catholic she was, I’d swear sometimes my mom is a fortune-telling witch with a crystal ball.
When I found out Addy has been taking Madge and a couple of other elderly people who live in our building on errands every few weeks for the last three years, I couldn’t help but feel proud of her. She’s independent, messy, obstinate, and by the charred smell in the apartment on Thursday night when I got home, can’t cook worth a damn. She’s also selfless and kindhearted and has a soul that shines even brighter than her outer shell. With each day that passes, I want her more.
In true Addy fashion, she’s been trying to avoid me. I must admit I’ve been working some long hours myself. I miss her like hell. It’s been a week and a half since I’ve touched her or been inside of her and I don’t know how much longer I can wait to feel her again, to claim her again, to remind her she’s going to be mine. She might as well save us both a helluva lot of trouble and just acquiesce now.
“It couldn’t be clearer she’s the fire to your ice, my dear. If she’s not yours yet, you need work harder.”
At that bold statement, I do laugh…and confess. “I’m working on it, Mom.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Should I plan on her then?”
“Probably only if she’s bound and gagged,” I mumble. Jesus Christ, the thought of binding her to my bed so I can have my wicked way with her has my cock hardening in world record time. I wouldn’t ever gag her, though. I love her smart mouth way too much to fill it with anything but my cock.
“What you do in the privacy of your own bedroom is your business, Luke. I don’t need to hear about it.”
“Mom, really. Stop. It was just a joke.” But now that I’ve thought it, there’s no way I’ll be able to get the vision out of my head until I have it checked off the list. A list that grows longer every fucking day.
We talk for another ten minutes about inane things like Mom’s volunteering, her run-in with a new staff member at the senior center over lemon bars (I know…are you as confused as I am about that?), and the neighbor’s crazy-ass fifty-year-old son who she saw shoving the garden hose up his father’s car tailpipe before turning the water on full blast.
Before hanging up, I ask my mom one final question. “Hey, Mom, do you know what a Louboutin is?”
Chapter 21
I stare at the calendar, the days blurring together. I shake my head, focus my eyes, and try again. The lines morph into one big blob. It’s no use. I’ve been trying to get the kids’ summer fun program schedule done for an hour now, a menial task that should have taken me all of fifteen minutes and it should have been done Monday. Now, it’s Wednesday and I still can’t manage to finish it.
Apparently, my brain has been hijacked as well as my libido. Or maybe my brain’s been hijacked by my libido. In either case, I’m utterly useless today, as I have been since the carefree day I spent with Luke and Madge a week ago last Sunday. Tootling around town with Luke felt comfortable. He was fun and funny and lighthearted. And the way he fawned over Madge as if she was his precious grandmother almost brought tears to my eyes a couple of times.
The gift he talked Madge into getting her great-granddaughter, Kaelyn, almost did me in. She was insistent on a stuffed turtle, but Luke talked her into an easel and watercolor set, complete with a paintbrush and little plastic apron. He convinced her not only will it help her learn her colors, it will develop the creative side of her brain as well. When she was worried about the paint getting everywhere, he pointed out that it was nonstaining, meant just for kids. How a thirty-year-old man with no kids would know that blew my mind.
As I stood back and observed him “selling” her on the paints, I half wondered if he was doing to it get into my good graces—and my pants again—but I quickly dismissed that idea. He was passionate about his rationale, talking about cause and effect and learning the arts at an early age instead of getting their noses stuck in a computer screen.
The depth I see underneath the rough exterior he uses to keep people out is thoroughly enthralling…and endearing. It’s sexy as hell.
<
br /> Darcy, my kids’ activity coordinator, pops her head in my office. “Addy, hey class is about ready to start.”
Wow. Is it seven already? I look at the clock and sure enough it is. Not only have I not finished half of what I needed to do today, I didn’t eat dinner either. Sighing heavily, I stand and follow her into the studio, wishing I could get my head in the game and off the man I shouldn’t want.
We have two main areas in my studio: One is for general painting and crafting, where I keep all the pottery and glass materials. Here, the walk-ins can sit at spacious tables, creating their one-of-a-kind works of art. The other area is where we teach classes. In one corner, I have a smaller table and chairs for the kids’ classes and in the other, we have easels and seating for the adult classes.
Tonight we’re hosting a one-hour session for kids to make their mothers a plate for Mother’s Day, which is coming up in a few weeks. This session was so popular it’s the first of three we have planned over the next three weeks.
We have a dozen kids here ranging from five to twelve. I’ve set out some light snacks and drinks in the main area for the dads or older siblings who will wait patiently for the hour to pass.
After getting the young ones settled with their supplies in front of them, I try to rein in chaos. It’s like corralling wild animals. Or water. “Okay, everyone, you ready to hear what we’re going to make for your special moms today?”
“Yah!” a dozen loud voices cheer at once and I smile broadly. God, I love my job. I pull out my example that Darcy made last week and hold it up. It’s three simple flowers made by dipping a hand in paint and pressing it to the plate. Add a few stems and petals, and viola…a personalized flower garden for Mom.
“You have several plates of color in front of you. We’re going to do a little finger painting today.” After I explain how they’re going to make their art, Darcy and I set about helping the younger ones dip their hands just right so they don’t drip paint all over their plates. Not ten minutes into class, I feel the air electrify and all chatter virtually stop.
I follow the stares of even the youngest female in the room, five-year-old Jessica, and my breath catches. Sin Himself just walked into my studio and is watching me with a raw hunger that’s tangible, and every other female senses it. Even Jessica.
Suddenly, I realize that’s what I’ve been missing and I feel calm for the first time in days, my anxiety simply melting away like snow in the hot sun. Mother of God, I am so lost in him and the last of my reserves is waning fast.
“By all that’s holy, who the hell is that?” Darcy whispers in awe.
“Trouble,” I whisper back.
“Well, shit. He’s trouble I’d invite into my bed every day of the week,” she replies huskily.
I couldn’t agree more. So why aren’t you?
Not responding, I leave the table and close the short distance between us, not realizing he’s holding a paper bag until I’m standing in front of him. The black beanie he has on his head makes him seem both younger and rougher at the same time. Damn, he looks good. I want to kiss him so badly my lips throb.
“What are you doing here, Luke?” I ask. I didn’t even know he knew what I did let alone where I worked. I’m floored he’s here. And impressed. Very impressed. In all the time I’ve had this place open, no man has ever stopped by to see me. Including Aiden.
“Thought I would bring you dinner, but I see you’re busy.” He nods toward the table, his heated eyes never leaving mine.
I look back at the kids, who have now lost interest in us and turned their attentions back to painting. Darcy is clearly torn between helping the little ones and spying on us.
“That’s…wow. Thank you,” I stutter, completely baffled.
Snaking an arm around my waist, he pulls me close, telling me quietly, “I’ve missed you, fireball.”
Why do I have an almost irrepressible urge to respond in kind? Why can’t I stop thinking about the fact I don’t feel empty anymore when he’s near? Why do I keep denying what’s going on between us has gone far beyond physical? Why can’t I just give in?
After pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his hold on me drops. I feel the loss of his warmth acutely.
“Have a place you can put this?” he asks, holding the brown sack between us. “It needs refrigeration if you can’t eat it right away.”
“Uh, sure,” I say, taking the bag from him. It feels heavy. “What is it?” Unable to curtail my curiosity, I start opening it and notice a familiar Tupperware soup bowl inside. Familiar because it’s from my cupboard.
“Asian lentil and kale soup. Homemade. I threw in a piece of French baguette and some butter, too.”
“Homemade? As in…you made it?” He made soup? For me?
In the back of my mind, I’ve always known I dated the wrong kinds of men. Men who don’t do shit for me. Not once in my dating history has a man done something as simple as make me a meal or have a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me every morning or written a sweet note to have a great day. Luke has done the latter two every day since last Sunday.
Every.
Single.
Day.
He smirks. “Don’t look so surprised, fireball. I could give Emeril a run for his money.”
Somehow, I don’t doubt that. He could give most guys a run for their money. I have to stifle the sting in my eyes, biting my lower lip hard enough I’ll probably leave teeth imprints.
“It drives me fucking crazy when you do that. I want these between my teeth,” he rasps, tugging my lip free. His hooded eyes watch his thumb drag across its fullness and the low rumble I hear in his throat races like lightening through my blood straight to my clit.
My eyes feel heavy. Air is suddenly scarce.
My whole body throbs with want. I have to force my brain to tell my feet to take a big giant step back before I do something incredibly stupid like drag him back to my office and beg him to fuck me over my desk. I am keenly aware of our surroundings, but this second I couldn’t care less I have a business full of people. Every cell in my body is begging to be joined with him again.
Right. This. Very. Minute.
My feet finally get the message and I step away from his touch, silently grieving its loss. A knowing smile ghosts across his lips when I clear my throat. “Well, thanks for this. I, uh, I guess I’ll see you later then?”
“Sure.”
I turn and walk toward the back, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as I feel his gaze burning a hole in my back. I don’t even look at Darcy when I pass her. I can’t. Once I reach my office, I shut the door, lean against it, and close my eyes, taking several deep calming breaths.
I don’t know how long I stand there, trying to regain my composure, but I know it’s too long. Darcy is handling a bunch of adrenaline-amped kids by herself while I’m fantasizing what it would be like to be taken rough and fast where I stand. After placing the soup in the compact fridge tucked under my desk, I head back into the fray, stopping short when I enter the room.
There, on his haunches helping a shy boy who looks to be about seven, is Luke. He’s removed his black leather jacket and is wearing a navy-blue V-neck tee with white stitching around the edging. My mouth waters as I watch his decorated biceps flex and bulge with each movement. My eyes slide downward, appreciating the muscular thighs underneath his taut jeans.
I shift my gaze to Darcy and smile. She obviously doesn’t realize I’m standing here because she’s snared in Luke’s magical spell, too. It’s virtually impossible not to get sucked into his sensual vortex.
Luke is a very intimidating man and not just because he’s tall, broad, and imposing with his ink and piercings. He has this certain…ambience about him that’s authoritative and dominant. Omnipotent almost. But when you start stripping away his layers upon layers of complexities, underneath he’s just a man with vulnerabilities like the rest of us mere mortals.
As I watch how gently he interacts with this shy boy, pulling him slowl
y out of his shell, I swallow hard, knowing the battle lines are getting blurred and that I won’t be able to reinforce my walls much longer against his constant assault.
I’m going to cave. It’s no longer a matter of if, but when.
Chapter 22
“Hey man, how you been?” I haven’t talked to Eric since that night back in October when he called telling me Livia was in a bad way after her blowup with Gray. Addy, who was at her wits’ end with no idea what to do, knew Livia needed me. She had no way to get ahold of me, so she called her brother, who knew how to get in touch.
I’ll never forget how pale and fragile and lost Livia looked when I walked into her bedroom. I immediately knew what had happened. At that moment, I wanted to kill Gray for hurting her so deep, but I also wanted to spill the entire horror story so he knew what hell the woman he was in love with had endured. I’m glad she came to her senses and did it herself. Gray needed to hear it from her, not me.
“LC, haven’t heard from you in a while. Same old, same old, man. You?”
“Pretty much the same. Moved my PI biz to Chicago a couple months ago.”
“Your brothers are there, right?”
“Yep.” And your sister, who I’m going to marry someday, like it or not.
This is the thing about Eric. He’s highly protective of his family. Always has been. When he first hooked me up with Addy so Livia would have a place to live, he made it crystal clear she was off limits, even though she was a grown-ass adult. So unless Addy has said something to him—and I know she hasn’t or he would’ve called to chew me a new asshole or shown up with a shotgun by now—he has no idea I’m now her new roomie. I want him to hear it from me first, and not over the phone, so my call is twofold.
