Ophelia was typing something but it was taking forever.
Your nipple rings are my kryptonite. Keep your shirt on and I’ll do my best to control myself.
He smiled to himself, remembering how distracted she’d gotten by his piercings. He’d have to remember not to tell her Atlas had a Prince Albert piercing, or his cousin would steal her out from under his nose.
Noted. Where and when?
My house? Yesterday?
My Tardis is at the cleaners.
Now would be perfect, but I’m guessing you have plans for this evening.
He thought about making her wait, but that would mean he’d have to wait too. Fuck that.
I’m suddenly free. Be there in a half hour.
Drive slow! she texted back. I’m in my pajamas!
Luke started the car, smiling, wondering if he could make it there in twenty minutes.
Chapter 15
Ophelia fiddled with her shirt in the mirror. Why was she so nervous? Luke had seen her in all forms. Drunk, hungover—naked, sweaty, and begging. Why did she care if he saw her in her pajamas?
Still, she changed her shirt three more times before the doorbell rang. Even though she’d mentally prepared herself to see him, when she opened the door, her breath went out in a big whoosh.
Luke stood on her front step, wearing a black T-shirt that hugged his chest and black combat shorts that hung low on his hips. The tattoos that trailed down his arms were visible and almost glowing in the overhead light. His hair seemed a bit longer, but his eyes were exactly as she remembered—dangerous and kind, if that were possible.
God, had he always been this hot?
She suddenly found herself speechless.
“Can I come in?” he asked, a brow arched.
“Oh.” She opened the door wider. “Sorry. Yes, of course.”
He stepped inside, staring at her. “Nice place.”
She wasn’t sure how he’d know, since he wasn’t looking at anything but her. “Thanks.”
Luke smiled. “How’ve you’ve been?”
She’d called him over here, and now she wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should she just let it all out? The deal she’d turned down, how her mom was mad at her, and that her friends had just left after peppering her with questions? And how she suddenly felt so alone?
Or maybe he was expecting action. Did he think this was a booty call? Was it a booty call?
“You look upset,” Luke observed.
Great. She didn’t usually have so much trouble hiding her emotions but with Luke, it was hard not to show him everything. To be herself.
He pulled her into a hug and she relaxed against his chest, feeling like this was exactly what she needed. His scent only made it harder to want to let go. This was supposed to be a quick chat. Nothing more. But god, did she want to jump his bones.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he crooned.
Please don’t call me that, she almost said. But her throat closed up before she could. It reminded her too much of their trip. It reminded her of what she’d walked away from.
Tears pricked her eyes. “I just . . .” she said against his chest. “I just need somebody to talk to.”
“I told you I’d be here. For anything you need.”
She sighed and pulled away. “Thanks.” As she gazed up at him, memories washed over her, and a familiar glow grew in her chest. Not love, exactly. More like . . . intense affection. Adoration. Maybe . . . almost love.
Fuck. Why had she texted him? They could’ve just ended things quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid, but here she was dragging it out.
God, she was stupid.
Something on his leg caught her eye. Plastic taped to the back and side of his knee—a new tattoo? More gray and black. Curious, she leaned to the side to see the rest of the design.
It was an alien on the back of his knee, like the gray men Georg had told them about. A tattoo to remind him of their trip? Had it meant something to him too? Maybe he’d gotten a coupon in the mail and couldn’t think of anything else to get.
Suppressing a giddy smile, she straightened and looked up at him. “I like your tattoo.”
His mouth twisted in chagrin. “Do you?”
They stared awkwardly for a few moments as she wracked her brain for words that made sense to say. But nothing came.
Luke sighed. “I’ve missed you.”
“Y-you have?” Her voice wobbled.
“Of course. You doubted I would?” His laugh was short. “You’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. You’re not the kind of girl a guy forgets about.”
Aaaand . . . now she wanted to have his babies. How was this fair? He was so fucking perfect, but she couldn’t have him.
When she didn’t reply, he smiled in self-deprecation. “Shit. I was supposed to play this cool. Just here to talk, right? I’m sorry.”
“D-don’t be sorry,” she stammered. “I just . . . I don’t know what to say.”
His gaze drifted down to her neck. “You’re still wearing it.”
For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about, but then his fingers touched her necklace where it lay against her collarbone.
“Yeah.” She’d thought about taking it off several times since they’d parted ways but hadn’t been able to. Maybe it was silly, but wearing the necklace felt like she still had part of him with her. And taking it off would be like erasing him and their adventure.
“Any superpowers yet?”
She smiled up at him shyly. “Not yet, but I’m coming down with a fever, so you might want to check again tomorrow.”
The corner of his mouth quirked into a wicked, dimpled smile. Holy Hannah. She must have blocked that smile from her memories out of self-preservation.
If she dropped to her knees would it be a little much?
This man—there was something about him that made her want to kneel at his feet and beg for him to keep her. Being his voluntary sex slave for the next sixty years sounded like a fabulous idea. That house of his had to have a basement.
He shook his head slightly, as though he realized they were just standing there staring at each other.
“So that’s why you wanted me to come by? To discuss your anticipated superpowers?”
“No.”
“No?”
“It was a trick,” she admitted, to herself even more than to him.
“Was it?” His dark eyes narrowed dangerously. “Just what have you tricked me into?”
In response, she went up on her toes and touched her lips to his.
They stood there like that, with her lips on his, for a long time. He didn’t pull back, but he also didn’t try to deepen the kiss. Maybe she’d misread things?
When he finally stepped back, she clung to his shirt, tangling her fists in it, and kissed him more deeply. He let her take the lead for about a minute, but then walked her backward into the wall. His hands came up to cup her face, holding her where he wanted her, kissing her like he’d needed to for years, like he’d die if he didn’t.
Insistently, she yanked his shirt upward until he helped her take it off. God, he smelled so good—felt so good under her hands. He caught her hair and gripped it the way that made her whimper. She play-struggled to get away, and he paused.
“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?”
His voice . . . It had hit that note it reached when he wanted her. She’d almost forgotten exactly where that deep voice of his vibrated. Now she remembered all too well.
Doing her best innocent expression, she gazed up at him. He let her go and backed up a step, and she let her mouth twist into a cocky smile.
“I wouldn’t want you to think I’m easy.”
In an impressive flash of speed and muscle, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them abo
ve her head. Trapped. Heat zinged through her, heading straight for her pussy. She wanted nothing more than for him to force her to the floor and shove his big cock into her. When she opened her mouth to gasp, his mouth closed over hers, his tongue forcing hers to submit. One of his strong thighs came up to press between her legs and she cried out at the desperate pleasure that flooded through her.
The door creaked open. Startled, they broke apart as Priya stepped into the foyer, shouting, “I forgot my—”
Luke took two steps back from Ophelia, who covered her mouth as if she could hide the evidence.
“Oh.” Priya looked back and forth between them. Took in Luke’s chest, and his shirt on the floor.
Shit.
Luke looked at Ophelia as if waiting to follow her lead.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you had company,” Priya said. “I forgot my phone so I rushed back to get it. I didn’t mean to . . . interrupt.” The fact that she remained there in the foyer instead of walking upstairs to get her phone made it obvious she was waiting for an explanation.
“Um.” Ophelia cleared her throat. “This is . . .” Think, think, think. “My new bodyguard.”
Priya wrinkled her nose. “Bodyguard?”
Luke stuck out his hand. “We prefer the term personal protection agent.”
“Wow. Yup, can’t get much more personal than that. Okay . . .” Politely, her friend shook his hand. Then she switched her gaze to Ophelia and seemed to be biting back a smile. “I’ll just go get my phone then.” As she walked by, she winked at Ophelia and mouthed “hot.”
Bodyguard? Shit. This was so fucked up. But what was she supposed to say? This is a criminal who stole my car, drove me to Montana, then fulfilled all my wildest fantasies—oh and I may also be in love with him?
What a clusterfuck.
She rubbed her forehead and muttered to herself, “Oh my god. I can’t believe I said that. I panicked. I didn’t know what else—”
His arms came around her as he cocooned her against his warm body. “It was actually a pretty good cover story.”
“Yeah?” She looked up at him to check if he was joking.
With a shrug, he answered, “It could work.”
***
Lorna narrowed her eyes, the heavy mascara and eyeliner shadowing her pretty green irises. Ophelia had never once seen her mother without makeup. Not even first thing in the morning. Her blond hair was pulled back into a twist, held with a jeweled clip and enough hairspray to smother a cow. Her mother thought the tight hairstyle made her look younger by smoothing out her wrinkles, but instead it made her look severe and unfriendly.
Right now, she was trying to intimidate Ophelia. It used to work. Today, she was too pissed. And more than a little shocked.
“An intervention?!” she yelled. Her voice echoed across the sitting room—an effect of the high ceilings and marble floors. When she’d been young and rambunctious, it had driven her mother crazy. She’d claimed the running and clapping through the empty rooms and hallways had given her “migraines.” Eventually, Ophelia had come to realize some people just weren’t meant to be parents.
Priya frowned from next to her on the crisp white love seat. “It’s for your own good.”
“Because we love you,” Chloe agreed, sitting across from them on the settee.
Ophelia’s gaze met her mother’s. She doubted very much her mom loved anything other than money, least of all Ophelia, who disappointed her at every turn.
She could believe Priya and Chloe loved her, in their own way, but an intervention? This was ridiculous. “What the fuck?” she finally said.
Her mother flinched.
“You’ve been a space cadet, O.” Priya gave her a sympathetic look. “Something is going on with you.”
“Yeah,” Chloe echoed. “This isn’t the real you. What happened?”
“Um, my dad died? Duh.” Fucking duh.
They shook their heads. “You’ve been acting weird since your road trip,” Priya said.
“I have a lot going on right now,” Ophelia snapped.
Her mom chimed in. “You’ve been avoiding making decisions. We lost the best deal we could’ve hoped for because of you, and now you’re moping around like a sullen teenager. It’s time to grow up.”
She had been avoiding decisions while she’d been away in Glacier trying to figure out what her father wanted. But since coming home and turning down the three-hundred-million-dollar offer, she’d been working on the whole growing up thing. She was in the middle of learning the ins and outs of Covington. She’d been meeting with her father’s advisors, and the board of directors, to talk through all the options, one of which was not to sell the company at all.
Her mother was going to flip the fuck out.
Chloe leaned in, her brow crinkled in concern. “Tell us honestly, O. We won’t judge . . .” She grabbed Ophelia’s hand. “Are you on drugs?”
“What?” She yanked her hand away. “Are you crazy? No, I’m not on drugs!”
Oh my god. She seriously needed to evaluate her friendships.
“It’s a valid concern,” Priya pointed out. “You were playing tonsil hockey with your new security guard.”
Her cheeks heated. For the last couple of weeks, she’d been having secret meetings with Luke. They’d tried to stay platonic but it was impossible to keep their hands off of each other. He’d followed through on his promise—whatever she needed, he gave her. A listening ear, someone to vent to, and then spankings, sex on every mostly flat surface, and orgasms. So many orgasms.
“And while you’ve been acting like a whore,” her mother snarled, “I’ve been going broke! I can’t believe after all the years I raised you, you don’t even care about me!”
What? A sudden rage bubbled up, making her face hot and her ears ring. How dare her mother accuse her of being a whore, and of not caring about her. Her mother wasn’t exactly a nun, and she got a generous income from her father’s estate, even now that he was dead. The only thing she didn’t have was a nice big chunk of change to flash around as a reward for having a rich, dead ex.
And to claim Ophelia owed her because of the years she’d raised her? The closest thing she’d ever had to a mother was her nanny, Louise. Lorna had never given a rat’s ass about her—not even when she’d been little. To her mother, she’d only ever been a pawn against her father, and a showpiece for her own public image.
Every little frustration, every bit of pressure, all the sadness and anger and fear that’d been weighing on her over the years spilled over in one big wave.
She jumped up off the couch and stared down at her mother. “I’m not a whore. Yes, I’ve been fucking my security guard. I like fucking. And I like him. I’m a grown woman. I can fuck who I want.”
Her mom’s eyes went wide as she sputtered a response.
“I’m not done yet,” Ophelia snapped. “You’re nowhere near broke. You drive a Lexus and you own a yacht. A fucking yacht in the middle of a landlocked desert! So you’re sad I’m not selling the company to make you richer? Cry me a fucking river. Those are hundred dollar bills you wipe your tears with, thanks to my father. Who, I might add, is the one who raised me. Not you. It’s time for you to grow up, Lorna. Grow up and get over yourself.”
She vaguely registered Priya and Chloe’s gasps before she stormed out of the living room and headed straight for the front door.
A walk. She needed a walk to calm down and think things through. Her face felt sunburnt and her fists were clenched. The cool night air that hit her when she walked outside helped deflate some of her anger.
Had she been too harsh with her mom? She’d meant everything she’d said, but maybe it’d been rude. Not that her mother hadn’t deserved it after calling her a whore. God, what kind of mother called her only daughter a whore? Ophelia vowed if she ever had children, she’d raise them completel
y opposite to how her mother had raised her.
She almost laughed at herself. As if she was put together enough to have kids. It would be a long time before that could happen.
She still couldn’t believe they’d actually tried to stage an intervention. And drugs? What the hell was wrong with them? Priya and Chloe knew damned well she didn’t do drugs. Was she really acting that different? She had been spending large amounts of time in her father’s office. She’d skipped every party invitation since she’d been home. Still, that made her busy, not on drugs.
When her dad had died, nothing had changed for Priya and Chloe. It’d only impacted Ophelia. Life had gone on for them—the parties, the social affairs. They didn’t understand how much responsibility was on her plate now. Maybe they wanted the old Ophelia back.
As she meandered from the driveway out onto the quiet road, she thought about the old Ophelia. The one who partied, gossiped, and didn’t have a care in the world. She could go back to that. All she had to do was sell the company and she’d have enough money to last a lifetime.
She and her friends could go back to playing dress-up and posing for pictures outside the nightclubs. Life could be easy.
But . . . she didn’t want that. It’d been fun for a while, but it wasn’t who she was anymore. Her mother was right about one thing. It was time to grow up, but she already had. She still didn’t know what her dad would have wanted for her or his company. He wasn’t here to tell her and she had to come to terms with that. But she knew what she wanted.
She wanted to keep it. To keep a part of him alive.
The sound of a car rolling behind her made her step off the road to let it pass. It stopped alongside her and she wondered if the driver was lost and needed directions. But a window didn’t roll down. Instead, the passenger side door opened and a man dressed all in black stepped out.
Her stomach dropped. He walked toward her. Instinctually, she knew this was bad. Her muscles tensed, but before she could run, he grabbed her. His enormous hand locked across her mouth and an arm as hard as steel curled around her chest.
Fueling His Hunger Page 20
