Stay (Dunham series #2)

by Moriah Jovan

  Her eyes closed. Her breath stopped. Her head dropped forward.

  Vanessa moaned low in her throat, whimpered, when she came, soft, gentle, at Eric’s touch. Eric, the man she’d always wanted—

  —the one she’d pined for.

  He didn’t say a word when she had finished with a gasp; he just drew away from her to put her shoes on her feet, still slow. Still careful. Surrounding her ankles with his big hands and caressing her feet and calves. He stood up tall and strong behind her then, and drew her up and back against him, against his strong chest, his cock between them, hard, throbbing, and wrapped his arms around her.

  “Remember that, Vanessa,” he whispered in her ear between nibbles. “Remember, while you work, while people eat and laugh and don’t know that I dressed you, while men want you and won’t know why. I’ll watch you and I’ll remember. Every time you look at me, you’ll know I’m thinking about what I just did to you.”

  She sighed, then his warmth was gone as he grabbed her skirt off the bed. Linen. Pale pink. With a long slit up the back. He bent to hold it for her to step into, as he had her panties. Once it was settled on her hips, he zipped it up the back, his knuckles again caressing her as he pulled the zipper slowly and buttoned the two small buttons at the waistband.

  Then her blouse of fine white cotton with three-quarter length sleeves of exquisite Battenberg lace cutwork, and matching cutwork along the hem that barely brushed the waistband of her skirt. He turned her toward him to button her up the front.

  She dare not look up at him because she felt shy and embarrassed at her complete loss of control, her willingness to take whatever he would give her. It was different when she’d invited him into her shower earlier: She’d been prepared.

  This? No, really. Who made love while dressing? It was beyond her comprehension and absolutely the most wonderful thing a man had ever done to her.

  And he was still naked. Dark, stealthy.

  Aroused.

  As he wound his arm around her and pressed her body to his, she saw something . . . different . . . in his eyes she didn’t understand.

  Then he kissed her, deep yet lazy, as if he could do this all day long, aroused yet not apparently interested in taking care of his needs.

  And she tasted her own juices on his tongue. She found that as arousing as she ever did, but so much more so now because it was Eric and she could taste him commingled with her and he had bound her desire for him up with emotion she had never experienced . . .

  “But, Eric, you didn’t—” she protested against his mouth.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured in a tone she couldn’t decipher.

  “But I want to—”

  “Later,” he whispered. “In bed. Right now it’s time to go to work.” He stepped away from her, releasing her slowly. His fingers still entwined with hers, he spread her arms wide and stepped back to look at her, inspecting her closely. A self-satisfied smile spread across his face. “I do good work.”

  Vanessa would have laughed had she been halfway sentient, but she was still too drugged. She took a step past him toward the stairs, past her sudden and unexpected shyness.

  She took two steps down, then looked over her shoulder. He stood nude and fully aroused, his hands on his hips as he watched her.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered after a moment.

  “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  * * * * *

  25: Aphrodisiac of the Soul

  He strode in the front door like everyone else because he wanted to see what she did, how she did it, how she’d become a millionaire in the heart of the Ozarks at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.

  There was a bit of a wait as she seated every guest herself, but since this was her “gimmick” and people really liked her gimmick, no guest would begrudge the time she spent with another guest. Each person knew he’d get his turn.

  The grand parlor’s furniture had been rearranged to accommodate a bluegrass band. A rug had been removed to reveal a parquet dance floor where already two couples danced.

  Vanessa’s concierge glided by and stopped when she saw him. He didn’t miss the surprised raking glance she gave him. She hadn’t expected to see him dressed so finely after she’d seen him this afternoon in worn jeans and cowboy boots. She’d checked him out earlier with a simple hookup in mind, but now . . .

  “Oh, hello again, Mr. Cipriani. I didn’t find your name in our rolls. Have you booked a room with us yet?”

  He had to give her credit for her level of subtlety; she was very, very good at putting out all the right signals without actually seeming to. “Yes,” he purred. “I did.”

  She affected the appropriate amount of brow wrinkle. “I’m sorry,” she purred in response. “I must have forgotten which suite you were in?”

  “I’m in the cottage behind the private garage.” Her eyes widened nearly imperceptibly and her mouth tightened only the tiniest amount. “For a week,” he added deliberately.

  She nodded and smiled. “Very good, sir.”

  Eric was feeling very proud of himself by the time Vanessa fetched him and took him to his table. He wasn’t sure he wanted to sit with Knox and Justice—and Vachel—right at this moment, but he could see the place would soon be full, so table space was at a premium.

  She smiled and blushed when he gave her a saucy grin, but she held his gaze as she led him toward the back, next to the kitchen. Vachel refused to look up or acknowledge Eric in any way, but he was used to that.

  Eric caught her before she left and said, “Vanessa, do you know what your pit viper of a concierge is doing as a sideline?”

  Justice stopped eating, her fork halfway to her mouth and Knox’s head snapped up. They leaned in opposite directions to look around Eric and Vanessa as Ms. Geier worked the queue, talking and chatting.

  Knox’s jaw clenched; Justice’s eyes narrowed. They traded significant looks. Vanessa looked amongst them, totally lost.

  “She’s getting fired tonight, Vanessa,” Knox muttered, then took a sip of his orange juice.

  “I don’t understand,” Vanessa murmured helplessly. Eric wrapped his hand around the side of Vanessa’s neck and drew her in to his body, his mouth in her ear.

  “She’s a workin’ girl. She’s doing one or more of your guests on a regular basis; she works the line to find more clients. You can’t possibly be paying her enough to wear the dress she’s got on—and I’ll bet those diamonds are real. What I can’t tell for sure is if she’s stealing from your guests or not.”

  Her face betrayed her utter shock, but true to form, she didn’t immediately turn and gape.

  “Now or later, Vanessa,” Knox growled. “Your choice.” He stared up at Vanessa, his face hard and cold. No one defied Knox when he had that look and that included Vanessa.

  Vanessa sighed. “Now. Cottage five.”

  Knox threw his napkin in his plate and said, “Let’s go, Eric.”

  “Sucks to be her,” Justice murmured as Knox arose and strode toward the lobby. Eric offered his arm to Vanessa and led her back to the line of guests waiting to be seated.

  He kissed her cheek and whispered, “I know what you’re wearing under that pretty outfit.” He smirked when she blushed and looked away with a smile. By the time Eric headed outside, Knox and the pit viper had disappeared. He could only imagine what she’d thought when Knox had offered her his arm and led her out.

  Eric called 911, told the dispatcher who he was, and had her put him through to the Wright County prosecutor. It wasn’t long before an unmarked car came up the drive.

  The air around the cottage turned blue with the curses the woman flung at Knox. Eric walked in the front door, followed by a state trooper, to see Knox sitting in a chair, watching her pack and saying nothing.

  She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Eric and the trooper. “Oh, I get it. You’re fucking Vanessa so she wants her competition fired and sent you and Hilliard out here to do it.”


  Eric’s eyebrow rose. “Actually, what I am is a prosecutor up north and I found your very expensive wardrobe and jewelry collection noteworthy. Color me cynical.”

  Knox laughed and she cast him a glare. “I’ll sue you for wrongful termination.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  Eric smiled benignly. “I’m the one who made you and I’ve already spoken to the prosecutor here, which is why he so kindly sent this fine officer along for the party. You might want to shut your mouth while you pack—and count your blessings I don’t toss this place to find a reason to throw your ass in jail and confiscate everything you own.”

  It was a long three hours. At the two-hour mark, the prosecutor, to whom Knox referred only as Cooper, showed up when he’d gotten no updates. That made the packing process go along a little faster. It seemed she had little tolerance for four men sitting around shooting the breeze and laughing while she was in the process of being unexpectedly forced out of her cush situation.

  The trooper took off to follow her out of town, but not before Knox said, “C’mon back for a steak when you’re done. On the house.”

  By the time Eric, Knox, and Cooper had gone back into the dining room, it was nearly deserted though the kitchen would be open for another hour. Justice and Vachel were eating apple dumplings with ice cream and chatting amiably.

  “Where’s my steak?” Knox demanded, his hands on his hips as he glared down at his wife.

  “Ate it,” Justice murmured as she took a bite of her dumpling and closed her eyes in ecstasy. “Ya snooze, ya lose.”

  Knox snorted. “What about the squirrel and ’possum?”

  “Yeah, ate that too.”

  Knox looked up at the prosecutor. “Medium, right, Coop?”

  “You know it. Wish I had some of that memory of yours, Hilliard.”

  When Knox turned to go to the kitchen, Eric said, “I’ll do it. What do you want?”

  “Rare,” Knox answered with alacrity as he glanced at Justice and pulled a chair out for himself.

  Eric had grown so used to Knox looking at Justice that way that he took it for granted, but now he saw it with fresh eyes. Knox was totally and completely head over heels in love with Justice, the way Bryce was with Giselle.

  He wondered how he looked at Vanessa and what other people saw.

  Eric strode through the kitchen doors and found Vanessa sitting on a high stool over her marble baking table writing in a book furiously. “What can I get you, mac?” Alain asked.

  “Prime rib. Two rare, one medium rare, one medium. Spuds, the works. No salad.”

  He walked over to Vanessa and laid his hand on her back. “You okay?” She held up a finger and continued with whatever she was writing. He looked over her shoulder and saw her putting down details of the night’s guests as fast as she could, so he didn’t speak again until she was finished.

  Vachel came through the kitchen, cast an ambiguous glance at Eric, then proceeded up the stairs. Not long after, he returned in buckskins and hiking boots, a slack bow and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

  “Going out for deer tonight, Aunt Vanessa,” he muttered, sullen, as he passed by them on his way out the back door. He would look at neither Vanessa nor Eric. “Be back in the morning.”

  Vanessa interrupted her chore and looked up. “Be careful, please, sweetie. Do you have your phone?”

  He grunted and slammed the back door.

  She only sighed and went back to writing, which ate up most of the time it took to get the steaks and potatoes ready, and then she stopped writing and looked up at him. He could only think of one thing by then and he crushed her mouth with his. It only took her a microsecond to close her eyes and follow his lead. He turned her so he could press her against him, the back of her head in his palm.

  The kitchen staff whooped and whistled, but Eric didn’t care and apparently, neither did Vanessa.

  “Dammit, Eric, I’m hungry and here you two are making out.”

  Their eyes popped open, but Eric wouldn’t let her pull away from him.

  “Pot. Kettle,” he muttered against Vanessa’s mouth, but loudly enough for Knox to hear.

  Knox’s laugh boomed throughout the kitchen and then the clink of plates really did interrupt things. Eric pulled away from Vanessa once he realized Knox hadn’t been able to carry all of the plates himself, although why a waiter wasn’t doing it, he didn’t know.

  “When do you eat?” he asked softly.

  “Usually after the kitchen closes and then I eat with my staff, but not tonight. Alain has my plate ready.”

  He and Vanessa took their own plates and found that Knox had pulled two tables together; he and Justice, the trooper and the prosecutor were already eating, and then Eric and Vanessa sat across from Knox and Justice. The dining room was empty except for the six of them, and the kitchen was officially closed.

  A waiter did come by to apologize, but Knox waved that away.

  “Owner has to be willing to do what everybody else does,” he muttered around his bite.

  Soon they had their drinks and visited until Cooper and the trooper had finished and taken their leave.

  “How did you know about Shelly?” Vanessa asked, disrupting the fatigued lapses in conversation, her voice suddenly betraying her exhaustion. Eric knew that sensation all too well.

  “I see it all the time,” Eric murmured. “She’s good; very subtle. I knew something was going on there from earlier today, but I don’t think I would’ve put it together if she hadn’t checked out my suit so thoroughly. I could tell when she figured out how much it cost.”

  Knox grunted. “I never caught that.”

  Justice snorted and nudged him. “You don’t pay attention.”

  He slid her a glance. “You didn’t catch it, either.”

  “Oh, I saw her check you out, but I thought it was because you’re beautiful.”

  He laughed then and leaned over to kiss her.

  Vanessa sighed. “So much to learn. Still. Some days I feel like I’m new at this. Caught the bartender stealing from the till last week. The minute I think I can loosen up and delegate something, I get smacked in the face.”

  “How much did he get?” Eric asked.

  “As near as I can figure, about a thousand.”

  “Chump change,” he murmured. “Businesses like these get ripped off by the staff; it’s just a fact of life and overseeing every detail every minute of every day isn’t going to make it stop happening.”

  “Eh, it won’t be hard getting another concierge down here,” Knox muttered.

  Vanessa cast a glance at him and murmured, “Did you have someone in mind?”

  “No, but you’re good at that. You won’t have any trouble.”

  Vanessa’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly, and Eric looked to see if Knox had caught that, but of course, he hadn’t. Looking straight at her, too.

  “Yo, Knox, how’d you get anybody hired before I made myself your executive?” Eric asked casually.

  He looked at Eric. Then, “I don’t know,” he said with a perfectly straight face. “They just kind of started showing up one day after I started teaching at UMKC, so I put ’em to work.”

  “You have no idea how to hire a concierge, do you?”

  “Uh, no,” he said, staring at Eric, completely bewildered. “Should I?”

  “I hired one,” Vanessa said smoothly, though she slipped her hand into Eric’s and squeezed. “She starts on July first. So . . . just a couple of months without one. No problem.”

  Eric looked at her. “Had you been planning . . . ?”

  “No,” she said softly. “I wanted a graveyard concierge.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he replied just as softly.

  Her pretty eyes opened a little wider, and Eric figured he could fall right into those eyes, the color of the Morning Glory Pool at Yellowstone.

  “Okay, well, I might not know how to hire people,” Knox said, then stood and stretched, “but
I do know how to fire them and it wears me out.” He held his hand out to Justice, who took it and the two of them strolled away toward the elevator snuggling, talking quietly, their fingers laced.

  Eric looked at Vanessa, who watched him thoughtfully.

  “What did you mean, ‘don’t worry about it?’”

  “I’d like to help you find a concierge, if you’ll let me,” he murmured, raising his hand to run his thumb over her bottom lip. He damn near lost it when she pressed her lips against it. “Since, you know, I got the other one fired. Will you, Vanessa?”

  She stared at him, kissing his thumb, and he knew that at that moment, she understood he was asking about a whole lot more than the hiring of a concierge. What, exactly, he was asking about . . . well, even he didn’t know that.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”

  “Do you ever take a day off?” he asked softly.

  She snorted rudely and pulled away from him to take another bite of her food. “I only take days off for my family’s funerals. If it’s not one thing around here, it’s another. Everyone within a thirty-mile radius screamed at me for leaving them for the funerals, even.”

  It occurred to Eric that he might not actually mind coming here to help her as often as possible. After all, he had a staff of assistant prosecutors and had nearly completely withdrawn from his dojo.

  “How much control does Knox have here?”

  She gestured toward the lobby with her fork. “As you can see, as much as he wants.”

  “Or as little.”

  She shrugged. “He does do the dirty work if he’s here and catches it himself. If he’s not here—well, before he moved to Utah, I mean—if I told him what dirty work I needed done, he’d come and do it.”

  “And you’ve been doing everything else and that too since he went to Utah.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I manage.”

  Eric opened his mouth to argue, but got distracted when a waiter approached bearing six candles. He placed them on the table and lit them, then took the dishes away. At that moment, another waiter appeared with a silver tray upon which sat a glass with a shot of a pale green liqueur, an elaborate slotted spoon, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a carafe of ice water.