He could admit after spending years apart from his family that he had crushed hard on Aubree for a time. Not that he would admit it to her or Blake, but he could be honest with himself about it. Years in the marines helped him get over her, and accept she was his sister-in-law. And after seeing the trouble she caused Blake, he happily took the position of bystander.
Nora had the same fire in her, though. And apparently the same magnet for trouble.
A journalist. She’d said she was chasing a story, but he didn’t buy it.
Once he heard the shower turn on, he went into the bedroom to find her a shirt. He’d just leave it on the bed for her when she got out. All wet from the shower, hair dripping, her body being hugged by the towel.
Yep, he needed to go for a run or something because his body was too happy at the mental vision of her stepping out of the shower.
Dropping the shirt for her on the bed, he headed back to the living area of the cabin. He washed out the bottles again, tossed them in a bin near the back door, and went around the cabin making sure all the windows were locked.
The light outside the front door flicked on. Automatic timer. He left it on and decided to get a fire started.
“Hey.” Her soft voice announced her presence. When had the water turned off?
“I put a shirt—oh, good, you found it.” He stood from the fireplace staring at her. His White Sox T-shirt hit her just below her knees, safely tucking away her curves. She’d dried her hair, but it was mostly still wet; little droplets formed at the ends of her hair and fell to the shirt.
“Yeah. Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sat on the arm of the couch. “Can I use your phone? I do need to get in touch with my editor. If I don’t check in, he’ll worry.”
“Your editor.” Greg cleared his throat.
“Yes. Remember, I told you—”
“I’m still confused. What story were you trying to get? Anthony and Teo didn’t work at the flower shop, did they? And they’re the ones being investigated.” He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking mosquitos.
“No, they didn’t. But they run collections for the Santinelli crew,” she stated. Greg already had figured that part out, but it didn’t give him any more information on what she was investigating.
“Okay, so those thugs come in every month and what, collect protection money? They still do that?”
She gave a little laugh. Not the sort that held any sort of humor in it, but one used to buy time. She was stalling.
“Nora. What would they come collect?” He squared off with her; when he asked a question, he expected an answer.
“I don’t know.” She smiled with a shrug. “I was just the flower girl. I made the arrangements.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. He despised lying. And he’d put up with enough of it already.
“I don’t think you’re telling me everything, and until you do, no, you can’t use my phone or call your ‘editor’ or anyone else.”
Her lips pinched together, and a pretty flare of her nostrils gave him the confidence that he’d made the right call. She was hiding something. Something big, and until he knew exactly what shit storm he’d walked into when he’d gone into that flower shop, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.
“What do you want from me? I told you the truth.” She stood from the couch with her hands fisted at her sides. Was she angry because she wasn’t as good at lying as she believed or was she truly angry he wouldn’t believe her?
“I think we should just get some sleep. It’s early still, but it’s dark. As you can see there’s no television or radio, and since we’re at an impasse on what truth telling is, I think it’s better we just go to bed.”
She glared at him in silence. If she was waiting for him to make some chivalrous move she’d be waiting a very long time. He’d already done his fair share of sleeping in sand pits and dirty hovels.
“I’ll take the couch.” She waved at the couch, obviously giving up on him offering to give up his bed.
“You don’t have to do that.” He stepped closer to her. “The bed in my room is big enough for us both.”
“I don’t usually hop into bed with guys I’ve just met.” Her retort came with a snarky grin, but he was sure that was the first completely honest thing she’d told him so far.
He dropped the piece of wood he’d been ready to toss in the fireplace and walked over to her. It was subtle, but he heard the small gasp leave her when he invaded her space. She looked up at him, uncertainty lingering in her stare.
Uncertain she’d get away with whatever her plan was, or uncertain she was safe with him?
Well, he could assure her of at least one. The other remained a mystery to him as well.
“Will you show me your spare room? Before we go to bed? I just want to see it?” Her voice softened. It made him suspicious of her motives.
“Why?” She’d blanched so easily at seeing the little bit of his playroom at home, if she saw what he kept in the hunting cabin, she may run into the night screaming.
“I’m curious. I’ve—well, just curious.” A gentle blush kissed her cheeks. Another truth from her? This was becoming a habit. Unfortunately, none of these things had anything to do with the murder she witnessed that morning.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Nora.”
A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes, sticking to the side of her nose. He brushed it away with his fingertip and tucked it behind her ear.
“You can’t unsee some things,” he continued.
“Are you that scary?” she laughed, the blush deepening.
“Not unless the situation calls for it.” He ran his knuckles along her clenched jawline.
“I don’t think a spanking bench or two will scare me.” She leaned into his touch, her dark eyes widening as she looked up at him.
“You were frightened at my apartment,” he reminded her.
“I was unprepared.” She shrugged, pulling away from his touch.
“Maybe tomorrow,” he decided. If he showed her now he might not be able to get his cock under control before getting into bed with her. He wouldn’t touch her, he promised himself. He would just sleep next to her, but if he went to bed after seeing all of her innocent reactions to devious things he had in that room, he might make himself out to be a liar.
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him.
He shook his head. If she only knew how much he hated eye rolling, and how hard of a spanking he’d give her if she were his for doing it, the little pink touch on her cheeks would deepen. Maybe set on fire.
“Let’s just get some sleep.”
“Fine.”
He was really beginning to hate that fucking word.
Chapter Eight
Asking to see his playroom had been a stupid idea. Nora could admit that in the dark of the night, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Once the blush finally left her face, and the light fluttering of her stomach ceased, she could see the error.
At first it had been just a distraction tactic. Get him off the idea she wasn’t telling him the full truth. Because she wasn’t. She couldn’t.
But once he’d gotten close to her and she could feel his heat, sense his desire, it turned into something more. Actual curiosity. His fingers on her cheek, running across her jaw, all of the little touches, they reached deep down into her body, stirring up sensations she hadn’t experienced before.
And when she rolled her eyes! He may have thought he hid his real feelings behind that husky laugh of his, but she was a quick study. He didn’t like it. While filing that bit of information under Things to do to irritate him in her mind, it didn’t serve much purpose otherwise.
The air conditioning unit kicked on again outside the window. Apparently when they’d left Chicago they’d dragged the humidity with them. She hated the heat, and when it was stuffy it was all the worse.
At least the air was cool in the cabin. She snuggled a little deep
er beneath the quilt but froze when her foot brushed against his calf. Turning her head to see if she’d wakened him, she couldn’t help but stare. His hair was messy, covering his face, his mouth pinched open from the pillow shoved against his mouth. He was a stomach sleeper.
At least he didn’t snore.
A soft ding came from the corner chair where his jeans had been tossed. She’d already been in bed, covers pulled up to her ears when he came out of the bathroom, having showered himself, and got into bed. She’d missed seeing him in his boxers.
She knew they were boxers, because once she was sure he was asleep, she took a peek under the blanket. She had every right to know if the man was naked in the bed with her or not.
He was not.
Though with his positioning, she could only make out his muscular back, tight ass, and his naked legs. She really needed to stop drooling over him. It wouldn’t go anywhere, she knew it, so why bother putting her heart through the torment. Again.
Another ping.
She looked over at him; didn’t he hear that? Weren’t marines supposed to sleep lightly so they could hear if an enemy approached? Maybe that was just in the movies and in the dirty novels she read.
Deciding sleep wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon, she eased out of the bed, careful not to disturb Sleeping Beauty. After a third ping she decided to find the source.
His phone.
Of course.
He hadn’t taken it out of his jeans when he came to bed. She glanced at his still form before slipping it from his pocket. The buckle on his belt, still snug in the loops of his jeans, jangled and she froze, checking on him once more.
Still sleeping.
How did he expect to keep them safe being such a deep sleeper?
Shaking her head, she pressed the phone to her chest to keep the illuminated screen from cascading throughout the room, and tiptoed out of the bedroom. He’d left a lamp on in the living room, so she headed in that direction.
Safely in the living room, she sat on the couch and swiped her finger over the screen. Password protected.
Tapping her fingernail on the edge of the phone, she stared into the light, urging the password to show itself. It wasn’t a number system, but a swiper. She needed to connect the dots in the right order to open the phone.
Maybe it was something simple. She swiped diagonally up, then tried going down from corner to corner. Nothing.
How many tries did it take before the phone locked? She’d already made three attempts, if the next one was wrong and she locked it, he’d know she’d been trying to use it.
Not that she was afraid of him. She had every right to get ahold of Bernie and let him know what was going on. Every right.
“Do you always tsk your tongue while you’re thinking?” His dark voice penetrated her concentration.
Her fingers curled tighter around the phone and she hugged it protectively to her chest.
He shuffled around the couch and put his hand out, probably expecting her to just hand it over. She probably should. It was his phone after all.
But she didn’t.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She put on her sweet voice.
“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for the past hour waiting for you to stop fidgeting in bed and fall asleep.”
She glanced up at him, choosing to ignore the fact that he was standing there in his damn boxers. Just his underwear. He couldn’t take a second and throw on a shirt to hide all those muscles, and the damn tattoos covering his chest?
“You were sound asleep,” she countered, pulling her feet from the floor and tucking them under her butt when he stepped closer.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’m not arguing about it; give me the phone, Nora.” He didn’t reach for it, though she was pretty damn sure he could just snag it whenever he wanted.
“Why don’t you want me to use it? What am I going to do? Call the Santinelli brothers and let them know where to find me?” Seriously, given the fact he knew very little of the actual events, how could he jump to such silly conclusions.
He sighed, a heavy, deep sound expressing his exasperation with the subject. She got the idea he wasn’t used to being questioned, at least not as much as she’d been doing since they’d met.
“I mean, c’mon, see this from my side.” Maybe a new approach would work better with him. “I don’t really know you, and you’re keeping me from calling someone that I do know, that I do trust, to let them know what’s going on, what happened. How can I not be at least a little skeptical of you?” All true points, but none of them really caused her any sense of alarm. She was safe with Greg. At least for the moment.
He dropped his hand and sat on the coffee table, leaning toward her.
“And see this from my side. I don’t know this person you want to call so badly. I don’t know exactly what you were doing in the flower shop. What journalist, who isn’t really a journalist, would take an undercover job working for someone who you admitted yourself didn’t have any big stake in the Santinelli family business.” He put his hands on her knees, keeping her in place as he moved further into her space. “Until I know more, you aren’t tipping anyone off to where you are. Once I get some answers tomorrow, I’ll decide what happens next.”
His fingers gripped the phone, snagging it out of her hand while she was still processing his words.
“You’ll decide? I didn’t ask you to take me from the flower shop. In fact, I told you to leave me there. I’ve done nothing but ask you to let me go, but you’ll decide what happens next, you’ll decide if you can trust me?” She bounded up from the couch, smacking him in the chin with her flailing hands. “I don’t give a shit if you trust me. I don’t need you. I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t want it.”
Running out of things to say, and keenly aware of the glare he set on her, she gritted her teeth and stalked toward the bedroom.
“Sleep on the fucking couch!” she yelled and slammed the door. With her heart racing, she jumped onto the bed and yanked the covers over her legs.
He was an arrogant asshole. Just like most of the other men in her life.
Chapter Nine
Greg had never been so thankful for twenty-four-hour stores before in his life. Nora had finally fallen asleep around two in the morning, after several more hours of tossing and turning and grumbling to herself.
He hadn’t gone into the bedroom after she stormed out of the living room, casting him to the couch. An argument wouldn’t get her to sleep, and it would only fuel his desire to strap her down and make her answer his questions honestly.
Once he was sure she was sound asleep, he scribbled a note about where he was going, locked up the cabin, and headed into town.
By the time he pulled back up to the cabin, the sun had started to rise. No time to admire the coloring of the sky, though. He needed to get the food inside. A handful of chips and a beer didn’t really count as a meal. And if he was hungry, she had to be as well.
Nora still slept when he checked on her. Sleeping on her side, one arm flung over her face while the other was tucked under the quilt. Her hair had dried into curls and they were cascading over her face. She looked a mess.
Even more beautiful than the day before.
With a shake of his head to get his mind back on track, he closed the door and went back to putting the groceries away. He’d bought her some shorts and T-shirts, and he’d give them to her after she apologized for her behavior last night.
He might not be able to spank her for her actions, but he sure as hell wouldn’t just allow them to pass either.
Pausing as he put the jar of applesauce in the pantry, he cursed at himself. He sounded like someone invested. And he wasn’t supposed to be getting invested. He was supposed to be finding her a safe house, somewhere to hide out until it all blew over. Not with him.
He wasn’t equipped to protect anyone.
Finishing putting everything away, he grabbed his phone to call Blake. He needed that name, a numbe
r. Hell, maybe he should ask John to come home and take care of the situation.
Three missed calls from Blake.
“Hey, what’s up? You’re up early.” Greg looked at the digital clock on the stove. Nearly six.
“So, after you left yesterday, I did some digging. Called in a few favors to get some intel for you.”
Greg leaned his hip against the counter. His brother would never stop being the big brother, not matter how old Greg got.
“Did you find me someone who can help get her somewhere safe?” Greg countered. That’s what he needed to do, stick to his original plan, not dig himself deeper in the hole with her. Besides, she was nothing but trouble.
“She is somewhere safe. She’s with you.” Blake’s flat tone grated on Greg.
“Blake—”
“Do you really want me to call John? He’ll come home but it will take at least a day.” John rarely took vacations; calling him home for something he could handle himself would be selfish.
Completely selfish.
“Yes. I do.” Greg nodded to himself. “No. Of course not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have never knocked on that fucking flower store door. He should have seen it was locked and just kept walking.
It had been her.
Seeing her through the window, sitting at the counter looking so fucking—well, fuckable.
“What did you find out?”
“First, you’re an asshole. Second, hold on a second—” Blake talked off the phone at Bella. Greg would get annoyed except it sounded like his little niece was doing a fine job of irritating her dad for him.
“Blake,” Greg said after silence stretched between them.
“Yeah. I’m here. Sorry. Okay. This girl, Nora? Her full name is Elenora Santucci. She’s the daughter of Elliott Santucci.”
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” Greg peeked down the hall. Door was still closed.
Becoming His Pet Page 5
