A Twist of Lemon

1. Atticus

Chapter 1

Atticus

S tepping into my penthouse, the sounds of New Haven City fade as the cool air slicks the summer heat clinging to my skin, only leaving the stress of my day. I can feel the hunch of my shoulders as exhaustion weighs them down. Whoever fucking said being the CEO was easy money was a fucking liar, and the throbbing at my temples is proof enough of that. Every time one fire is put out another crops up, it’s like a wildfire that cannot be contained.

Fingering the tie at my neck, I work to loosen the knot and release myself from the stranglehold it has on my throat. Every muscle in my body aches for release. All I need is a drink, the hot tub, and maybe to unload my cum into Ezra’s pouty, smart mouth.

The hum of the air conditioner and expensive air purifier I installed after Ezra complained about how dry it was in here whirrs in the background as I walk to the bar top and pour a glass of bourbon. I can already feel it sliding down my throat, burning a path straight into my belly and whispering promises of numbness .

The first swallow does just that, and I let the dark notes linger on my tongue as I lick a drop from the corner of my mouth before it drops into my beard. But then I hear something—a sound that sounds suspiciously like a splash of water.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. Of course, Ezra is having an impromptu visit. That man has a key to my place and less restraint than an alley cat in heat. I round the corner, my annoyance already curling into a smirk of anticipation for his usual antics. I guess peace doesn’t await me tonight, but I’ll have fun unloading on him.

But that most definitely isn’t Ezra Stratton in my pool. I step through the door leading straight into the rooftop. What sweet little present did he bring for us to share?

I lean against the glass behind me and watch as she slowly ascends the steps on the far side. Dark hair precariously piled on top of her head as little strands hang wetly down the back of her neck. My eyes trace her sun-kissed skin and the lines of her curves, rounded around her chest, stomach, hips until her full ass is in view. The bright red of her bikini barely covers half a cheek on each side.

Fucking biteable.

She emerges from the water with a grace that gives way to a tantalizing display of skin. Droplets cling to her body like diamonds on velvet, cascading down her curves and disappearing into the lush fabric of her bikini. Each step up the pool's staircase has her hips swaying gently, back arching, breasts heaving slightly as they struggle against the constraints of her top.

I remain motionless, almost transfixed. The way she moves is hypnotic, like she's always known how to hold an audience spellbound. She finally reaches the lip of the pool and straightens, the water rivulets running down her legs, pooling momentarily at her ankles before seeping back into the damp tiles. A small shiver passes through her short frame. She can’t be more than five-four. A thrill runs through me picturing her between my own six-two frame and Ezra’s six-foot body and my dick starts demanding someone give him attention.

She finally turns around to face me. Those striking green eyes meet mine with a mixture of surprise and familiarity, and my body catches up to my brain. "Uncle Atti," she says softly, a slight tremor in her voice betraying her otherwise confident demeanor.

I'm silent, caught between the propriety of looking away and the primal urge to keep my eyes fixed on her dripping form. Fuck, I run my hand through my hair before finally saying something to her as her big doe eyes stay locked on me, awaiting a response.

"Lemon drop," I reply, my voice calm but my body anything but. I push off from the wall and take a step closer. The scent of chlorine mingles with something more intoxicating. The faintest hint of citrus and salt lingers between us.

"Sorry for the surprise," she says, twirling a strand of wet hair around her finger. Her eyes meet mine, green and filled with uncertainty. “I really didn’t think you would be here.”

I'm silent before a hmm leaves my mouth. "I live here now, mostly," I finally say, my voice low and steady. "The house on the city limits…I haven't stayed there much in the past two years."

She seems to absorb this information, her shoulders relaxing slightly but not enough to dissolve all the tension in her body. "Oh. Well, I’m sorry for intruding," she whispers, as if I’m going to tell my best friend’s daughter she’s trespassing or some shit.

I roll my eyes, because even though I’ve only spoken to Lawson a handful of times in the last year, he’s still a dear friend and kept my ass out of plenty of trouble in college.

"Just didn't expect company," I say, my voice rough, gruffer than it should be. I’m trying to pack up all the filthy thoughts I had just moments ago and leave them in a box on the back shelf of my mind.

"I—Uncle Atti." Her voice is soft, almost a whisper. She bites her lip, nervous, and I swear to God the water in her eye line isn’t from the pool. "I didn't know where else to go."

“Well, it is past acceptable visiting hours to most people, but then again I don’t keep regular hours. You’re welcome here and to use the pool anytime. Just call me or my office next time and let my assistant know so I don’t bring any company over, okay lemon drop?” I say, forcing a casualness into my voice that does nothing to hide the fact I was already thinking up all the ways I’d tied her thick, plush body up to Ezra while I teased and fucked both of them.

She bites her lip, an innocent gesture that sends a surge of heat straight to my groin. It's a dangerous game. Watching those plump lips caught between her teeth, imagining them somewhere else entirely. Somewhere hot, wet, wrapped around—. My thoughts are cut off as a small little hiccup leaves her and she shivers, her nipples poking through the small red triangles.

“C’mon lemon drop, let's get you a towel and inside. It’s summer, but you know once the sun drops out of the sky it gets chilly up here.” As I speak, my gaze roves over her unabashedly, drinking in every last drop that glides down her skin, tracing the path I'd like my tongue to take. There's a flicker of something in her eyes, a hint of desire that makes my cock twitch in response.

I wrap my arm around her, setting the palm of my hand against the small of her back, feeling the warmth of her skin pressing into my own as I lead her back in through the glass doors, stopping only to grab a towel from the basket I have Tabitha stock with essentials.

Handing her the plush towel, our fingers touch and my pinkie strokes hers for just a moment, my pulse throbbing all over at the contact before I force myself to step back.

Lemon takes the towel with a shy smile, her cheeks tinted with a flush that has nothing to do with the chill in the air. She turns slightly away from me, and I watch, utterly captivated, as she begins to pat herself dry. The cotton moves gently over her shoulders, down her back, around her delicate curves. Each motion is deliberate, sensual, gripping me in chains to keep my eyes on her, and I do. It's as if I'm under a spell, one where every movement she makes draws me closer to doing unspeakable things.

Condemnable things.

The plush material clings to her damp skin, outlining her figure momentarily before she wraps it around herself. She fumbles with the ends, trying to secure it around her body. Her breasts press against the fabric, threatening to spill out with each breath she takes.

She glances at me, an embarrassed smile playing on her lips. "I don't think it’s going to fit," she murmurs self-deprecatingly, tugging at the edges in frustration.

I close the distance between us in two strides, my hand catching hers as they fiddle with the towel. "It's not you," I say firmly, my voice low and authoritative. "It's this damn towel." My fingers graze hers again as I secure the towel around her, making sure it's snug, but comfortable.

I take a step back then, giving her room to breathe but not willing to let go of this moment. "Your body," I continue, letting my eyes travel appreciatively over every inch of her now wrapped in soft cotton, "is what they write songs about. What they sculpt. From modern times to ancient."

She looks up at me then, surprise and something deeper swimming in those ocean-colored depths. "You don't need to change for anything or anyone," I add softly but firmly. "I'll just buy better fucking towels."

“Thank you,” she whispers, voice barely audible but heavy with emotion. Her eyes flit away from mine, focusing on a point over my shoulder as if she’s struggling to keep herself together.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my tone softening to something more concerned. I can see her wrestling with herself, and it makes me want to reach out and pull her close again.

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling heavily under the towel as it strains. “I’m…I'm fine,” she starts, but her voice catches on the lie.

“Lemon,” I say, this time with an edge of command that I know she or anyone would be hard pressed to ignore. It’s the same one I use on Ezra when he’s being a brat. “What's really going on?”

Her resolve crumbles then, shoulders sagging as she lets out a shaky sigh. “I had to leave school,” she admits quietly. “Dad's in trouble…big trouble.”

I nod slowly, waiting for her to continue. She hesitates, chewing on her lower lip as if trying to hold back the dam of emotions ready to flood through.

“Federal agents came for him,” she finally says, her voice cracking. “They arrested him for racketeering. Like eight weeks ago.” Her hands tremble slightly as she wraps them tighter around the towel.

Shock shoots through me like ice water thrown over hot coals. Lawson Vaughn, arrested for racketeering? It sounds absurd, yet the gravity in Lemon's voice leaves no room for doubt.

Jesus, how the fuck have I not heard of this? Why hasn’t anyone told me or been on the goddamn news?

“What about your mother?” I ask, growling out the word mother because Georgia Vaughn is anything but.

“She left the country weeks ago,” Lemon replies bitterly. “Ran off with her boy-toy and didn’t even bother telling me where she was going or why.”

“Christ,” I mutter under my breath.

“I couldn’t stay at school; all his assets were frozen or seized. I can’t pay for anything and blew through my personal savings already trying to stay afloat.” Her eyes meet mine again, filled with uncertainty and desperation. “I had nowhere else to go.”

"Lemon," I say softly but with an edge of steel, pulling her into an embrace that’s protective and comforting. She comes against me willingly, and the feel of her body so close stirs desires I push fiercely aside. Now is not the time or fucking ever.

She buries her face in my chest, and I can feel the warmth of her breath through the thin fabric of my shirt. Her arms wrap around me, clutching at my back as if she’s afraid I’ll disappear. I hold her tightly, running a hand down her damp hair.

"I had to come here," she murmurs into my shirt, voice muffled but heavy with meaning. "I knew it was safe, and I just thought I could slip in and stay here until I can figure out what I’m going to do next. It's honestly so embarrassing that I’m twenty-two and I’ve relied on my dad for everything. I feel like a fish out of water."

I pull back slightly, just enough to look down at her tear-streaked face. “You did the right thing coming here,” I assure her, brushing a damp strand of hair away from her cheek.

My jaw clenches as I wrestle with the primal urge to take her and be the only one to make water fall from her lashes. The protector in me rises like a beast, ready to claim what it deems its own. But I'm also a man bound by honor, and the gnawing guilt of desiring my best friend's daughter claws at my insides with merciless fervor.

“Lemon,” I interrupt softly but firmly. “You’re staying here until we figure everything out.” My thumb lightly caresses her shoulder before pulling back. “Now let’s get you settled.”

Her small nod is filled with relief and exhaustion, as if letting someone else take charge is enough to momentarily alleviate the weight crushing down on her. She’d make such a good submissive, just look at how she naturally let someone lead.

I guide her down the corridor, opening the door to one of the guest rooms. A sanctuary for her draped in soft linens and muted colors designed for ultimate comfort.

“Where are your things?” I inquire, because surely she has more than her swimsuit.

“Anything that I had in my dorm apartment, I packed up and brought with me in my ride share here. I left it downstairs with Gerald except for one small bag. I left it in the den as soon as I got here because I was desperate to escape into the water.” She shrugs and I take note to bring her bag to the guest room and to have the doorman bring the rest of her things up.

"You’ll stay in this room," I say, my voice gruffer than I intend. "I need to make some inquiries about your father's situation."

"Can you…will you really be able to help him?" Her voice wavers, those emerald eyes searching mine for reassurance.

"Trust me, Lemon," I reply, my tone leaving no room for doubt. "I have resources and connections that can provide us with answers. Your father has been my friend for longer than you’ve been alive."

"Uncle Atti..." she starts, but I cut her off with a raised hand.

"Rest, Lemon," I command, the authority in my voice unmistakable. I turn on my heel, closing the door behind me, leaving her enclosed in the safe space I've provided.

I turn away and leave the hallway before I lose control completely and head toward my office on the opposite side of the house.

Once I'm in my office, I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment, drawing in a deep breath to steady myself. I reach for my phone and start dialing numbers, my mind shifting gears from desire to duty.

"John, it's Atticus," I bark into the phone once the line connects. "I need information on Lawson Vaughn's criminal case. Now."

"Mr. Reid, it's late. Can't this wait until morning?" John protests, but I cut him off.

"No, it can't," I snap, pacing the length of my office. "I need to know what's happening with his assets, his charges, everything. And I need it yesterday. I don’t pay you to not say yes, sir, when I give you a task. "

"Yes, sir. I'll get on it," he grumbles, and I can hear the rustling of papers on the other end of the line.

"Good. Call me as soon as you have something," I order, ending the call before he can protest further.

Finally, I take a seat at my mahogany desk and pull up my favorite little brat’s contact.

Lawson’s daughter is here. Staying with me and it’s a long fucking story.

Playboy Brat

Is that so? Well now you’ve got my attention. Tell me everything.

Lawson’s in some kind of legal trouble. I’ve got John working on it now to figure out what I’m dealing with. Walked in from work and found her in my pool. Thought you had brought me a damn gift. She’s fucking vulnerable, gorgeous, and I can’t get her out of my head.

Mmm, sounds irresistible and forbidden. You know what that does to me, Atticus.

I shake my head because Ezra loves irresistible things, especially when he’s not allowed to have them.

She’s off-limits, Stratton.

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I need us both to be on the same page and to remind myself I can’t go there.

Since when do you play by the rules?

Sir.

Since she’s my best friend's twenty-two-year-old daughter and I’ve been there and seen her through all her big milestones.

Touché. But you want her. Bad.

It's not a question; Ezra knows me too well, reads me like the open pages of a salacious novel.

Fuck.

Let me distract you. Tell me what you'd do to me if I were there right now.

Ezra's pivot is seamless, a deft maneuver that has my pulse leaping and my body hardening.

It’s the perfect distraction, and I let myself fall into it so I can forget about the brunette bombshell just a few feet away, rubbing her soft skin against the sheets in my house.

Fuck me, let’s hope I can fix this shit with Lawson and my little lemon drop can be on her way and out of my goddamn head.