CHAPTER SEVEN
CELESTE
“Nice shirt.” Gage points to the Black Rifle Coffee T-shirt I’m wearing as I walk into their workout room.
It’s impressive for a home gym with an array of weights and machines, but most days, it’s empty at eight in the morning. The guys tend to do their training outside before breakfast. Not that I’ve ever ogled them from the second-story windows. Okay, so maybe I’ve ogled, but they’re all trim and sculpted and built like gods, and I’m a mere mortal. Gawking is a given.
The morning after we went to La Lune Noire, I was awakened by some racket outside. Upon investigation, I found that Wells had them doing calisthenics, dripping wet and holding a log.
And hummina, hummina.
It was like a magic show, an exhibition requiring deep scrutiny in order to reap the full effects. Blink, and you’d miss something mind-altering. Diligent as I am, my eyes were watering from keeping them peeled.
All four of them are kind of insane—the dedication, the perseverance, the stamina. The potent ruggedness. Not something you come across every day. And the way Liam’s T-shirt clung to him like a second skin, emphasizing every damn dip and cut andbulge—let’s just say my workout that day involved breathless aerobics with my vibrator.
But Gage is rarely in the gym at this time, so I’m hit with a wave of discomfort that has me hesitating just inside the entrance.
“I don’t want to intrude. It’s usually empty in here.”
He thrusts his heavily weighted barbell into the air with a grunt, irate veins jumping to the surface of his bronze skin. The man is a beast.
“Not intruding.” He catches my hesitant gape in the mirror before dropping the bar to the floor with a thump.
I’m not sure that’s a glowing invite, but it would be rude to leave now. So, I nod and hurry over to the treadmill, starting the machine and whipping out my phone to watch an episode of Bridgerton. It’s the main reason I don’t run outside. Other than hiking with my brother when I was a kid, I’ve never enjoyed exercising outdoors unless there’s a thrill involved. Even then, Ben called it geocaching and coaxed me with little treasures.
Unlike Ivy, who has a whole entertainment system inside her head at any given moment, I require outside stimulation. My thoughts are of the suffocating nature, so it’s better to strangle the life out of them in a preemptive strike. With a sound defensive strategy rooted in spicy Regency romance.
But before my AirPods are in, Gage’s husky timbre rings through the room. “Where’d you get it?”
Get it?
I follow the set of his gaze, and a blush rushes my cheeks because my chest seems to be the chief focal point. When I glance down, it hits me. Thank God I held my tongue. The T-shirt. I choke down my embarrassment to respond.
“My family buys everything they sell, so I have a drawer full of these. They’re a good company. Founded by veterans and do a lot to support veterans,” I explain, but he’s still staring at me like I have more to share about this damn shirt. I suppose I do, and something tells me if Gage expects you to talk, you talk. So I do, even though it’s one of those topics that serves as both a source of pride and torment in the Carver clan. “My uncle was in the Air Force. Died in combat. My grandfather served too.”
He sets his weights down, tromps over to the corner table, plucks his water bottle off it, and holds it up in the air. The company’s logo is stamped on the Rambler. His face softens with what looks to be respect. It seems I’ve inadvertently bonded with Gage over merch.
“Nice.” I force an awkward smile, wondering when it would be an acceptable time to shove these earbuds in and lose myself to another era. I’d be willing to bet that’s the extent of our commonality. Sizing up your opponent and quitting when you’re ahead is always a strong bet. So, I break into a faster-paced jog, hoping to convey the serious-exercise mode I’m entering.
But he moseys closer, sweat raining down his temples and still clutching his water bottle. “Didn’t know you liked working out.”
“I don’t,” I confess on a puffed breath.
He quirks a doubtful brow. “Okay.”
Shoving my AirPods case back in the pocket of my yoga pants, I surrender. It appears we’re going to invest in some awkward conversation, making the five miles I hoped to cover during an episode feel like a slow-death trek to five hundred. “If I don’t work out, I’ll quickly morph into a frumpy, unhealthy blob.” Sad, but true. “Blessed with curves has its drawbacks.”
As though I’ve said something profound, he bobs his head slowly while humming in thought. “I get that. For me, it’s all about the competitive edge.”
“Right. Makes sense,” I pant.
He must be in constant competition with the guys. I’m sure it makes them all stronger.
A sigh breezes out of him, as if he’s accepting defeat. He’s always so gruff and serious. Maybe he didn’t fare well the last time they competed. He’s built different than the others, probably more robust but slower.
“If I don’t work out”—he frowns—“the two tons of carbs and sugar I consume weekly would win. And we can’t have that.”
I bark a laugh, bracing my feet outside of the belt so I don’t fall flat on my face. “Good theory and good timing. I didn’t see that coming.”
He smiles, and something about it reminds me of my conversation with Wells in the library. Gage is trying here. “What were you going to watch?” he asks.
“Bridgerton, but I’ll catch up later.”
The perplexed look on his face is unsurprising. I launch into a brief explanation of the sultry nature surrounding the gravity of social hierarchy while seeking love and lust, and Gage’s forehead wrinkles. It’s not the kind of show I’d expect him to watch, so his suggestion floors me.
“Let’s play it on the TV for the rest of our workout.”
For the next two hours, we’re both glued to the wide-screen drama through cardio and weight training. I start him off easy at the beginning of season one. He spots and pushes me until I collapse on the wood floor to watch the end of episode two. Entertained by my floundering limbs, he chuckles but joins me, insisting I drink more water.
The whole exchange is unexpected, as is his comment when I bid him farewell.
“Don’t watch any more. We’ll keep going tomorrow. I think I can manage the same time.”
“Sounds good.” I smile, genuinely looking forward to a repeat of our time, and head back to my room for a shower.
Ivy told me that getting Gage to like her was one of her most gratifying endeavors. He adores her now, which means everything to her. I can see that. He’s so standoffish that a little acceptance feels like a gold-star endorsement.
I’m nearly to my room when my spine prickles, seconds before the smooth voice with the hint of bone-itching rasp that flutters my chest reaches my ears.
“Where ya been, Carver?”
Never let them see.
I slow my breathing and spin a half turn to find Liam lurking in the perpendicular hallway. “Working out with Gage.”
His eyebrows dart up, and he hikes a thumb toward the gym. “You worked out with the Big Guy?”
Those ever-changing hazels scan over me, parking on my bare stomach. I forgot I’d tied my shirt in a knot. I’m so worn out that I probably look like a drowned rat. Although he doesn’t seem to be bothered.
“Yeah.” I exhale a heavy breath. “I’m really exhausted actually, so I’m going to shower and lie down before we go. Still taking me?”
Liam’s you’re mine tomorrow comment didn’t shock me yesterday because Ty had already warned me. The rest of that encounter, however, left me wet, eager, and yearning for things I have no business thinking about. This shouldn’t happen, no matter how electrifying it would be.
If only he hadn’t told me that he sees me. That was a special kind of torture—one that had me agonizing all night. No one ever sees me, other than Ivy. But in the way of love interests, I’m two-dimensional. A list of qualifications that meet the needed criteria. Or the whisper of an empty tryst behind closed doors.
In the life I’m about to embark upon, no one will ever see me again. I’ll be officially lost. A ghost, which I suppose means the Lettie part of me will be dead in a way. One of the main reasons I don’t let anyone other than Ivy, and now Ty, call me that. It hurts.
Fuck. I can’t do this to myself.
Don’t dwell. Accept. Be the pawn promoted to queen.
“Still taking you,” he confirms. His eyes are the shade they were at La Lune Noire. Dark. Like the mossy green of moldavite glass—a rarity. “Ty said you had to be there at one thirty, so meet me in the garage at one.”
“Sure,” I agree, but my mind flashes to the endless fast and sporty vehicles they have stashed in that garage. They’ve only driven me in armored cars. “What were you planning to drive?”
He tilts his head, a smile tugging up his cheeks, his inconspicuous dimple daring to emerge. “Do you have a request, Ace?”
I purse my lips. “I thought maybe we could take one of the motorcycles.”
Rex will be pissed, but as he’s been my head security guard for the past few years, he’s no stranger to my exploits falling outside his approved provisions.
Liam’s mouth kinks in consideration, but there’s reluctance dancing in his eyes, so I add, “My security team can follow behind just as easily, and it’s a straight shot.”
And I need a boost of adrenaline to drown the ache surging through my veins. This is easier than a romp in the sack with a gorgeous golden god, who is an absolute detour on the path to becoming the First Mannequin of my destiny.
Jesus, I’m spiraling. But I can’t bear to be numb again.
His long legs stride across the space between us, stalking to me with an intent that appears feral, like he wants to tie me up and teach me a lesson. But he doesn’t touch me.
Oh, how I wish he would.
Forget the motorcycle. The golden god can throw me down, shatter my resolve, and smite me right here, scolding me in the glow of debauchery.
But no.
He merely crowds me against the wall like he enjoys doing. Energy zaps between us with an enlivening sting. I’ve felt the proof that I turn him on twice now, but is the live wire current only on my end? Maybe him invading my space isn’t anything special. Maybe he has a proclivity for caging things or people.
A trapper.
Peering down at me, he twirls one of my stray hairs around his finger. “If you were looking for a way to be pressed up against me, Carver, I have plenty of ideas. No need to hide behind a bike.”
His cockiness is equal parts amusing, irritating, and arousing. I loathe myself for the latter, but I’ll chalk it up to my impending bored-wife doom. I must reek of sweat and desperation. Can’t have that.
Play their game.
I pull my finger up to my lips, nibbling on the tip and peering up at him through the fringe of my lashes. “You caught me.” I giggle. “I was hiding something, hoping for an extra benefit with that motorcycle ride.”
His eyes squint, and I can’t tell if he’s eating this up or ready to spit me out. He sweeps his knuckles down my neck, over my thudding pulse, and my traitorous body shivers from the touch.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” he rasps.
My eyes lock on to his. I keep mine wide and vulnerable, swallowing as though I’m choking back nerves. “It’s the easiest way to ensure I don’t have to hear the arrogant bullshit that flies out of your mouth.”
With that, I duck away and strut to my room, his dark chuckle echoing behind me.
I have no idea what I’m doing. Pursuing Liam is like carving granite—a block of stone that is strong, beautiful, and durable. Perfect for countertops, floors, building veneer. Headstones. Not what you choose for the finer, more delicate areas of life that require the finesse of intricate sculpting. My family would never approve.
But I want him, and maybe even more than that, I want him to want me. Not forever. I’m not a fool. Liam doesn’t strike me as the long-haul commitment type or even a casual-girlfriend kind of guy. Which is fine. I’ve already agreed to do my part for my family, and I’m always good on my word. I just can’t keep myself from taunting him. It’s like skydiving.
Liam Graves chasing me might be the biggest rush I’ll ever experience. A free-falling thrill of untethered fantasies. Too much of a high to pass up.
And as much as I wanted to fold myself into him in that elevator, enhance our intimate stance last night by the coffeepot, or admit today that being pressed against him is indeed a tantalizing by-product of the motorcycle, I’m smarter than that. If I want this rush to last a while, I need to make him work for it, or he’ll lose interest. He might hate me, but his cock surely doesn’t. Since my only goal is to relish him as a stimulating adventure preceding my entrance into a plastic world, that’s enough.
I’m perched on the back of Liam’s black Aprilia RSV4 with cherry-red rims. High speed tops out at over two hundred miles per hour. She’s a beauty.
But it’s the bad-boy driver in a black leather jacket who steals the show. My arms are cinched around his waist. The wind whips at us, crisp smells of ginger, orange peel, and nutmeg swirling on the breeze. And of course, Liam’s intoxicating cedarwood and cloves fireside-lodge fragrance.
This is exactly what I needed after finalizing plans for tomorrow night with Dustin Barclay—a sensible evening that will paralyze a part of my soul.
That’s a bit melodramatic. I’m just not feeling it.
But this thrilling jolt is reward enough. The tingling spark began the second Liam slid my helmet on, insisting that he fasten it properly. He looked me over with a heavy inhale that had my stomach somersaulting. All before I even mounted the bike.
Most of the drive, he’s kept a protective hand clasped on to my arms, which is a level of exhilarating comfort I haven’t experienced before. I keep reminding myself how fleeting this is.
Just a rush to recall during a stuffy cocktail party.
There’s nothing worse than forgetting the rules halfway through a match. So, clarity is vital.
Rule number one: This is nothing more than a Sunday-brunch secret. The drug that will someday propel me through trite gossip with a pearl-clutching socialite. The reason I’ll be able to smile brightly—my transient affair with a sexy, sculpted genius from the underworld.
My grip tightens on his hard abs as the bike veers into a bend, slanting so far sideways that I let out a whoop. Liam’s back shakes against my chest with what I assume is laughter before he squeezes my arm.
In a blink, we’re here. He parks on the side of the barn, out of the way, and Rex and the guys pull in behind us. Once the engine is off, I boost my leg over the seat, using his shoulders to brace myself. Liam follows me off and immediately reaches for my helmet strap, silently freeing me. My hair is a staticky mess, so I sweep it into a fresh ponytail.
“You make a beautiful backpack, Carver.” His index finger taps my nose, and I am thoroughly thrown off by the sweetly innocent gesture.
“Thanks.” I smile—the goofy kind that teenage girls sport right before they giggle at the heartthrob who complimented them.
Showing all my cards.
Regrouping, I glance at the arena and back to him while fixing the strap on my camera bag. “Coming in with me?”
“Oh, yeah. Let’s see what you got, Ace.” He winks, and those hazels rake over my curves with a stark hunger that has me swallowing my own carnal cravings. Setting our helmets on the bike, he lifts the camera bag off my shoulder and slips it onto his.
All righty then. This feels very boyfriend-ish.
As if he wants to deepen that sentiment, he yanks on my ponytail on our way toward the indoor arena, like we’re in ninth grade. Although no one in high school had suave come-ons like his.
As he glides his hand across my lower back, his voice is all husky and come-hither. “You got your wish, snuggling up to me without talking. For the record, I enjoy no-talking activities too. Well, not no-talking because there’s always a need for some direction and praise. And certainly a few orders.”
I stop and stare at him, inwardly heated at both his suggestiveness and his flirty smirk, but unwilling to reveal any of that. “Is there a point to this double-entendre rambling, Graves?”
“A point? Yeah.” He bends down, lips skimming the shell of my ear, fingers caressing my hip. “After I watch how well you ride, I’m going to feed you my”—he clears his throat with a moan, the action laced with wry seduction—“favorite meal. I’m taking you to dinner, if only to irritate the fuck out of you with more of my arrogant bullshit.”
Laughing, I lean into him, my hand resting on his chiseled pecs and racing heart, my voice a sultry purr. “For the record, I prefer praise over the cocky shit. Most of the time. And while I’d rather not have to, I’m not opposed to giving direction to a man who struggles with finding his way. But to be perfectly transparent, I always have demands.”
Our gazes crash together like a tumultuous breaker, the foamy roar washing over me. Sparring with him is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time, but I have to go. He seems to understand that because his mouth blooms into a grin that sneaks through his golden scruff, his eyes crinkling deliciously, his subtle dimple causing my insides to quiver as he dusts his thumb across my cheekbone.
“Better get going, Ace.”
We resume our journey, and I stuff the girlie giddiness to the back of my mind. I can’t afford to lose my edge.
Rule number two: Always keep my head in the game. I cannot allow the suave flirting of the aforementioned sexy genius of the underworld to seduce me into fairy-tale imaginings. It’s nothing but foreplay. Fodder for those future cocktail-party mind escapes.
Today is the foster care program, Thriving Kids. Since Liam and I tarried for a few extra minutes, I’m no longer early. The kids and foster parents are pouring in already. I snatch my camera bag back and start to scurry toward Jeremy. We settled into a good rhythm last week, so today should run smoothly.
I glance back at Liam, whose brows are scrunched together at the organized chaos ensuing—neighing horses, cheering kids, therapists with paint—and laugh. It’s probably overwhelming. “It’ll settle down soon.”
He nods, but doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s stressed about security. I don’t have time to deal with that, but Rex will alleviate any concerns.
“I have to get started. Feel free to join in,” I say, hoping he will. “Ty did last time, and the kids loved it. Almost as much as Ty.” The memory of Ty painting a horse has me grinning.
Throughout the three hours, I laugh so hard that tears stream down my face. This bunch is lively. Some of them are blunt and don’t talk like your typical kid, but that’s to be expected. From what my mom has shared about her foster care experience, I’m sure some of them have been exposed to things most adults can’t fathom. The therapists are amazing, though, and never falter, no matter the shock value delivered.
Like always, my attention gravitates to the tall, conceited blond—probably not deflating his ego a bit. He flashes a slight smile and kicks his chin up to me a few times, but neglects to participate, which shouldn’t disappoint me. It’s what I anticipated and has no bearing on a meaningless fling. Although, at one point, I catch him squatting down and chatting with a young boy. The sight tugs at my heartstrings in a dangerous way, so I return to my work and lose track of him after that.
But as I finish packing up and saying my goodbyes, a pang wrenches my gut when I don’t see him.
Why did it feel so important to have him here?
Rex swings over to escort me out.
“Where’s Liam?” I ask with the least amount of desperation I can muster.
“Said he needed to step away,” Rex supplies. He’s notoriously short with his words, so I decide not to read anything into it.
Until we round the front barn and I see Liam smoking and pacing. What the hell happened?
I shuffle over, squeaking out my panic on the way. “Is Ivy okay?”
His eyes are fiery and charged with more emotion than I’ve ever seen in him. “Ivy? Yeah, Ivy’s fine.” He sucks in a deep drag, puffing the smoke out.
Something isn’t right, but I start with the smallest observation to get him talking. “I thought you’d quit.”
“I have one sometimes, just not around Ivy.” He scratches at the scruff lining his jaw. “I bummed one off Dante.”
I’m guessing Liam implicates my security guard because he thinks I disapprove.
“It doesn’t bother me. I like the smell.” I actually find it kind of sexy, but I’m not sure this is the time for that tidbit. Instead, I move closer to him, grabbing his hand. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
He glares back at me, releasing my hand, his chest heaving as he hits the cigarette again. “I feel like you’re fucking with me, Celeste.”
That comes out of nowhere, leaving me with zero idea of what could have transpired in the last few hours. And he rarely calls me Celeste. “Could you back up a little? How am I fucking with you exactly?”
His hand darts out, ashes spilling from the end of the burning cherry. “I thought you were coming here to ride.”
That jumps out as some sort of accusation, but I maintain my composure because that doesn’t make much sense.
Why does it even matter?
“You must have assumed that. I never said I was coming here to ride, although I did also ride.” I lift my bag off my shoulder. “You knew I had my camera. And I thought Ty—”
“Ty didn’t tell me shit.” He drops the butt and snuffs it out with his shoe. “That motherfucker is definitely fucking with me.”
Now that pisses me off. “How so, Liam? Please catch me up on what the hell happened while I was photographing kids in an outreach program.”
He moves so fast that I’m powerless to stop it, leveling me against the barn, one hand on my hip, the other splayed over my throat. Rex, Dante, and Keith are surrounding us in seconds. Guns drawn. But Liam never flinches. His jaw is locked, and there is undoubtedly a dangerous edge to him, but his hold on me is more passionate than harmful, gaze loaded, breaths heavy. While he can be a dick sometimes, I’m certain he’d never hurt me.
I look at Rex and keep my voice calm. “I’m okay. We’re okay. Just some good old-fashioned sexual tension here, guys.”
Dante chuckles, but none of them move for a few long beats. Finally, they lower their guns while still hovering close. That’s as much privacy as we’re going to get.
But now, I’m pissed, so I sear Liam with a fuming glower. “What the hell are you thinking? What happened? Is this over some kind of security concern? Rex checked everyone who works here and all the families.”
He balks. “Doubt that.”
“So, it is a security issue. I love how protective you guys are over Ivy. Really, I do. But this has nothing to do with her.”
To that, he stares, mute, which only fans the flames of my rage.
My jaw clicks. “This is so fucked up. I would never put her in danger. I’m here to do something meaningful with my life, and you’re the asshole who has me pinned against the damn barn.”
His features twist, oscillating between skepticism and regret. “You really don’t know?”
A sardonic laugh wheezes out of me. “Why you’re acting crazy? Why you went from playful and flirty to smoking and strangling? Nope. Can’t say I have any idea.”
He crashes his mouth to mine in an uncharacteristic, impassioned stealing of my breath. While he’s been deliberate and calculated with every movement in our previous encounters, this is wild and untamed. And I can’t get enough. Every nerve ending in my body buzzes with a surging current.
He tastes like stale nicotine and the garbage coffee served in the arena—staples of cravings. But mostly, it’s the flavor of taboo deliverance.
In all the stupid adrenaline rushes I’ve chased to feel a rumble clawing up my esophagus, nothing has ever yielded this level of delirium. His thumb sweeps over my throat, searching for my pulse maybe, but next thing I know, he’s got both of my wrists above my head, his huge hand clamping them together.
“Christ, you piss me off, Carver. Driving me fucking insane.” There is no sweetness to those words. He sounds murderous, completely unhinged.
And my panties have never been wetter.
Holy. Hell.
His tongue commands mine with an alarming dominance that, despite my near suffocation, is like inhaling fresh air for the first time.
I break away to catch my breath. “Obviously. But insanity suits you.”
I’m not sure if that lands as an accolade because his chuckle is stilted, my brain is fuzzy, and he’s devouring me again. There’s barely any space between us, but my body still fights to consume it, needing to feel every inch, every morsel of him. His free hand cradles the side of my face, fingers entwined in the strands of my wrecked ponytail, tilting me at the angle he wants.
And even though my irritation for his absurd mood swings whirls around me, reminders of his arrogance nipping at my skin, it’s somehow drowned within his swallowing presence. He’s everywhere. In my chest and veins, my cells and blood. The soupy air encircling us and my voracious bones.
He releases my wrists to pull me completely flush against him, deepening our fusion so that I wonder if I’m going to black out.
Good God, this is only kissing.
As I clasp my arms behind his neck, my legs eagerly climb to his hips, curling around him, which only seems to incite him more. His teeth drag over the sensitive skin below my ear, his tongue sweeping out in a languid stroke that I want everywhere.
“Fuck, Ace. You’re infuriating, but you taste good.” He groans before sinking his teeth deeper and pressing me flatter against the barn siding.
The air whooshes out of my lungs from the pressure as his lips find mine again.
At the feel of his hardness, I moan with obscene desires, but awareness floods me. “Against a barn,” I murmur between kisses. “Rex … Dante … Keith … stables’ crew.” His hand squeezes my ass, and I care very little about who the hell can see us, but I mutter the end of my objection for good measure. “Watching.”
“Let them,” he growls, like a warrior declaring a battle cry.
Why is that so hot?
“Let everyone fucking see what I’m doing to you.”
Yeah. Okay. I can get behind that.
My fingers weave through his thick hair, and I’m seriously considering slipping inside the barn and letting him fuck me on the hay bales. Or in the back seat of Rex’s SUV. He works for me, essentially. He’ll fight me on it though.
I had to suggest the bike. Brilliant idea.
No. That’s good. A natural cockblock. I was playing a long game. Right? Although I can’t fathom why. A reason or rules. Yeah. I had a couple of rules. Some elaborate scheme. God, I don’t know.
Fuck it.I’ve never been so ravenous for anyone in all my life. We only live once. And my single days are numbered.
As if sensing my decision, he pulls back, both of us heaving puffing breaths. His mossy-green hazel eyes caper all over my face, shouting exclamations I can’t decipher.
Jesus, why is he so hard to read?
My hips gyrate of their own accord, and I’m reminded that not all of him is an enigma. His swollen erection is abundantly forthright, as is the groan of pleasure that follows.
In the stillness of our locked gazes and panting breaths, I crawl my hand down his taut chest muscles to his trim waist, in eager pursuit of the massive gift awaiting on the other side of his zipper. There’s no denying my objective at this point, but I’m a grown woman on borrowed time—as far as salacious rendezvous are concerned—so there’s no sense in feigning coyness. With one hand, I manage to unfasten his jeans button, to which he responds with a sharp inhale.
But he sets me on my feet, still boxing me in. A haze of conflict flickers in his eyes. It can’t be about my virtue because he’s simply not that guy. And I think he’s aware that my purity ship sailed into the night long ago.
My fingers are still tucked into the waist of his jeans, grazing the leaking tip of his dick. I salivate with a thirst to sample that dollop of precum while he works through whatever is plaguing him now.
His hand flies to my wrist, trapping it there, and the muddy midnight-forest gaze returns. “You have to earn my cock, Carver. And you’re not even close.”
Upon the conclusion of that galling sentence, his lips twitch, resulting in a haughty, triumphant smirk.
Asshole.
I’d like to say I have a snappy comeback, a readied retaliation. Sadly, I do not. I’m failing women everywhere because that was a dick move and deserves a lashing. But all I have is my silence and the realization of how stupid I’ve been mocking me. I would’ve fucked him right here, behind a barn, where anyone could have walked up on us.
Why did that make so much sense in the heat of the moment?The idea actually excited me.
This was payback. Was the whole somber-cigarette-smoking tantrum part of it? He’s detail-oriented—I’ll give him that. He wanted to fuck me at La Lune Noire, and I wasn’t having it. Not after over a week of him being so rude to me—make that months or always. What did he think? That I’d just forget it all and screw him in an out-of-service resort elevator?
In all fairness, I have been goading him. And I’m not above having respect for a worthy opponent. Anger has no place here. I need strategy. Shrewdness.
Always keep them guessing.
Rule number three: A lost battle is not a lost war. It is imperative to let the conniving bastard, who nearly made me climax from a barnyard kiss, believe he’s the victor and that I’m a good sport. Then, he’ll never see me coming.
I smile big and bright, dipping my chin in reverence. “That was fun. Well played, Graves. Ready for dinner?”
His eyes crease in bafflement, his smirk bleeding into full-blown amusement. “Still hungry, huh?”
Patting his solid bicep, I proffer a provocative wink and make a show of licking the coating of precum off my thumb. “Starving,” I quip, sauntering over to the motorcycle. “I could go for some fries. The thick, salty ones. And maybe a meaty sub. A corn dog. Or even a shish kabob.”
He’s not the only one who can hurl double entendres with style.
He belts out a ring of laughter—the canorous bellow ricocheting off the refurbished barn and weeping trees to fill the gaping hole in my chest in a way it shouldn’t.
Don’t let it.
He reaches for our helmets, but I twist to get Rex’s attention. Arnold is already back in the car, but Rex, Keith, and Dante are awaiting my okay.
“I’m good, and you know the drill,” I call out to them with a subtle wink.
Rex smiles, deadpanning, “We know, Cee. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. You’re an angel.”
Keith chuckles, his brown eyes conveying that he’s half amused and half stressed. “It’s certainly never boring, Celeste.”
“Aww, you’re the best guards a girl could have,” I commend them.
“Not our first cover for you,” Dante says, enhancing my menacing intent for this conversation, so I finish his sentiment with a wry grin.
“Won’t be the last.”
When I turn back to Liam, a savage glare has replaced his haughty smirk.
Hmm. Was it something I said?