18. Lemon
Chapter 18
Lemon
I 'm still buzzing, or maybe that's the aftermath of shock when Ezra's hand slides under my arm, steadying me like I might crumble into nothing but dust and disbelief. The cold leather bites my skin as we wait for Henry, the driver, to open the door. I'm trembling, my mind replaying flashes of blood and lifeless eyes.
The plush leather of the town car seems too damn luxurious for right now. So different to the utter chaos we're leaving behind in the penthouse that reeks of sex and now death.
"Easy, Lemon," Ezra murmurs, his voice a low thrum that somehow both grates and soothes. "I've got you."
He eases me onto the seat with a tenderness that makes my insides twist, guilt washing over me like a second skin. I can't believe a dead body lies just floors above where he made me unravel in ecstasy hours ago. The irony isn't lost on me.
He slides in beside me, and I catch the scent of him—sandalwood and sin. It shouldn't be as comforting as it is. He's got a sleek leather overnight bag stuffed full of my clothes. I didn’t even pay attention to what he was putting in there. Hopefully comfort clothes and not lemon dresses and bikinis.
The car purrs to life, and I'm suddenly aware of the city moving around us, oblivious to the horror show we've left behind. New Haven has seen its share of shit, but it doesn’t know about the blood splattered across Italian marble and the lifeless eyes staring up at a ceiling they can't see that is happening just feet away.
"Shh, you're shaking," Ezra says, pulling me against his lean, athletic frame. It's all muscle and heat, and even now, it sends a shiver of something that's definitely not fear down my spine. His arm wraps around my shoulders. It feels like a vow of protection, and his fingers thread through my hair, stroking in a rhythm that's as comforting as it is possessive.
"Where are we going?" I manage to croak out.
"My place," Ezra says, fingers stroking through my hair. "It’s across town and safe, which I know sounds ridiculous because of what just happened, but I’m just a business owner. I don’t necessarily run in the same circles as Atticus does when it comes to these things."
"Feels like we went from a dream night to a nightmare, doesn't it?" I whisper, my voice betraying me with its tremble. His laugh is a quiet huff of disbelief, the sound dark and silky.
"Nightmare is definitely the right word," he agrees.
Ezra's fingers trail along my jaw, tilting my face toward his. "Hey. Look at me, Lemon."
I force myself to meet his intense gaze. There's a fire there, possessive and hungry, that makes my breath catch.
"We're gonna figure this out," he says firmly. "You're with us now. We won't let anything happen to you."
Despite everything, I feel a flicker of heat low in my belly at his suggestive tone. God, what kind of monster am I? A woman is dead and I'm getting turned on?
Ezra's hand slides down to grip my thigh, fingers digging in greedily. "I can hear you overthinking from here, bellezza. Stop it."
I swallow hard, torn between pushing him away and begging for more of his touch. "I can't just forget what I saw."
"No," he agrees. "But you can let me distract you for a while."
Ezra's lips find mine, firm yet gentle, coaxing a whimper from my throat. His stubble scrapes deliciously against my skin as his mouth moves over me, claiming and conquering. I let him kiss me, let him soothe the rawness inside me with each stroke of his tongue. His hand slides higher up my thigh, fingers tracing delicate patterns that make my nerves sing.
I shouldn't be doing this. Not now, not after…but fuck, Ezra's lips are like a drug, numbing the pain and setting my body on fire all at once. His tongue slides against mine, tasting of mint and just a little bit of danger.
When we finally break for air, I'm dizzy and breathless. Ezra's eyes are dark with desire, his lips swollen. He doesn't remove his hand from my thigh.
Outside, the Silver Apple blurs past us, a tornado of lights and faceless strangers. But inside this town car, it's just Ezra, his protective embrace, and the relentless pounding of my heart. A decent reminder that I'm alive, that I feel, that I want, that I am wanted, even when the world is turning to absolute crap around me.
My gaze flickers to his face. The playboy charm stripped away, leaving nothing but raw intensity. He's full of fierce protectiveness, a guardian angel with a devilish glint in his eye. It's disarming how quickly he switches gears—from lover to protector, from playful to deadly serious.
"Remember how you felt earlier?" he prompts, his free hand finding mine, fingers intertwining with a possessive grip. "When I held you down, when Atticus?—"
"Jesus, Ezra," I snap, cutting him off, a blush flaring at the vivid imagery his words conjure. The car swerves slightly, as if it's embarrassed by the turn in conversation. "Not exactly the time for a trip down kink lane."
"Anything to distract you," he fires back, unapologetic. His thumb traces lazy circles on my palm, a devious Morse code that spells out a promise. One that stirs heat in places I wish would remain dormant. His touch is both a balm and a spark, soothing yet dangerously.
"Distraction isn't going to make the dead less dead," I retort, my attempt at detachment belied by the tremor in my voice.
"Maybe not," he concedes, "but it'll keep you sane until we figure this out."
The town car slows, the suspension sighing as we pull up to Ezra's brownstone. It looms before us, an imposing fortress in stones and shadows. I can't help but feel like Rapunzel, if Rapunzel's tower was chic as hell, probably a sinfully expensive piece of real estate.
Ezra exits first before his hand extends to me like a lifeline I'm desperate to grab. I place my hand in his, the calluses on his palms dragging along my skin.
"Come on, beauty," he urges, and there's something commanding in his voice that makes my legs move, even when they feel like lead.
I stagger out of the car, my balance shot to hell. The cool night air hits me like a slap, making me shiver .
Ezra's arm snakes around my waist, sturdy and grounding. If I lean into him a little too much, if I let his warmth seep into my bones, well, that's nobody's business but mine.
"Let's get you inside," he murmurs, guiding me up the steps. His brownstone might as well be a castle with Ezra as its king, or maybe the gatekeeper to my very personal hell. That has still yet to be decided, but judging how much he gives off Lucifer vibes I’m leaning toward that.
"Are there more dead bodies waiting for me?" The words tumble out, half-sarcastic, half-terrified.
"Only the ghosts of my past relationships," Ezra quips, tension easing from the corner of his mouth. "And trust me, they're all very much alive and kicking."
"Small mercies," I mutter, the irony not lost on me. Inside, I'm screaming, but on the outside, I'm just disassociating.
"Welcome to my sanctuary," he announces.
My gaze is still foggy, like I'm looking through a shattered lens, and my heart's pounding. The grandeur of Ezra’s brownstone is lost on me as he leads me away from the foyer.
"Deep breaths for me, Lemon," Ezra's voice is a gentle command, his touch light on the small of my back. "You're safe here."
My body feels like it's wrapped in cotton wool, heavy and numb, as I shuffle alongside him. He guides me toward a bathroom. A sanctuary of white marble tiles and soft towels that look so plush they could double as clouds.
"Let's get this water running and get you warmed the hell up." Ezra pushes up the sleeves of his Henley, revealing forearms etched with ink, as he turns on the faucet.
"Hope you're planning on boiling me until I forget I ever saw…that." It's an attempt at humor, but my voice cracks, betraying me .
"Nothing quite so medieval, well not yet anyway," he chuckles, but his eyes are serious, watchful. He adds a few drops of grapefruit and lavender oil into the steaming water, and the scent wraps around us, almost tangible in its comfort.
"Smells like every yoga studio I've ever walked past," I murmur, and a ghost of a smile flickers over my face. The water churns and froths, bubbles forming like tiny escapes from reality. If only I could dissolve into them.
"Why don't you—" Ezra starts, but he doesn't need to finish.
"Strip and hop in? Can do." My body feels contaminated, a second skin tainted by terror and blood. I let them drop unceremoniously to the cool tile floor.
"Let me know if you need anything," he says, pausing at the door, giving me the space I didn't know I craved until he offered it.
"Like what, a scrub down?" I retort, but the bite has faded into something softer, almost grateful.
"Only if you beg. I’ll be back in a few, bellezza," he shoots back with a grin, then closes the door behind him, leaving me with the steam and the soothing scent of the bath.
The hot water is a comfort, licking at wounds I can't see, easing the tension that knots my muscles. I sink lower, let it swallow me whole. Maybe when I emerge, the world will have righted itself. But for now, I'm content to float in this liquid cocoon Ezra has crafted, where dead women and bloodstained knives can't reach me. For now, I am untouchable.
The water's murmur is a lullaby I'm too frayed to appreciate right now. Steam curls around me, trying to relax me, but my heart still hammers like it wants to break through my ribcage. Ezra's soft assurances echo in my head, trying to chase away the cold dread that had seized me at the sight of crimson pooling around her.
I'm alone with the gentle sound of filling water and my own ragged breaths. He's gone to fetch something, probably another attempt to patch up my sanity with band-aids. I can't help but scoff silently because no wine or warm bath can scrub the image of death from my retinas.
But damn if I won't take what comfort I can get.
Footsteps sound, and then he's back. His presence is a relief, even as everything else feels like salt rubbed into open wounds.
"Here," he says, pressing a glass of wine into my hand. "Thought you might need this."
"Understatement of the freaking century," I shoot back, aiming for sharp but landing somewhere closer to shaky. The wine is a rich, velvety red, the color hauntingly familiar, but I push the thought away, taking a tentative sip. It warms my insides, a fleeting respite from the cold claw of fear.
"Small sips," he coaxes, his voice a low thrum that vibrates through the tension wrapped around me. "It'll help."
"Because alcohol solves everything?" I quip, trying to mask the tremble in my voice.
"Right now, I’m going to forgive your smart ass mouth. Red wine will help depress your nervous system. It's about giving you some moments of peace." His eyes hold mine, steady and sure.
"Peace," I repeat, letting the word roll off my tongue as if tasting it. Another sip, bigger this time, and I let the wine linger before swallowing. "Ezra?"
"Hmm?"
"Thanks for…y'know, not leaving me alone with my brain. It's a damn horror show in there right now. "
"You're not alone. Not tonight, not ever. You belong to us." His words wrap around me like the steam, seeping into the pores of my battered psyche. "Drink your wine, soak away the world. Tease me with the outline of your body beneath water and bubbles."
"Playing the knight in shining Armani?" But there's no real bite to my words, just the dregs of sarcasm clinging to gratitude.
"More like the rogue with questionable morals, but we work with what we've got." His smirk is a flicker of light in the terror that still lingers in the recesses of my mind and body.
"Rogue, huh? Do rogues usually run bubble baths and offer wine service?" The teasing is a thin veil, but it's something to hide behind.
"Only for damsels in distress that taste like you." He winks, and I feel myself blush. Who wouldn’t when a man as good looking as him has tasted you, devoured really and then talks about it as if it’s the top tier dessert as one of his five-star restaurants?
I chuckle, a sound brittle as dried leaves. "Guess I’ll take your word for it that I fit the bill."
"Like a glove," he agrees. "I’ll make sure you believe it soon enough. Now relax, let the water work its magic. You're safe, Lemon. With me. No harm will come to you that you don’t anticipate, that you don’t want. I couldn’t do anything to you right now even if I wanted to. I love being a brat, but with the way Atticus is right now I know when to pick and choose my battles."
The word 'safe' should feel like a promise, but tonight everything is so confusing. Still, I cling to it, and to the man who whispers it, because believing in fairytales is better than drowning in nightmares. And so, I sink into the embrace of the bath, letting the heat seep into my bones, while Ezra stands guard.
The lavender and grapefruit scent that hangs in the air is supposed to be calming, but it's doing jack shit for the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Still, I take what I can get, closing my eyes and focusing on the warmth that coats my skin, the watery embrace that's so much more forgiving than flesh and bone.
"Better?" Ezra asks after a few moments, his tone light, easy. He's trying, playing the role of the charming villain with a heart of gold. But we both know it's an act. The man has layers, and under all that charisma and sinful smiles, there's an edge, sharp and hazardous.
"Mm," I lie, because what else is there to say?
I don't miss the way his gaze roves over me, hawk-like and intent. He's watching, waiting for cracks to show, whether to patch them up or to take advantage of them. I’m not sure which and damn him, part of me craves the latter.
"Finish your wine," he commands, and I open my eyes to find the glass within reach. His tone is telling me not to give an argument, and I'm too drained to offer one, anyway. So I take the glass, the rich red liquid sloshing gently, and have a sip. It's velvety and smooth, and I down the rest of the glass. For a second, I let myself drift, carried away on the tide of sensation—the heat of the water, the caress of Ezra's gaze, the slide of wine down my throat.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and there's a flash of something dark and possessive in his eyes.
"Keep watching me like that, and you'll give a girl ideas," I tease, the words spilling out before I can stop them. My brain-to-mouth filter is shot to hell tonight.
"Is that right?" His lips curve into a half-smile, and it's all a wicked promise. "Maybe later."
I don’t respond and he doesn’t say anything either as time stretches on. The water's starting to cool, and the last thing I want is to leave this temporary sanctuary. But the truth is, the world outside this bathroom is still turning. And sooner or later, I’m going to have to face it.
I let Ezra keep watch while I soak, and pretend that everything is just fine until he finally breaks the silence, his voice a tether pulling back to the present.
"I think it's time to get you out," he says, his voice a bit gruff. He's right of course. I can't hide in here forever.
I nod silently, and Ezra stands, grabbing a plush towel from the heated rack. He holds it open for me as I step out of the tub, rivulets of water running down my bare skin.
Goosebumps ripple across my bare skin as the air hits my wet body. I'm too exhausted to be an ounce of self-conscious, though I can feel Ezra's heated gaze trailing over me.
"Everything about you is sexy," Ezra says, wrapping a towel around me with a care that feels more intimate than any touch.
"Even when I'm freaked out and half-drowned?" I ask, because believe me, I'm feeling anything but desirable right now.
"Especially then." The intensity of his voice wraps around me.
"Let's hope Atticus agrees," I murmur, and Ezra's jaw tightens.
"Trust me, he does," Ezra assures me.
Ezra's hands linger, fingertips grazing my hips, my waist, the swell of my breasts beneath the towel. My breath hitches, heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird. Slowly, cautiously, I reach up and trace the hard lines of his jaw, rough with stubble. He sucks in a sharp breath but doesn't retreat from my touch.
"Let's get you into bed. You need rest."
"Bed," I repeat, letting him lead me out of the bathroom. "Where I'll totally sleep like a baby, right?"
"Like a baby with a nightlight and a guard dog," Ezra replies, a hint of his usual playful self peeking through. "I'll be right there. The rest of the night and however long you need to sleep."