19. Ezra
Chapter 19
Ezra
T he soft rise and fall of Lemon's chest is the only thing keeping me from losing my shit. Her breaths are even, lips parted in that way that makes you think of better activities for them than just breathing. My eyes trace the delicate curve of her neck, lingering on her eyelashes and the slope of her nose. Curled up in my bed, her dark hair fans out across my pillow like a promise I shouldn't want to keep. But damn it all if she doesn't look like peace personified. Something New Haven City rarely offers, and I only find when Atticus has me in the deepest parts of my mind.
I'm sprawled on the chair beside the bed, every muscle coiled tight, like I'm expecting another round of our earlier sinfully good debauchery or the next disaster to barge through my door. Maybe both. My eyes glue to Lemon's face, searching for any sign of pretense. It's not until her breathing syncs up with the distant hum of outside that I let myself believe she's truly out cold.
Now it's time for less savory things. Things that don't involve exploring every inch of each other, finding new ways to make her gasp, him groan, and me forget my own name.
I pull out my phone, thinking of Atticus and his penthouse that holds all my favorite memories and now some gruesome ones. The guy has a control complex big enough to rival the skyscrapers he loves to brood over. And right now, I need to suck it up and poke at the grumpy bastard because I may let him lord over me, but someone got too close to us.
To him.
And I care about that fucking man more than I will ever admit to anyone. He’s my best fucking friend.
My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating for a split second because I’m about to dive into a world of shit. But then again, when have I ever not? I hit the call button and bring the phone to my face. Time to chat with my devil.
I can't help but smirk as the phone rings. Atticus always makes me wait, the power-hungry bastard. My free hand drums against the window frame, impatient. Finally, the line clicks.
"Mr. Reid," I drawl as soon as his face pops up. "Nice of you to take my call at this godforsaken hour."
He's all business, but there's a storm brewing behind those eyes that says he hasn’t stopped thinking about the way Lemon screamed when she found the dead body in his kitchen. The kind of scream that gets under your skin and stays there.
"Brat." His voice is pure whiskey and gravel, sending a shiver down my spine. "I trust our toy is settled?"
I roll my eyes. "Sleeping like a baby, old man. Though I'm sure you didn’t mean to suggest I don’t know what I’m doing. I am fully capable of functioning as an adult and a good one at that without you barking demands at me. "
"Show me, Ezra," he commands, voice as tight as the fist I know he's probably making off screen because he can’t gag me for my smart mouth.
I tilt the camera so Lemon's sleeping form comes into view, proof that his lemon drop hasn’t run. His gaze locks onto her and we both see the same thing. She's a vision, all tousled hair and creamy skin barely covered by my rumpled sheets.
"Take a good look," I murmur, drinking in the sight myself. "Isn't she fucking gorgeous when she sleeps?"
Atticus' sharp inhale crackles through the speaker. I can practically feel the tension radiating off him, even through the phone.
"Ezra," he warns, voice low and dangerous.
"Relax. She's safe. You did good sending her with me," I taunt, knowing full well it'll get a rise out of him.
"Keep it that way," he shoots back, his warning clear. "And don't get attached, playboy. This isn't what it’s about."
"Who, me?" I chuckle low and throaty. "Perish the thought." I'm lying through my damn teeth, and we both know it. Something about Lemon tugs at parts of me I didn't even know gave a damn anymore.
I turn the phone back to me but purposely keep her in the background so he’s forced to look at her as he talks to me.
"You know the deal," he says flatly. "This has an expiration date. Don't forget that and go and get attached. She’s serving a purpose and when I’m done with her, then we’re done with him."
His words are like a bucket of ice water, dousing the warmth that had been building in my chest. I pull the phone away from Lemon, my jaw clenching.
"How could I?" I snap, hating how raw my voice sounds. "You’d never let me forget it. "
"Quit your bullshit." He's all back to business, so time to remind him that just because I submit to him that I still have my own goddamn autonomy.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. No way I'm letting Atticus see how much his words affect me. Time to turn the tables.
"Speaking of deals," I drawl, letting a smirk play across my lips, "seems like you're the one who needs a reminder, Sir . We had an agreement, remember? You don't get to dictate how I feel outside of the bedroom."
I can practically hear Atticus grinding his teeth through the phone. Good. Let him squirm for once.
"Watch yourself," he growls, the threat clear in his voice.
My cock twitches at his tone, but I push on. "Or what? You'll punish me?" I chuckle, low and dirty. "Promise?"
Before Atticus can respond, I switch gears. "Anyway. Was Lemon the target, or was that poor dead girl just a warning?"
I try to keep my tone light, but my heart's racing. The thought of Lemon in danger makes me want to sequester her in my house and never let her out.
Atticus sighs, clearly frustrated by my deflection. "I'm still working on it," he admits grudgingly. "But my sources say the woman was random. Wrong place, wrong time." The protectiveness in his tone clashing hard with his usual ice-king demeanor.
"Well, listen to that tone. Just watch yourself, Uncle Atti. Emotional attachment is a bitch."
"I can’t wait to cause you pain for that smart ass mouth," he growls, and I can almost see his jaw clench.
I arch an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "We’ll skip over that and circle back to the dead fucking body. You don’t believe for one second it's a wrong place, wrong time situation. Tell me what’s really going on, Atticus."
There's a heavy pause, and I can practically hear the gears turning in that brilliant, fucked-up mind of his. When he speaks again, his voice is tight, controlled.
"It's complicated. This incident, it's connected to my family's past. Things I thought were buried long ago."
My pulse quickens. Finally, some real fucking answers. But before I can press further, I hear him muffle something.
"Fuck," Atticus mutters. "I've got another call coming in. I need to take this."
"Don't you dare hang up on me, you son of a?—"
The line goes dead.
What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?
I can't help but feel like a goddamn puppet on Atticus' strings. He's always one step ahead, always holding back just enough to keep me dangling. It's infuriating.
My phone buzzes, and I snatch it up, hoping it's him calling back. Instead, it's a text.
Atticus
I'll fill you in soon.
I scoff, typing back furiously.
You better and don’t fucking hang up on me again.
He's got us both wrapped around his finger, and I'm not sure if I want to punch him or fuck him for it.
I toss the phone aside, running a hand through my hair as I try to piece together this fucked-up puzzle. A dead woman, Atticus' family secrets, and Lemon caught in the middle of it all .
I glance over at Lemon, still sound asleep in my bed. She looks so peaceful, her dark lashes fanning across her cheeks, lips slightly parted as she breathes softly. The knot in my chest eases a bit just watching her.
I strip down to my boxer briefs and slide under the covers next to her. She stirs slightly but doesn't wake. The scent clinging to her from the bath fills my senses as I settle in close, one arm draping lightly over her waist.
I try to push everything from my mind as I stare at the back of Lemon's head, her dark waves spilling over the pillow. I can't let myself get attached. She's not mine to keep, no matter how much I want to believe otherwise.
I press a feather-light kiss to her temple before closing my eyes. Tomorrow can go fuck itself. Tonight, I'll find sleep right here.
I wake up to the soft creaking of the hardwood floors beneath me, and I know I'm in my brownstone. The morning light filters through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the furniture scattered about. My eyes blink open, adjusting to the reality that Lemon is sprawled beside me, her hair still fanned out like a renaissance painting.
"Morning," I mumble, stretching out in a cat-like manner, feeling the satisfying crackle of my spine waking up after a night of…well, sex and trauma. She stirs next to me, her eyelids fluttering as she slowly comes back to consciousness.
"Morning," she replies softly, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. There's something endearing about how she does it; it's almost innocent, as if she's trying to wipe away last night's chaos.
"Coffee?" I propose, not really asking, more like declaring our next move. Before she can answer, I grab her hand, pulling her up from the bed and out the bedroom door.
I walk into the kitchen with an enthusiasm that's probably illegal this early in the day and my broody little beauty grumbles behind me.
The kitchen is a blend of old-world charm and modern chaos—appliances that gleam under the morning sun, surrounded by vintage knick-knacks that speak of another era. All gifts from my Nonna. I head straight for the coffee machine, an Italian masterpiece that knows exactly what I need today. A strong brew to kick start whatever's left of my energy reserves.
"Ezra, do you ever stop moving?" Lemon teases, leaning against the counter, her expression both amused and exasperated.
"Only when I'm asleep and I’m not totally convinced that’s true. You’ll have to tell me next time we sleep together," I shoot back, flashing her a wink as I scoop the coffee grounds with flair. It's all part of the show, anything to keep her distracted enough to not let her mind wander back to this morning.
"Maybe you should try reading sometime," she counters, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"Reading? That's cute. But I'd rather watch you watching me," I say, turning my attention to the dripping coffee with a satisfied grin. The aroma fills the air, mingling with the lingering scent of aged wood and leather. A comforting reminder that this place is mine, and I made it.
"You're impossible," she laughs, shaking her head. But there's warmth in her voice, a softening around the edges that tells me she’s not stuck in her head right now.
Mission fucking accomplished.
"Just the way you like it," I reply, pouring two cups of coffee and sliding one over to her.
I grab the carton of oat milk from the fridge and top off Lemon's coffee just how she likes it before sliding it back to her. She wraps her hands around the warm mug, staring down into the swirling light brown liquid pensively.
"Hey," I say, leaning across the granite countertop. "Don't go disappearing on me now. Stay present."
Lemon's gaze snaps up to meet mine, her emerald eyes searching. There's an uncertainty in them now.
"Life is messy and fucked up, but you have to grab the good moments before they flit away." I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering for a moment against her soft cheek.
She nods, a faint blush rising on her skin. "Okay," she whispers.
I straighten up and clap my hands together loudly, breaking the tension. "Right! Let's fuel up. I'm making crepes."
Lemon's eyes widen in surprise. "You know how to make crepes?"
"Bellezza, there's a lot you've yet to learn about me," I say, before turning my back to her.
I gather ingredients, whisking together the batter with practiced ease. The sizzle of the pan fills the air as I pour circles of creamy batter onto the hot surface. Lemon watches intently as I flip the crepes with a flick of my wrist, perfectly browned and delicate.
Leaning against the kitchen counter with my coffee cup in hand, I watch her. The machine gurgles behind me as it brews another pot.
Lemon hesitates, and I watch her, curious as hell, wondering what’s on the tip of her tongue. She's biting her lip, eyes darting like she's searching for the right words in the air between us. Finally, she sighs, setting her cup down with a soft clink that echoes in the quiet morning.
"Ezra..." Her voice is barely above a whisper, but there's a strength to it. A determination that piques my interest even more. "I’m so stressed out, and it’s not even about last night. I mean that situation is, I don’t even have words. But my dad…his situation is so fucked up. And Atticus, he promised he'd help. It's the best shot I have to save him, so I need to make this work. Whatever this is, I’m willing to do it. Learn anything you want me to. I need this, but I also want this and now I’m rambling, so I’m going to just shut up."
I nod, taking in her words. There's no judgment here. Hell, I get it. Desperation makes people do wild things, and maybe this arrangement isn't exactly standard, but who are we kidding? None of us are standard.
"We do what we have to," I say, stepping closer.
"Thanks," she murmurs, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her voice. But there's also a fire burning beneath her eyes.
"Seeing you and Atticus together," she admits, her voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down my spine. "The way you two..."
I nod, letting her words wash over me.
“The way we fuck you mean. You can say the word. I do and often.”
"Yeah, that," she continues, her tone shifting to something deeper, "my past partners were more like background noise. They didn't give a shit about my pleasure. Just their own. "
"Fuck boys," I mutter, shaking my head. The idea pisses me off more than it should. "You deserve better than that."
"Maybe," Lemon replies, a flicker of doubt crossing her features. "But what I saw with you two...it was different. I want that kind of freedom. That intensity."
"Trust me," I say, stepping closer, my eyes locking onto hers. "You’ll get it and so much more as you come apart beneath us."
The kitchen smells like heaven, or what I imagine heaven would smell like if it had a thing for crepes and espresso shots.
I layer the crepes with fresh fruit, coconut yogurt, and maple syrup before presenting them with an exaggerated bow. Lemon's delighted laughter echoes off the exposed brick walls of my kitchen.
Her eyes dart to the plate in my hand, curiosity mixed with doubt. "Vegan, right?"
"Yes," I reply, setting the masterpiece down in front of her and adding a flourish. "Only the best in non-animal products for you."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she chuckles, eyeing the plate of crepes with hunger.
"Good to know," I say, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, surveying my work.
She takes a bite, closing her eyes as if she's savoring a sip of ambrosia. Her moan is soft, barely audible, but it sends a jolt through me. I love coffee and the provocative way she eats.
"See? Culinary genius," I boast, smirking at her over my coffee. The steam curls upward, wrapping around me.
We settle at the table, our conversation flowing easily as we eat. It's light and easy. We talk about everything from obscure indie bands to the weird fascination people have with reality TV.
"Seriously, how can you not like 'Love is Blind'?" I tease, nudging her knee under the table. "It's like watching a train wreck you just can't turn away from."
"Because I prefer my drama with a side of substance," she retorts, rolling her eyes in mock disdain, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.
"Touché," I concede, raising my coffee cup in a toast. "To substance, then."
"To substance," she echoes, clinking the juice glass I just poured for her against mine, the sound ringing softly in the air. "And thanks for breakfast."
"Well, I figured after drinking you dry last night I should help replenish your body," I reply, grinning back at her as she chokes on her drink.
The door swings open with a decisive thud before I can check on my choking beauty, announcing Atticus like the goddamn king of my house. The air shifts as he strides in with that commanding presence that demands attention without uttering a single word.
"Coffee," he barks, eyes like blue lasers locking onto me.
"Morning to you too, sunshine," I toss back, not bothering to hide the smirk curling my lips. My hands are already in motion, grabbing a mug and pouring the steaming liquid. It's just easier to give the man what he wants, especially when he's all broody and growling before caffeine hits his bloodstream.
"Thanks," he mutters, settling into a chair at my table, the leather creaking beneath his weight. His expression is all stormy. A disparity to the lazy morning vibe Lemon and I have going on .
"Uncle Atti," Lemon greets him, her voice sugary sweet with a hint of steel. She's got guts, facing down that grumpiness with nothing but a juice glass and a smile.
"Morning, lemon drop," he replies, tone softening just a fraction before he wipes it away.
"How's it feel being in someone else’s domain?" I quip, leaning back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest.
"Shut up, Ezra," he retorts, but there's a flicker of amusement in those intense eyes.
"Someone's touchy," Lemon observes, shooting me a conspiratorial glance. Her foot nudges mine under the table.
"Didn't get much sleep," he admits gruffly, hand raking through his hair. It's a gesture I've seen a hundred times, and each one never fails to stir something inside me. Call it fascination or just plain old lust, but damn, the man's got it. “That will happen when you’re dealing with a crime scene in your multi-million dollar penthouse.”
"Here’s coffee," I add, sliding the mug toward him like an offering. He takes it, fingers brushing mine for a moment.
"Appreciated," Atticus mumbles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in that near-smile that's more dangerous than any frown. I can feel Lemon's eyes on us, studying, assessing. There's always been a charge when the three of us occupy the same space. It’s thrilling, it’s maddening, and it’s anything but simple.
"Well, now that everyone's caffeinated," Lemon declares, breaking the silence, "what's the plan for today? Save my dad. Hopefully."
"Survive breakfast first," Atticus deadpans, taking a sip of the coffee, his posture relaxing by degrees. It's a small victory, but I'll take it.