Chapter Eleven
Life always offers you a second chance—
it’s called tomorrow.
Lance winced at the pain moving through him as he shuffled over the smooth floor to the window. Outside the sky was resplendent in purples, oranges and muted golds. He rubbed his chest and squinted out of his one good eye.
He didn’t recognize the apartment he was in, and there was nothing to give the slightest hint of who lived here. Perhaps the man who’d been at the wheel?
But then, he thought he’d imagined seeing him with Jasmine. A snarl escaped and he gazed around once more. Where is that woman of mine?
His stomach growled and he pivoted away from the window. Lance slowly made his way to the small, neat kitchen. He opened the fridge and frowned. Some tan rectangular containers that were sealed with tin lids and had no writing on the outside to indicate what they may hold.
One in hand, he shut the door to the fridge and nearly dropped the container. Jasmine stood on the other side.
“What the fuck, woman! I could have shot you.” His gun was in the back of his waistband and not handy, but still.
The left side of her face quirked up. “Funny.” She jutted her chin at the container he held. “Get your food, we need to talk.”
While he longed to hold her and kiss her, he used his rapidly waning energy to make it to the microwave and pull the top off the container.
Meatloaf and mashed potatoes with broccoli.
His mouth watered. Holding onto the counter while it reheated, he watched her in his periphery as she got drinks for each of them.
Were he not half dead and as weak as a newborn kitten, he may have felt it was almost domestic, them sharing the kitchen and working together.
His woman wore torn jeans, and through one of the holes on her upper thigh he could make out a tattoo.
Eyes narrowing, he licked his lips and moved toward her as she filled her cup with ice.
She loved ice. He didn’t want very much in his glass but she loved it.
At her side, he trailed his hand down along her hip until he got to the hole and tucked his finger in. “Did you get a tattoo while I was lying here?”
Her smile had his heart skipping a few beats. “I could have had that this whole time.”
He clucked his tongue at her. “Not a chance, baby. I’ve licked every fucking inch of your curves and that,” he tugged on the material and frowned, “that raven wasn’t there.”
She handed him his glass and tapped hers to it. “Maybe, you’re just not that observant.”
Lance snorted. “Baby, I may miss some things here and there, but not when it comes to you and this body I’ve claimed as my own. Trust me when I tell you, I’ve never been so fucking observant as I am with you.”
He leaned closer and flicked his tongue along her lower lip, catching the water droplet teasing him. Jasmine backed up enough to pull their mouths apart.
“Foolish man, eat your food. You’re not ready for all this.”
He yanked her close, doing his damnedest not to wince over the pain radiating through him at the movement. “Twenty-four-seven, baby. I’m always ready for you.”
Her smile, soft and slightly condescending, had him rethinking his statement.
She patted him on the cheek. “Let’s see how you’re doing after you eat some food.
” She plucked his glass from his hand and carried it to the table.
Before he could get back to the microwave she was there, dragging his food from it and taking that to the table as well.
He wanted to snap at her that he wasn’t an invalid but damn it all, he kinda was. And despite his words, no way in hell he was ready for tangling in the sheets with this woman. Face-planting on the bed? Sure. But nothing more adventurous than that. Which fucking sucked.
She didn’t try to help him to the table, just watched him make his molasses-speed progress.
Sweat dotted his forehead and some slid down his back as he lowered himself to the chair.
Limbs trembling, he paused reaching for his fork and took several slow breaths.
Through it all Jasmine sat there, nursing her ice water.
She never once looked impatient or put out by having to wait for him.
He ate slowly, partly because he didn’t have the energy to do it any way other than slowly, but also because he was fucking savoring the food. It was delicious.
After cutting a piece of the tender meatloaf, he added a bit of mashed potatoes to the fork with it then held it out to her. Jasmine held his gaze for a moment before she leaned forward and opened her mouth to allow him to slide it between her lips.
“Christ you make eating hot.” He focused on her mouth as she chewed and swallowed while sitting in her chair once more.
“And you’re still too weak to handle me so focus and eat.”
“Where are we?” He took a few moments to cut up the rest of the food and waited for an answer.
“Safe house.”
“I don’t recognize it.”
“Good. You shouldn’t. It’s one of mine.”
He speared a piece of broccoli and pointed the fork at her. With her minute head shake, he ate it and mulled over her words. “One of?”
“Yep.”
That was it. Nothing more, no additional information, and he frowned.
“Care to elaborate?”
“Nope.”
“Christ, Jasmine. Why not?”
“Nothing more to say. It’s a safe house. It’s one of mine. End of story.”
This woman. “If I had the energy I’d tan that ass of yours for the flippant remarks.”
A low chuckle burst from her. “If you had the energy we wouldn’t be talking, we’d be fucking, so not exactly concerned there.”
He glared as he took another healthy bite of the meatloaf.
His focus fell away after he noticed the flare of heat in her gaze as she stared at his mouth.
Swallowing, he dragged his tongue along his lower lip, pleased as could be her attraction wasn’t fading.
Even if she was right, were he feeling better than like shit on the bottom of a shoe, they would be fucking.
Or cuddling.
Talk ceased as he finished cleaning his plate.
While it felt incredible to fill his belly, even he couldn’t ignore the trembling his body did as he settled the fork down on the empty plate.
Hating the weakness owning his limbs, he took his time reaching for his water.
Even now, Jasmine didn’t say a thing, merely observed.
The cold water slid down his throat and he fought off a yawn, stomach full, body exhausted and needing far more sleep to allow recovery.
As if she knew exactly what he thought, her lips curved up in a slight smile.
She didn’t speak, merely tipped her head back to the bedroom, and he didn’t have the energy to argue with her.
He stood and she mimicked him, swiping up his plate and utensils.
Lance didn’t move and when she turned around from setting things on the counter, he held out a hand.
A slight head shake before she took his hand and grabbed their water glasses with the other. Side by side they retreated down the hall and went to bed.
* * * *
For the second time that day he woke alone. A fresh glass of water with ice cubes rested at the edge of the bedside table. Struggling to a seated position, he rested against the headboard and took a slow drink. Whereas before the sun had illuminated the room, now streetlights held that distinction.
Low voices filtered back to him and he instinctively reached for the sidearm beneath his pillow, grateful it was one, there, and two, not so much work to hold it. One more drink of water and he swung his legs over the side of the bed and headed up the hallway.
He recognized Jasmine’s voice, but the other seemed younger.
Male, but he couldn’t identify it. At the end of the hall, he peered around the corner and snarled with possessiveness.
A tall Black man stood close to Jasmine, too fucking close, while on a stool across from them was a young man who looked like he could be a perfect blend of the two.
“Auntie, there’s a man lurking at the corner. Mostly naked with a scowl on his face.”
“That’s Lance and he’s grouchy when he first wakes up. Usually because he’s hungry.”
The young man looked pointedly at him and Lance drew on years of being expressionless to keep the shock from seeing his face show. He was missing his right eye and had a terrible scar down the side of his face. Part of his jaw was also missing.
He stepped into view, nodding at the young man, flicking his gaze dismissively over the man still too close to Jasmine, and walked to her side, where he drew her nearer to him before settling her on the other side. Keeping himself between her and the man.
Jasmine allowed it, and he understood that. She was a formidable woman even when he wasn’t recovering. But she didn’t fight him on it, simply let it go.
“We should get going.” The man had a deep, graveled voice.
“Jazzy said she was going to play the game with me while you talked. You barely talked. This man isn’t a problem.” The younger one gestured at Lance. “Besides, he came up from the bedroom wearing only his boxers. He and Jazzy are fucking.”
A bark of laughter slipped from Lance and everyone glanced in his direction. He shrugged without shame. “What? Kid’s right. We are fucking.”
He flexed his fingers into her side and somehow pulled her tighter against him, turning so he could still keep an eye on the unknown male. Lips to her temple, he gazed over her head to find the man watching with a hint of humor and warning in his dark eyes.
“See. Jazzy, you owe me a game.”
“All right, young’un, you seem desperate to get your ass beat.
” She patted Lance’s stomach and moved out from the protective circle of his arms. He stared at her as she shimmied over the floor to where the young man fist pumped the air before he bolted to the couch and leaped the back to land on the cushion.