6. When Breaking and Entering Fails, Bake Cookies
MY HEART’S IN my throat as I watch Vincent storm out of his apartment. I guess I don”t have to wonder if he’s angry anymore, because there is no denying the look on his face. He is pissed as hell.
He”s also hot as hell. That little glimpse of him I got through the computer screen all those months ago did not do him justice. Yes, I could tell he had a great face and broad shoulders, but that was all I had to go on. I had to fill in the rest myself.
And it turns out my imagination didn’t shoot high enough.
He”s at least six-three. Maybe six-four. Every inch of him is solid and strong. The lean line of his muscular form is on full display in his fitted black T-shirt and matching tactical pants.
No coat. And no shoes. Another good indication he’s angry.
And he is angry at me.
I”m caught in a horrifying situation of wanting to both throw up and shove my hand between my legs to ease the ache building there. I recognize how fucked-up it is that I”m turned on right now, but after twenty years of being as unaroused as it gets, I”ve got a lot of horniness to make up for.
And it clearly chooses the most inappropriate times to make itself known. Like when a dangerous, ridiculously sexy man is storming toward my front door.
I grip the windowsill, preparing to push to my feet so I can be as ready as I”m gonna get, but I”m barely off the ground when Vincent stops. I sink back down to my knees, waiting, while he stands frozen in place. The seconds drag on as he works his jaw from side to side.
Then he spins on one heel and stalks right back into his apartment, slamming the door so hard I can hear it across the parking lot.
What the hell? What just happened? One minute he looked ready to either strangle me or put me over his knee and teach me a lesson, and the next he was walking away without looking back.
I grip the windowsill again and this time go fully to my feet, frowning through my barely open blinds. ”Well. Shit.” I thought I had him. Thought I”d pushed him to shit or get off the pot. Apparently not.
Now what? I”ve been gearing myself up for this confrontation all afternoon. Am as ready as I’m gonna get to face down the man who”s been haunting my thoughts way more than he probably should have. Now I”m back to waiting to see what he”s going to do next. And I don’t like it.
Technically, I don”t have to wait. This isn’t a freaking board game. We don”t have to trade moves. I can poke him twice in a row if I want. Is it smart? No. But technically none of this is. I”m fairly confident he won’t kill me, but outside of that I”m not really sure what Vincent is capable of. I don”t have a death wish, but I’m willing to risk an awful lot to finally have a life that”s mine. That I choose. That brings me satisfaction and challenge and excitement.
And money. I do have two sons to put through college.
GHOST can provide all of that. Possibly even more. That means I need to think. I need to strategize. I need to come up with a plan.
And I do my best thinking in the kitchen.
Taking one last look across the parking lot, I blow out a long sigh before turning away from the window I”ve been parked in front of for an hour. I don”t change out of my dress, just in case Vincent changes his mind and decides to come get me after all, but I do pull my hair up. No one likes hairy cookies.
After setting up my mixer, I start adding the ingredients of my favorite cookie recipe into the bowl. As the butter and sugar cream together, I tap one foot, chewing on my lower lip.
I could just go over there. Storm in on him the way he was going to storm in on me. But what in the hell would I say? Hi. Sorry you had to watch me diddle myself last night, I didn”t know you were there.
Technically it”s true. I didn”t know he was there at the time… I just pretended he was. Maybe hoped for it a little. I probably shouldn”t admit that part. It’ll seem weird.
It probably is weird.
So it’s a no to going over there.
Adding in the next round of ingredients, I continue to ponder as they work their way into dough. I could wait until he goes to sleep. Sneak into his apartment and then leave him another card. But that seems too risky. Vincent”s probably always armed and would shoot an intruder, no questions asked. I still don”t have a death wish, so that”s off the table too.
Going back to my cookies, I add in my preferred collection of chocolate chips, give the dough one last stir and then pop the bowl free, scooping the cookies onto parchment lined baking sheets before sliding them into the oven. My brain continues working the whole time, but by the time the whole batch is baked, I still don”t have any great ideas outside of pissing him off enough to make him come to me.
And I think I know how to piss him off. I took my little pink friend back and he’s charged and ready for round two. The question is, am I brave enough to do it? It”s easy to be naughty when you think no one”s watching, but doing it knowing it will likely result in a giant, angry, silver fox mercenary chasing after you?
Honestly, that sounds fucking fantastic. Terrifyingly fantastic. And it brings me right back to that combination of nausea and horniness that seems to be my new norm now that Vincent”s here.
But, at the end of the day, the only risks you regret are the ones you don”t take, and I will kick myself forever if I don”t do everything I can to earn a position on GHOST.
Did I expect performative masturbation to be part of the process? No.
Am I going to take it off the table? Also no.
But that”s because I”ve discovered I might be a little bit of a freak. Again, probably because I spent over twenty years suffering through missionary poking with a man who always found me lacking.
I stack all the cooled cookies into a container and pop on the lid, leaving them on the counter before going up to my office. There is one other way I can possibly piss Vincent off enough to force him to make a move. Disappointingly, it doesn”t involve nipple clamps, but it”s definitely a more professional approach.
I spend the next few hours at my computer, digging through piles of code and finding my way into places I should not be. But that”s what Vincent needs me for, and I want to show him just how capable I am.
By the time I”m finished, my back is stiff and my vision is blurry, but Vincent will have a nice surprise when he tries to log back into GHOST’s system. Before standing, I pull up my Vincent dot and discover he”s found himself a new hiding spot. Now, instead of being across the parking lot, he”s behind my townhome.
I stand and use my cell phone to snap a picture of the screen, carrying it with me as I walk into my bedroom. If I”m going in on this, I might as well go all in.
Walking to the sliding glass door, I stare out into the darkness, but it”s tricky to make out anything too specific. Resting one hand on the glass, I lift my phone, trying to orient myself a little better so I can determine the exact spot he”s hiding. After a few more minutes of squinting, trying to let my eyes adjust, I find a small collection of trees and ornamental bushes edging one side of the retention pond. That makes sense. It would give him a little cover from the wind and snow, but make him believe no one could see him.
But I don”t have to see Vincent to know where he is.
I lower my cell phone, keeping my eyes glued to the spot. Slowly, I curl the fingers of the hand against the glass and give him a little wave.
It”s a ballsy move and makes me look a hell of a lot braver than I actually am. Especially considering I”m really regretting not stopping in the bathroom before coming in here. Now, I”ve got a trifecta of warring sensations wrestling through my insides. Fear. Excitement. Arousal.
And the increasingly urgent need to pee.
”Shitty shit.” Pushing two kids out of my babymaker made me less trusting of my ability to not wet my pants, especially if an activity involves jumping or sneezing. Or running. And, given the circumstances, I might end up needing to run.
Hopefully, it takes Vincent a couple of minutes to figure out how to get into my house, because I”m not risking it. I want him to think I can be a competent member of his team, and peeing on his boots would spoil that illusion.
Not that masturbating in front of a window is much better, but what’s done is done.
Spinning away, I race into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door, or, honestly, wash my hands. I’m breathing heavy when I run back into my room, but it’s worth it when I see a very big, very agitated-looking Vincent standing on my balcony.
Definitely would have wet my pants if there was anything in there to come out.
My breathing only gets faster as I stand there staring at him, my whole body lighting up at the intensity in his gaze. No one’s ever looked at me like this, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s impressed or considering throwing me over the balcony.
It will be the latter when he gets back to his computer.
But whoever made me got my wiring all wrong, because even in this moment my nipples are pulling tight and my thighs are clenching. I think I must just love danger. That’s probably why this man has taken a front seat in all my fantasies since we met. He is danger incarnate.
With a capital fucking D.
When Vincent reaches for the handle, I know I should step back, try to put more distance between us, but I don’t. I did this on purpose. This is what I wanted. What I asked for.
I still feel a little sick.
The door slides open easily. I never lock it because who’s going to climb onto a second-floor balcony to get into my bedroom?
I have my answer when his boot crosses the threshold, and I’m a little impressed that the second man to grace my private space is this one.
Go me.
I swallow hard when Vincent takes another step, bringing his tall frame completely inside. I know he”s been here before, but this is the first time I”ve been here to witness it, and it”s a little surreal. I spent the last six months thinking of—possibly obsessing over—him, and the six months before that figuring out how to get his attention.
Initially, my goal was getting a job offer. But after talking to him, that morphed into something a little bit less business appropriate.
And looking at him now, I can”t imagine any other outcome. He”s breathtaking. Literally. I can”t fucking breathe.
It”s not just how he looks, though that is pretty fucking spectacular, it”s how he carries himself. The way his commanding presence sucks all the air out of a room, leaving you gasping.
Or maybe that”s just me.
Vincent holds my gaze as he slides the door closed, flipping the lock I never use into place. ”You should lock your doors, Julieanne. You never know who might come walking in.”
Holy hell, his voice is even sexier in person. Deep and distracting, which is not a good combination considering I”m trying to prove myself capable.
I force my spine straighter, lifting my chin so I look braver than I really am. ”I knew exactly who would come walking in.” I resist the urge to fidget with the fabric of my dress. ”You just took longer than I expected.”
One of Vincent”s brows slowly lifts, like he’s surprised by what I said. ”Have I kept you waiting?”
He”s joking, right? ”I reached out to you six months ago, so yeah, I”d say you”ve kept me waiting.” I”m not mad, just irritated. Bothered enough by the fact he ignored me for so long that my nerves calm just a little. ”I assumed you decided you didn”t want to take me up on my offer.”
Vincent huffs out a breath that might be his version of a laugh. ”Is that what you believed that was? An offer?”
Now he’s starting to annoy me, which is probably best because it”s curbing that arousal I was struggling with. ”It was an offer, Vincent. A fucking good one too.”
His cool gaze moves over me. ”You sound offended I didn”t hire you.”
”Not offended.” I lift and drop one shoulder in a shrug. ”Just questioning your judgment.”
I think I”m stupid. These are not words that should be coming out of my mouth. I want to work for GHOST, but more than that I don”t want to die. It briefly crosses my mind that arguing with someone who”s killed more people than I”ve probably met might put me on the fast track to meeting my maker.
Vincent steps closer, his movements unhurried. ”Speaking of questionable judgment.” His expression hardens as he continues closing in on me. ”What the fuck possessed you to track my phone?”
Right now, I”d say insanity. That seems like the wrong answer to give him, so I settle on the reasoning I used when I made the program. ”I did it to prove I could.”
”Interesting.” He stops right in front of me, his body so close it”s nearly touching mine. The proximity forces me to tip my head back to keep my eyes on his. ”And how do you think that worked out for you?”
Sweet baby Jesus he smells good—exactly like that card he left on my counter last night—and it makes my brain trip over itself. ”What?”
Before I even see it coming, Vincent”s hand shoots up between us to circle my throat. It”s not tight enough to cut off my airway, but his firm hold does have me frozen in surprise. His other hand grips my hip, the tips of his fingers sinking into the softness I taught myself to appreciate as he shoves me backwards.
It takes everything I have to stay on my feet as we move. I’m so focused on not falling, I don’t pay attention to where we are, and I suck in a sharp breath of surprise when my back hits the wall. Vincent doesn’t give me time to even blink before he presses closer, the hand at my throat tightening the smallest bit as he leans into my ear.
”I said, how do you think that worked out for you?” He says the words slowly, enunciating each one like he wants to be sure I don’t miss them again.
I know it should sound menacing. Threatening. But all I can think about is that I”m currently pinned against the wall by the hottest man I”ve ever seen in my life. And, factoring in the hard press of his dick against my belly, he”s not hating the situation either. I”m practically panting at this point, and the only thing keeping me from melting into a pile of goo at his feet is the grip he has on my hip and throat. I lick my lips, watching as his gaze locks in on the movement and stays as I offer my answer.
”Right now, I’d say it worked out pretty well.”