Chapter Seven
Violet could still feel the bold imprints of his hands on her bottom.
Her bottom! Like his parting words, they burned into her flesh.
She must have truly lost every one of her senses to even consider meeting him.
Though she doubted, like the first time, she had much choice in the matter.
She could test him, of course. Test his choice.
However, she didn’t want to prolong any attention on her by playing such a dangerous game.
Besides, if she didn’t meet him, he might come looking for her.
The man had a key to her shop! She had no delusions that he would not use it.
And then what?
More punishment.
Violet groaned and accidentally snipped the head clean off a rose in the arrangement she was putting together.
Angelica caught the slip and raised a brow. “Are you all right, Violet? You’ve been distracted all day.”
Well, kissing the king of the underworld and being groped in a way that stole her breath would do that to a woman.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Violet lied, removing the stem from the vase.
Fortunately, this arrangement was for her bedroom and not a client.
She’d needed to keep her mind and fingers occupied after this morning’s faux pas.
Whether it was working or not was another matter. She remained optimistic, however.
“Yes, well.” Angelica’s gaze switched between her and the arrangement. “You have trimmed those poor flowers within an inch of their life. If they had feelings, they would be weeping.”
“They ought to be thankful they get to live a carefree life, short though it might be. And they do not have insufferable landlords.” Violet muttered the last word under her breath.
Angelica blinked. “I beg your pardon? Insufferable what? I didn’t quite catch that.”
“Never mind.” Violet scratched the back of her head. “I’m simply preoccupied.”
“A man, I presume?” Angelica asked with a knowing grin. “Perhaps a lover?”
Violet nearly choked on air. “Don’t be absurd! What lover? I do not have a lover!”
Angelica chuckled, looking unconvinced. “Why not?” The girl winked at her. “I would not judge you if you did.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“The lady doth protest and all that.”
Violet glared at the girl. “I don’t have a lover,” she reiterated and turned back to her arrangement. “But I do have a bit of a disagreement with a man.”
“Oh?” Angelica asked, the intrigue in her voice unmistakable.
Such a gossip.
“A most unreasonable man,” Violet added, unable to help herself.
“They usually are.”
Violet paused at the suggestive tone of the girl.
“It’s not like that, Angelica! This man .
. . Well, he might believe I did something wrong.
” She’d better not divulge the sordid wrongdoings of their landlord lest the girl start worrying about the stability of her job and the good sense of her employer.
Angelica’s face turned thoughtful. “Did you do what he believes you’ve done? Wait, how do you know he believes you might have done this thing? Did he accuse you outright?”
“No.” Which sounded ridiculous now that she said it out loud. But she knew. His very presence told the whole story. And let’s not forget he took her to his dungeon. The rogue. “The way he’s acting toward me.”
“But you didn’t do anything wrong, did you?” Angelica asked.
Violet snorted. “I did nothing wrong.” Her definition of wrong and his definition of wrong were two different things, unfortunately.
And it’s not like she could raise the subject first. Doing that would be akin to admitting she’d done what he believed she’d done.
So vexing. Nevertheless, “I question his absurd behavior.”
Angelica gave a thoughtful nod. “Well, if he hasn’t accused you outright, just pretend whatever you did—wrong or not—never happened.”
Women of the same mind! Her plan had been sound.
But now that she thought about the man .
. . he hadn’t said anything about that night, had he?
She couldn’t rightly recall. In fact, whenever she thought back to all the moments with him, only their kiss, his hands on her behind, overpowered everything else.
Blazes.
Her legs lost all sense of steadiness simply recalling that encounter.
Violet set down the scissors before she maimed more innocent flowers. “On another note, Angelica, what do you know about the Furys here in Brighton?”
The girl’s eyes widened. “Do not tell me you have discord with one of them?”
“Of course, not,” she denied. “They are the landlords here, so I’m merely curious.”
The visible relief on the girl made Violet grimace.
“So long as you do not meddle in their matters,” Angelica said, “they will not meddle in yours.”
Her brother might be meddling, though. “And if you do meddle?”
The girl shuddered. “You disappear.”
“Disappear?” She thought of the dungeon. So that hadn’t been an idle threat? But something told her dungeon did not equal disappearing. Truly troubling.
“At least that is what I’ve heard happens. I’ve never had any run-ins with them, so I don’t know whether the rumors are true or not.”
Fair enough. But one person might know. Perhaps she should make time to pay a call on Calliope at her candle shop.
After all, the woman was married to the broodiest Fury, so far as Violet could tell.
That, however, would have to wait. Changing the subject, she asked Angelica, “How was the fight Pip and Terry ran off to?” She eyed her employee. “I haven’t heard a peep from them.”
Angelica started to clear the trimmings from the table. “Oh, that. I heard it was quite the spectacle.”
“Oh?” That . . . truly? Well, most certainly not at the venue she snuck into, which only reaffirmed it had been a trap. But how was she to inquire about the matter if she couldn’t ask anyone without drawing their suspicion?
Forget it. Pay it no mind.
But then what? Another nagging voice asked.
She couldn’t ignore the big brute knocking on her door.
That man was not a man to be ignored. If Drake Fury wanted something, he would tear down the hinges to get it.
Her only chance, slender as a thread, was to make him believe that whatever notion he had formed about her was utterly mistaken.
To do that, she had to nod along to this wretched game of cat and mouse.
For that was precisely what their exchanges felt like: she the mouse who scurried, and he the cat who already knew exactly where she hid.
Honestly, that man was as vexing as they came.
After that kiss, she couldn’t stop wondering what he would do if he discovered she was the sister of the man he’d set a trap for.
Lock her up? Make her disappear? Kiss her even deeper?
Would he allow her to explain? Would her explanation even matter?
Did it even matter that it should matter but didn’t?
You’re spiraling, Vi.
Perhaps. But it was one of those cruel things about the world. Fairness hardly ever came into play.
All she could do was protect herself as much as she was able.
Brighton was her home now. She refused to leave.
It didn’t matter if the man could kiss like a god or that his hands made her burn all over her body.
It didn’t even matter that he was Brighton’s Brute.
She was Violet Sharpe. New and improved.
Despite her past, despite certain fears still attached to it, she would outwit and maneuver this Fury even if she had to do it with kisses!
“I’m not sure if I should be scared of that look on your face or cheer you on?”
Violet glanced at Angelica, who stared at her wide-eyed. “What’s my face doing?”
“I’m not sure myself. Something I can only describe as evil.”
Laughter burst from Violet. An evil look? Good! She would need a bit of wickedness to deal with her opponent.
Drake Fury would not be the only one ready.
*
The punishment would come later.
Damned if the woman wasn’t right. His whole body was a map of complaints.
It ached all damn over. The parts that didn’t physically ache were itchy, restless, and burning.
His mouth still felt bruised from her kiss.
His hands remembered the shape of her arse with humiliating clarity, and his tongue throbbed where she’d bitten him. Though that might be phantom pain.
Christ.
He’d thought he understood danger. He lived in it every day. Commanded its very essence. But Violet Sharpe had rewritten the definition entirely. She simply didn’t react like any normal, innocent, woman would. And she was no harpy. The woman was fire. A flaming cauldron of defiance.
He shouldn’t damn well be thinking this way, but the smell of her skin, soft like early morning rain, clung stubbornly to him since he’d left her alone in the courtyard.
Damn it.
She was going to be a problem.
A spectacular problem.
And he wasn’t entirely certain he didn’t want this complication to keep knocking on his door. And it wouldn’t stop him from collecting her in an hour. This time not to show her a dungeon or the like, but exactly what she wished to attend the night she walked into his trap.
A fight.
Let’s see her face then.
Just what was the little spitfire up to?
His gaze shifted to Knight behind the bar, immersed in the newspaper.
Bloody traitor. He hadn’t said a word to the man since he left him in the dungeon and sent Maxen to retrieve him four damn hours later.
The only reason why Drake had kept his fists to himself was because Knight hadn’t breathed a word about how he’d come to be locked in his own dungeon.
Dagger pushed open the door of the tavern and stepped in, spotted him, and strode over, taking the chair across from him. “Where are the others?”
Drake shrugged. “You have news?”
His brother shook his head. “Nothing. I’m concerned.”
Drake sighed. Normally, no news could usually be considered good news. But when it came to an enemy, their enemy, no news was dangerous news. “I don’t like this silence. Something is brewing in the dark.”
Dagger nodded. “Everything is too peaceful.”
Not everything, everything.