Chapter 10
Fleur
Guilt.
I had none. At least not any longer.
Embarrassment?
I was long past feeling any concept of shame. If I could allow a man to devour and fuck me in the middle of an SUV only yards away from my friends and several patrons of Sunlight and Sparkles, I could only imagine what additional voyeuristic options I’d deem acceptable.
Continued desire?
Absolutely. My bottom lip was swollen from his teeth biting down during a ravaging kiss.
My pulse was sky high, every muscle tingling.
Even my pussy continued to throb deep inside my core.
Plus, the man sitting next to me with his hand wrapped around the steering wheel, his thighs open to the point I couldn’t help but steal continuous glances at the bulge between his legs was perhaps the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on.
What I felt was exhilarated, as if I’d been allowed a single taste of sin without fear. For some, the evening’s events might not be or seem important. But to me, it was a chance to be myself and to let go of my fears and inhibitions.
Was there anything wrong with indulging in a night of passion with a dark, dangerous, mysterious stranger? Well, if it was a sin, it was too late.
As Montgomery drove, I leaned back against the head rest, staring out the windshield into the darkness. I’d certainly never admit how I felt to the powerful hunk, but I’d been thrilled when he’d hunted me down in the bar. There’d been no doubt why he’d shown up without an invitation.
A tiny thrill continuously drifted through me as I wondered what boundaries he’d push to get what he wanted.
That so happened to be me.
The moment he pulled down the long driveway, I was struck by the lack of nervousness.
For all I knew, he could be an escaped felon or worse, perhaps an assassin where a mission had gone wrong, but I felt safe being around him.
How strange. The uncertainty increased both the urgency and the intense longing.
I rubbed my fingers across my bottom lip, realizing his scent was everywhere, lingering in such a way to keep me slightly intoxicated.
With no other sound, I heard every crunch of tires on the packed snow.
When his headlights flashed across the bank of garages, I was surprised he didn’t pull the SUV into a bay.
A security light popped on, blinding and intrusive.
I shielded my eyes while my mind shifted to a reminder that even if my fantasy thoughts about who he was and why he was here weren’t true, he was still recovering from a gunshot wound.
Maybe a home invasion gone wrong. Perhaps a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and he’d preferred me thinking of him as a hero. In my wicked mind, an antihero was more acceptable. Whatever the truth, for some reason the light was almost a red flag, a reminder to be careful.
As soon as he cut the engine, he turned his head toward me.
There didn’t seem a need for any words even now, although I sensed he was still ensuring I was okay with being alone with him at his house.
I opened the door as an answer, but just before I put my feet down, I realized he hadn’t cleaned off the snow.
My heels would sink into the ice, making it impossible to walk.
“Don’t you own a snow shovel?”
My sudden question amused him as it seemed so many of my barbs had done. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, you’re that kind of man.”
“What kind is that?”
Just before I forced myself to stand on the ice even if I wobbled, I offered another mischievous look.
“The kind of man who needs someone to do everything for him. You know. A butler. A handyman. A cook. No, no, a chef. You’re way past wanting hamburgers on the grill and homemade lasagna.
More like coq au vin or lobster with a filet mignon barely kissed by the flames served with smoked asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. Lightly chunky.”
He snorted in response, climbing out forcefully as if I’d hurt his feelings.
I laughed, more confident to step onto the snow. The term should have been overconfident. The moment my foot hit the frozen tundra, my legs forgot how to function normally, pitching me forward. No amount of clawing at the door was helpful.
Just before my butt hit the ground, a solid pair of hands caught me, gently returning me to a standing position. And as with every rom-com depicted in a winter storm, I was pulled right into the hero’s waiting arms, crushed against the heat of his chest.
The twist of my body was more painful than I cared to admit, but possibly well worth the aches given the save he’d provided.
“Be careful, my French flower. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Still flustered with heat caressing the skin under my neck, I tried to regroup. “You should call Bart. He’ll be happy to shovel your driveway and sidewalk. He’s a very good man, a sweet soul who’d do anything for you. And don’t worry. He’s trustworthy.”
I was surprised when the ugly glaring light captured a moment in Montgomery’s eyes. Just a split second before the iciness returned, but I witnessed jealousy.
“Is that so?” he gritted out.
“Yes, it is. Such a handsome guy too. I feel safe around him. You can too.” I’d wounded the man again and as if to prove he was the bigger he-man, he gathered me into his arms. “What are you doing?”
The way he cradled me against the heat of his body felt far too natural. He stomped toward the door, his jaw clenched from frustration. He might not want me to notice, but I could tell by the hard clench of his jaw and his unsteady gait that he was in pain.
“Saving your pretty ass.”
“You’re jealous.”
“Do I have a reason to be?” Just before he unlocked the door, he peered down into my eyes, his expression all the fury from before, but with an additional possessiveness that not only surprised but enticed me.
The jealousy game was no longer interesting. “Bart is happily married with a baby on the way. Plus, he’s not my type.”
“Good to hear.” He kicked open the door, storming inside.
“Why is that?”
With me still in his arms, he pressed his fingers against the keypad of a security system. Then looking me dead in the eyes, he gave me the answer that honestly, I’d hoped to hear. “Because I’d have to kill him and as you reminded me, that wouldn’t make the townspeople very happy.”
A part of me wanted to laugh, but my instinct told me that he was serious.
He gently lowered me to floor, immediately taking my coat and yanking off his.
“Why aren’t you using your cane?” I could instantly tell my question annoyed him by the way his body stiffened.
“Because I was told I needed to cease relying on any crutch.”
“But if you need it, fuck everyone else.”
Almost immediately, his expression softened, but there was a deep pain haunting his emerald eyes that had nothing to do with his physical abilities. “Maybe you’re right. Make yourself at home.” The security system was reengaged almost immediately.
“How long are you planning on being here?”
“Not long enough to become attached.”
And there it was, confirmation our passion was for only one night. Fine by me.
“You look like you could use a drink. If you point the way to your kitchen or maybe your bar, I’ll be happy to make you something.
I’m sure you have a fancy collection of wines and liquors.
Only the best.” I wasn’t certain why I threw it out other than I was fearful he would disappear in his own house.
The fact he was debating answering me seemed odd. He pointed across the oversized living space. “Suit yourself.”
When he started to walk off I cleared my throat. “Whiskey. Right?”
“How do you know that?” His response wasn’t simply curious. It was accusatory.
“Because I could taste it on you.”
The stiffness remained for a few seconds. Even the fingers of his hand not firmly wrapped around a weapon was fisted. Was the man ready for a fight? “How very observant of you. Whiskey. There’s an open bottle in the kitchen. Wine. Beer. Whatever you’d like.”
He tipped his head until his eyes pierced mine. While I couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking, I sensed he was questioning why he’d brought me here. The way his gaze fell was as powerful as I’d sensed he was in whatever life he’d escaped from. Only here, we were on a more even playing field.
Whatever that meant.
“I’ll be right back. Just…” His hesitation was forced, something on his mind. “Don’t go anywhere.”
Why did I have the feeling he was talking about even stepping foot outside his house?
Mr. Brooding left me alone to fend for myself after he’d hung up both jackets. Another shiver left my mouth dry. Another reminder he was dangerous.
But to whom?
Still chilled to the bone, I rubbed my arms before yanking off my heels, fearful of denting the highly polished wooden floor.
The house was as beautiful as I’d envisioned.
The wooden beams and mile-high glass as well as the floor-to-cathedral-ceiling stone fireplace managed to create a cozy atmosphere.
Every room of my little house could almost fit into the living room.
As soon as he disappeared down a hallway, I headed in the direction of where he’d pointed.
It was no surprise that the kitchen was stunning in both features and artistry.
With gleaming appliances and the kind of granite countertops I’d only seen in glossy magazines for chalets in ski resorts, I was instantly in awe.
While it was obvious he’d just arrived given there was no real life to the space other than the single Yankee candle positioned beside the kitchen window, the space was appealing.
The bottle of whiskey was on the counter, a single glass in the sink.
There were also bottles of wine in a small but tightly packed wine cooler, the dual temperatures allowing for both red and white wines.
I busied myself locating a wine opener and glasses, the silence in the house creeping into becoming unnerving.