Chapter Five #3
The ledger lay open on the small desk behind the register.
I’d been saving for a second convection oven since I took over the shop.
Twenty-three hundred dollars in the envelope in my safe represented a lot of scrimping and saving.
My guess was it would take me another eight months to pay for it at this rate.
The bell rang, but I didn’t look up. “We’re closed. Sorry.”
“Even for returning lost property?” Inferno stood in the doorway with my wrap draped over one arm.
He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and boots that made my pussy clench as I remembered the last time I’d worn my own motorcycle boots.
Judging by his knowing smile, he knew what had just gone through my head.
“You forgot this,” he said. “At the compound.”
I set the rag down. “You drove all the way here to return a wrap?”
He shrugged. “I was in the neighborhood.”
“There’s nothing in this neighborhood but a defunct hardware store and my bakery, Inferno.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Lucky coincidence, then.” He stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him. The bell jingled. “Need help closing up?”
I should have said no. Should have taken the wrap and thanked him and sent him on his way.
The bruise on my arm throbbed under my sleeve, and the last thing I needed was a man like Inferno anywhere near me right now.
Even though I felt perfectly safe with the man, my instincts were firing all kinds of warnings after my confrontation with Brett this morning.
Instead, I handed him the mixing bowl. “Soak this in the sink. Use hot water, lots of soap. Scrub brush is on the left.” He took the bowl without question and carried it to the sink and did exactly what I’d told him to.
I moved around him to get to the display case. He moved with me, sidestepping without looking, his shoulder brushing mine as he passed. The kitchen was eight feet wide. Two people made it intimate by default.
He scrubbed the mixing bowl while I counted the till. He hummed something low as he worked and I couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re good at this,” I said.
“Did a stint as a dishwasher in college. Before the fire academy.” He didn’t look up. “Hated every minute. But you learn things.”
“What college?”
He grinned. “Nice try.”
I laughed. My chest felt lighter than it had all day. I finished the till and moved to the sink. Three sheet pans needed scrubbing. I shoved my sleeves up to my elbows without thinking and plunged my hands into the soapy water.
The bruise bloomed red and purple above my left elbow.
Four perfect finger marks, darkening by the hour.
Inferno’s hand closed around my wrist mid-reach.
His grip was gentle but absolute. He turned my arm slowly, examining the mark under the fluorescent light.
His thumb traced the edge of the darkest bruise.
“Who did this, baby?” The question hung in the air between us. His voice had changed. Gone flat and cold, despite the endearment. All his easy warmth drained out of his voice like someone had pulled a plug.
“Brett came for his shit this morning.”
Inferno didn’t move. Didn’t speak. The silence built around us, thick and charged. I saw the pulse flutter at his neck, speeding up as his brow broke out in a sweat. This man wasn’t all right. “I’ll kill him.”
“No you won’t, Jonah.” I gave him a command, though I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I could see it in his eyes, and I didn’t think I was ready for this.
“He put his hands on you.”
“And if you kill him, you go to prison. And I lose my bakery trying to pay for lawyers. And nothing gets better for anyone.” I pulled my arm back gently. He let go. “It’s a bruise, Inferno. I’ve had worse from oven racks.”
“This isn’t an oven rack, baby.”
“I know what it is.”
He turned away from me. Crossed to the far wall and braced both hands against the counter.
His shoulders were rigid under the black tee.
The muscles in his forearms stood out like cables.
I watched him breathe in deep, measured inhales and exhalations, a man talking himself down.
He turned around. The anger was still there, banked but not gone, a cold fire behind his eyes.
But his voice was steady when he spoke. “Show me the rest.”
“There isn’t any rest. He grabbed my arm and left a bruise. That’s the whole story.”
He came back to the sink. Took my arm again, gently this time, and turned it over in his hands. His touch was careful as his thumb brushed the edge of the bruise. “I need you to promise me something,” he said.
I studied him warily, because I knew whatever his ask was, I wouldn’t like it. “Depends what it is.”
“If he comes near you again. Anywhere. The shop, your apartment, the fucking grocery store. You call me. Not the cops. Me.” His gaze held mine as he stroked his thumb gently over my arm where he still held onto me. “Promise me, Juniper.”
That wasn’t unreasonable, and actually made me feel better. “OK. I can make that promise.”
He nodded. Once. Sharp. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to the bruise. His breath was warm against my skin as he held my arm and kissed my pain better. And I didn’t mean the bruises.