Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Serena’s hands shook violently as she lowered the phone to the desk. She drew her knees to her chest.
Even though you stole my ex.
Dani’s words made no sense. They had never shared interest in a man—it had to be a message, but what did it mean? Serena rocked on the seat. Dani had sounded so different. A shell of herself. Yet Serena couldn’t disregard what she’d said. Milo’s and Brock’s voices penetrated her concentration.
“It will take me at least a half hour to get the cash,” Brock said, as he fit his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. “He didn’t give us much fucking time.”
“He doesn’t want to give us the chance to come up with a plan.” Milo dragged his fingers through his hair. “My cash is here. I’ll get it together now. I’ll call you once the directions come through. If you’re too far away, I can meet you on the way to the drop-off location.”
Milo’s gaze swung to her, and he took two long strides to fall next to her chair. “Hey, are you all right?” His palm rested on her cheek and his warm, scrutinizing globes searched her face. “Dani’s okay. They won’t touch her now, honey. This will all be over soon.”
A wave of ice flowed out of her heart, and she forced herself to nod. She couldn’t waste another second dwelling on what Dani had said. After the money had been handed off, she’d tell Milo about her concerns regarding Dani’s mental state.
God, what if they had drugged her? She squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, God, no.
Brock slipped out of the office. Milo moved his thumb over her cheek.
“I’m going to need your help, but I have to grab something from the garage.”
She watched him disappear and then return with a crowbar and a hammer. She stood and met him in the hallway.
He picked up her hand and tucked her fingers into the warm cocoon of his palm. Frantic butterfly wings beat against her breastbone. She fought off the thoughts of what those pesky butterflies meant. Not fear. She’d never feared him.
She feared her reaction to him.
He led her upstairs and into the spare room.
She turned in a circle, taking in the space.
A double bed was positioned against the far wall, along with a white nightstand and dresser.
Simple and tidy, although it was obvious by the thin layer of dust on the dresser and unrumpled green quilt that no one had stayed in the room for a while.
Milo made his way to the corner of the room. “I’ve tackled most of the renos, but there’s still the odd thing I need to do,” he said, gesturing to the peach-colored walls, which didn’t match the rest of the house. He dropped to one knee and faced the wall.
“It’s a big house for a single guy,” she said to the back of his head.
“Yeah, I’ll list it in the spring, maybe. Make a quick buck.” He turned his head. “Maybe you can sell it for me,” he said with a wink.
Warmth tickled her insides, and she gave a small nod. The chances that they’d still be speaking come spring were slim to none, but it was a nice thought.
She frowned and took a few steps closer as he wedged the edge of the crowbar between the baseboard and the wall.
“What are you doing?”
He tapped the hammer on the bottom of the crowbar and the wood loosened from the drywall. He peeled it back and then passed her the crowbar. “Can you pry off the other end of the baseboard? This section needs to come off.”
The fact that he was asking her for help removing a two-foot piece of trim made a smile pull at her mouth.
He could accomplish the task blindfolded with two fingers, yet he acted as though he needed her assistance.
In all likelihood, he was trying to keep her busy so she wouldn’t collapse into a puddle of panic.
She accepted the tool. “Sure.”
She repeated his motion, and when she had the baseboard loose, he tugged it off, being careful not to rough up the wall. She pushed her knuckles into the carpet and lowered her chin a few inches. A hole no more than two inches high took out a section of the drywall that the baseboard had hidden.
Milo pressed his palm into the carpet, and his pinky brushed hers. “You’ve got small hands—can you reach in there?”
She wiggled down so she was lying on her tummy. The angle brought the inside of the wall into view. Rectangular bundles of cash were piled between the studs. The depth of the space was less than six inches, so she didn’t have to slide her hand in too far.
Serena couldn’t help feeling a tingle of delight.
Not because of the money, but because Milo had shown her where it was.
He trusted her. People of their kind—who had been betrayed by their own family and robbed by friends—didn’t trust easily.
He hadn’t needed her help getting the cash.
He’d wanted to prove that he trusted her.
She pulled out the first bundle. A cloud of dust came with it.
She coughed and turned her head, passing Milo the money.
“Sorry, I haven’t been in here in a while.”
She nodded, but his words hit her. This money was his savings, likely his escape-plan money—every good thief had one. Hers was in the bank. And he was using his to save Dani.
For her?
One by one, she dragged out the bundles, ten of them, until the hole was empty. She pushed herself into a sitting position and waited while Milo popped the baseboard into place and hammered the nails back in.
He passed her a handful of bundles and she closed her hands around the money.
His money. Money that would buy her sister’s life.
Tears welled in her eyes. When they were kids, Milo had always been there for her.
Loyal to the core, her best friend, the boy who would give all the money in his pocket to someone on the street.
They’d grown in different directions, been torn apart by their scheming families and insecurities.
Yet he was here. A mountain of protection that had taken her into the safety of its foothills without hesitation.
She’d lost so much more than a friend when she’d lost Milo.
She’d lost the promise of what they’d had.
She dragged her eyes up the length of his forearm.
The corded muscle flexed beneath his bronze skin.
His bicep stretched the sleeve of his shirt, and the material was taut over the breadth of his shoulders.
She swallowed as she took in the thick column of his throat, in need of a shave, and the full, pale lips that had possessed hers a hundred times.
She needed him.
The warm, tantalizing flame of desire that had plagued her a decade ago still burned wild.
Milo rocked forward and pressed his foot into the carpet to stand. She dropped the money, sprang to her knees, and pushed her palms to his chest, stopping him.
His eyes shot to hers. Burning embers of green fire and blue ice tangled in a stormy cloud of knowing. The tools fell with a clank. His hands circled her hips and his thumbs instantly brushed beneath the hem of her shirt to caress the skin beneath.
She couldn’t thank him. Every word she wanted to say sat buried in a heap of emotion and lust. She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t get involved and sure as hell not now.
His gaze fell to her lips and heat swarmed between her legs, moistening the throbbing folds that craved him.
Screw it.
She swooped her hand behind his neck and brought his lips to hers.
Christ almighty.
The memory of kissing Serena had haunted his dreams since the night of Alban’s heist . . . right before he’d blown the blissful look off her face with his jackass comment. Fuck, he needed to set that straight and explain himself.
For now, there was no way in hell he was breaking the contact with her sweet, luscious lips. Her tongue slipped between his teeth and flicked over his. The blood drained from his head and filled his cock as the minty taste of her mouth shot through his system.
He tightened his hold on her hip bones to prevent himself from tearing off her shirt and devouring every inch of her skin. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t give into the alpha male side of him that wanted to strip her, own her, make her scream and shake with every stroke of his cock inside her.
She drew her tongue out of his mouth and her lips brushed against his in a slow, torturous motion. He had to hand over the control to her. She was hurting, terrified, and she needed his support. He’d take her lead on this if it killed him.
God, he hoped she’d need his cock too. His poor little buddy didn’t understand the torture going on upstairs. Serena dipped her head, and a lock of her hair fell in front of her face. Her lips firmed in a shy smile, and she peeked up at him.
“Sorry, I . . . I don’t know how to say thank you.”
The world around him tilted. Ah, hell. She’d kissed him out of gratitude? The wood in his pants became a limp rod of disappointment. She didn’t want him. Not like he wanted her. He scrubbed his palm over his cheek. He had to save face. The last thing she needed was to see his disappointment.
He chucked her under her chin. “You don’t need to thank me.”
She snorted. “You’re giving up a hundred grand,” she said, gesturing to the money now littered around them like candy-bar wrappers. “You saved all that.”
He reached down to pick up the money and tools.
“What’s money compared to someone’s life?
I have money. I have assets.” He stretched his arm out, taking in the space around them.
“Hell, this house is almost paid for. I was never stupid with my money. A hundred thousand dollars is nothing, and it sure as hell isn’t something you need to pay for with a kiss.
” He winked at her to take the edge out of his voice and got to his feet.
She took the hammer and crowbar from his hand. Her mouth worked, as if she were rolling words over her tongue. She lifted her eyes, and her steely blues sliced through him.
“I don’t kiss everyone out of gratitude.” She moved past him and turned to stare at him over her shoulder. “Just so you know.”