Chapter 22 - The Velvet Bruise
Sean's POV
Lily took a long drink from her wine glass and tossed it behind her as she left her father’s office. The sound of glass shattering made Elliott grind his teeth together. She slammed the door behind her.
“I have never met two people more alike in my entire life,” I said, grinning.
Elliott moved to clean up Lily’s mess. I guess you could say that was their relationship. She broke things, and he cleaned them up.
He straightened, a razor-thin piece of glass between his fingers. The corner of his mouth twitched.
“I am going to the Velvet Bruise to have a few drinks and tie up a few women. Care to join me?”
He dropped the shard into the wastebasket with the rest of the mess and poured himself another drink, all without so much as a glance my way.
I thought about it. The Velvet Bruise was a secret hideaway for the elite. Men and women indulged their kinks there behind layers of anonymity. But I wasn’t going anywhere near that place tonight.
“No, you go and have fun,” I said.
Elliott glanced up, a faint smirk on his face. “Whipped already, I see.”
I smiled but didn’t answer. I just wanted him gone so I could deal with the hurricane that was his daughter.
I turned and walked out of Elliott’s office.
When I reached the hallway, the house had settled into a curated quiet. A faint rustle drifted from the kitchen. She was there, barefoot, hair wild, building a sandwich large enough to end a famine.
“Good,” I said, leaning against the doorway. “In the kitchen where you belong.”
She froze, then glanced over her shoulder, eyes flashing. For a second, I thought she might throw the mustard jar at my head. Instead, she shook her head and turned away, hiding the smile that slipped out.
I pushed off the doorframe and came closer. “You care to make one for me, too?”
She didn’t turn around. “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”
Her voice dripped sarcasm, but there was something playful buried under it.
“That depends,” I said, lowering my tone. “Are you planning to poison me, or feed me?”
She handed me half the sandwich without looking at me. “Guess you’ll have to take your chances.”
I smiled as I took it. “I usually do.”
We both bit into our sandwiches at the same time. I set mine down and said, “You want to talk about the next two weeks leading up to the ceremony?”
Lily burst into laughter. “You’ve got lettuce dangling off your chin.”
I pushed my chin out. “Well, get it. That’s your job now.”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh. It looks like a booger.”
I laughed so hard that the rest of my sandwich nearly hit the floor.
“I never saw you laugh one time while I was locked up,” Lily said.
I took another bite of my sandwich and stared at her. What was I supposed to say to that? She was right. It took a lot to make me laugh, and even more to make me forget myself long enough to do it.
But there was something about her. That sharp tongue, that glint of mockery under the prettiest face I’d ever had the misfortune of being assigned to watch. The snark was part of the armor, but it drew me in anyway.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and leaned on the counter. “You were not exactly a laugh riot, Lily. Jailhouse humor is hard to pull off.”
She smirked. “You never looked bored, though. Always watching, like I was a show you couldn’t turn off.”
She wasn’t wrong. I didn’t bother pretending otherwise. “You were a show,” I said quietly. “Still are.”
Her eyes met mine, the air between us shifting, charged in a way that had nothing to do with anger. She looked away first, reaching for the bread knife, pretending she needed to cut the sandwich again.
“You’re not supposed to look at me like that,” she said, her tone light but her voice lower than before.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re thinking about things that have nothing to do with security protocols.”
I smiled, slow and certain. “You have a way of blurring the lines.”
She set the knife down and crossed her arms, still not facing me. “And you have a way of pretending you don’t want what you clearly do.”
I stepped closer, close enough to smell the wine still lingering on her breath. “Careful, Lily. That almost sounded like an invitation.”
She turned then, chin tilted, eyes blazing. “Look all you want, but you will never touch this. I may be forced to marry you, but I will never touch you. And I will never let you touch me.”
I laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing off the marble. “Oh, Lily, don’t kid yourself. You were undressing me the first time you saw me. We won’t even make it two weeks, and you know it.”
Her eyes narrowed, yet curiosity flashed. It always did with her. She wanted the danger. She wanted the game.
“That’s okay,” I said, lowering my voice. “Play your little game. I know you have a wicked need to complicate things.”
She stepped closer, close enough for the edge of the counter to press against her back. “You think you’ve figured me out?”
“Not yet,” I said. “But I’m looking forward to the process.”
She turned, grabbed her sandwich, and walked past me without another word.
“Good talk,” I said.
She didn’t look back. “Keep dreaming, Macon.”
I watched her go, the sway of her defiance more intoxicating than the wine still open on the counter.
The problem with women like Lily Thompson was simple. They warned you before they ruined you. And I had already decided I wanted the ruin.
I finished my sandwich and poured a large glass of red wine, smiling the entire time.
Am I happy? I haven’t smiled this much since I was a kid.
I made my way through the house and up the stairs. I wasn’t finished annoying Ms. Thompson yet.
I wasn’t sure which room was hers until I heard rustling behind a half-closed door. I eased closer and leaned into the doorway. Lily was rifling through boxes, pulling clothes and small items from tissue paper, putting them into a chest of drawers.
“You realize this room is way too small for us, don’t you?”
She made a startled sound, a cross between a gasp and a chirp, and spun around. “Macon, what the fuck are you doing in my room?”
I grinned. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? I brought you a refill.”
I held up the glass of red wine.
She walked over and reached for it. I pulled it back.
“Macon, seriously?”
I just smiled.
“All this time, I thought you were this surly, stoic man. Come to find out you’re a childish dope.”
This woman. She had a way of not just making me laugh but making me lose it completely. I started laughing, too long and too hard.
“A childish dope?” I said between laughs.
She reached for the glass again, and of course, I pulled it back.
This time, she laughed, the sound quick and unguarded.
It hit me harder than I expected. I wasn’t sure if it was the wine or her voice, but for the first time, I wanted something that had nothing to do with power or control. I just wanted her.
“Macon, give me the glass, go get the bottle, and get yourself a glass. You can make yourself useful and help me unpack this mess.”
She looked around the room, clearly overwhelmed.
I handed her the glass. A mistake I will never make again.
The moment I turned and walked out, she slammed the door. A click followed. Locked.
Then her voice, muffled but clear enough to sting: “Stupid fucker.”
I stood there, staring at the door, then laughed quietly to myself. “Noted.”
I leaned against the door, letting my voice carry just enough to reach her. I wanted the words to sit with her, to keep her awake.
“Tomorrow, as part of your release requirements, you have to see a shrink. Be ready by nine.”
I smiled at the silence on the other side of the door, then pushed off and walked down the hall.
No need to wait for the explosion. It would come. It always did.