Chapter Eleven
She’d made an amazing dinner. And figured out the restaurant problems that had been plaguing him for months. And remembered his birthday.
She’d managed to untie every knot in his chest from the last few days—his concerns about his father, the Irish gangsters and Sean Connell, and where Marsi and now Elaina were hiding—and make him laugh.
He’d spent three hours last night on a treasure hunt all over Vegas intent to find every item on that damn list, and she’d managed to make even that entertaining.
And the way she kept touching him—her foot on his ankle, her knee against his thigh, those playful shoves as she told her stories—was driving him crazy.
He covered his mouth to hide the grin as she carried out the most awful rendition of “Happy Birthday” he’d ever heard. At least she was a terrible singer. That was the only thing convincing him he hadn’t actually made her up.
But the more she sang, the more he liked that about her, too.
He was so screwed.
He’d convinced himself the kiss had been a mistake. A moment of weakness. He’d given himself a pep talk in the car before coming up the stairs. The word friend had been used a lot.
The pep talk had failed. He wanted to kiss her again.
“That was . . . really special,” he said when she’d finished singing.
She curtsied. Actually curtsied.
He laughed, leaning forward as it tumbled through him.
“God.” She grinned at him. “You have the best laugh, you know that?”
He didn’t. No one had ever told him that before. He wanted to tell her she did, too. That when she giggled, her nose scrunched up in this cute way, and her cheeks turned pink, and her shoulders shook, like her whole body felt it. But he didn’t, because trading compliments like seventh graders wasn’t exactly the way to a woman’s heart.
Not that that was what he was aiming for.
“I can’t believe you made a cake,” he said as she set it before him.
“I told you the night we met I was a good cook,” she said.
She was right about that.
She brought a butter knife, and a couple more forks, and sat beside him again. He wished she’d turn her chair toward him, like before, but was glad just to have her close.
“Now, it’s not my specialty, but Cassie insists that this is your favorite.”
Imagining the conversation in his head, he immediately realized what had happened. Before he’d caught himself, he’d sagged in his chair. His sister must have arranged for this. Maybe it should have made him feel better, but it just dredged up the past.
“Uh-oh,” she said, reading his face. He quickly replaced the look with a smile.
“Thank you,” he said. “I don’t remember cake mix on your list.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, seeing too much, just like before. This woman could read him like a book. “I got it when we stopped on the way to town. I was very covert.”
“You were.”
“You are not pleased. I swear she said Funfetti cake was your favorite.”
He was the absolute worst.
“It is. I just had a glitch.” He picked up his fork, turning toward the double-decker cake she’d been thoughtful enough to make for him. “All circuits are back on full power now.”
“You’re lying.” She turned her chair toward him again, though he wasn’t as glad for that anymore.
“I . . .”
“Hobbit,” she said. “Truth hobbit. Lie and you don’t pass go, you don’t collect two hundred dollars, and you don’t go to Mordor.”
“Are we playing Lord of the Rings or Monopoly?”
She pointed the fork menacingly at his chest.
Shit.
“My mom used to make this every year for my birthday,” he said, watching her slouch. “After she left, Marsi took it over. That first time . . . it was the first time it really sunk in that she wasn’t coming back.”
He remembered sitting in his bedroom, staring out the window that faced the front of the house. There were so many questions—where his mother had gone, and why she hadn’t told them. Why no one was looking for her. The only thing he’d been sure of was that she’d come back for his birthday. She wouldn’t miss that.
Then Marsi had come in with a cake.
She’s gone, Cole.
Kenzie was staring at him, mortified.
He was such a dick. He shouldn’t have said anything.
“How . . .” She swallowed. “When did that happen?”
He went to cut the cake. She stopped him, one hand over his. Warm and soft, but still firm.
“I was eleven.”
“Cole.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Your sister makes this every year for you. She told me.”
Even up until the last time he’d seen her, that night at Rare, when she’d left just as suddenly as their mom. He’d found the cake in the fridge later. She’d written his name on it in perfect frosting letters.
Details he’d tried to forget, that he never allowed himself to think about, came crashing back through the borders of his memory. Signing the papers his father had prepared so that he could take over Rare and the Vegas property. The confusion over whether or not the whole thing was a joke. Elaina, running into the parking lot to take Marsi’s car. She’d nearly hit him as she’d hauled out onto the main road.
When he’d come back, Marsi had been gone, and his father had been taken into custody.
“You never told her?” Kenzie asked. “She has no idea that this means . . . to you . . .” She huffed out a breath, grabbing the plate off the table. In a flurry of movement she marched to the sink.
“Kenzie, wait. I didn’t mean . . .”
He lunged after her too late. She’d already dumped it into the metal basin and turned on the water. White cake with neon pink and blue streaks circled the drain.
He couldn’t believe he’d done this. Ruined this great thing she had done, the first nice thing someone had done for him in years.
“Please forget this happened,” she said, making the evidence disappear as fast as she possibly could.
“No.” He reached around her to shut off the water. “You don’t understand. You didn’t have to do any of this. This is the best birthday I’ve ever had.”
She laughed weakly.
“I’m serious.”
He grabbed her shoulders, turned her, needing her to understand.
“I’m serious,” he said again. “People don’t do this for me.”
She was pale, avoiding his gaze.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know. Birthdays are supposed to be happy, and I’ve just—”
“Made it completely memorable,” he finished.
“Exactly,” she said. “In the worst way. That’s it. Sit down. We’re getting drunk.”
“We are?”
“Yes. And we’re totally going to regret it in the morning.”
He sat down.
Determined, she marched to the freezer, pulling out the bottle of vodka he’d bought last night. Skyy vodka, blue bottle. She’d been very specific. She reached up into the cabinet above the toaster oven for two more glasses and brought them over.
She poured two very liberal shots and then raised her mug.
This seemed like a bad idea. Or the best idea. He couldn’t decide.
“Happy birthday, Cole,” she said.
They drank, and she sputtered and coughed, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes. The drink burned his throat, but warmed his belly, and he hissed out a breath.
“Confession,” she said. “I hate vodka.”
His brow quirked. “Why’d you put it on the list, then?”
She held up a finger, pouring them two more mugs. “One, to fuck with you.”
He’d figured as much.
“Two, because I was going to make this incredible vodka chicken. But then I saw you’d actually gotten a star fruit, which, spoiler alert, I’d also put down just to fuck with you, and I went with that instead.”
She raised her glass.
They toasted, and drank again.
“I hate this so much,” she giggle-cried. He laughed, too. He could feel the tightness in his muscles loosening, his brain relaxing. She combed her hands through her hair, laying it in silky streaks of black and purple over her chest. That shirt she was wearing—his shirt, unbuttoned enough to show the swell of her breasts, was killing him.
“We should stop, then,” he said. “There’s still wine left.”
“No,” she said sharply. “Birthdays are for bad decisions, Cole Talent. And our first bad decision involves drinking like frat boys.”
She toyed with the bottle, but he was grateful when she didn’t pour them another mug. He was already feeling warm, and her face and neck were turning that pretty shade of pink. If they kept up, he really was going to start making some bad decisions.
“What?” he asked, when she remained quiet.
“What’s it like growing up with a gangster?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks staining an even darker red. “That was supposed to be smoother.”
He laughed.
“Fine, I guess?”
“Boring,” she sang, too loudly. He glanced around, as if anyone might have heard.
“What? He wasn’t ever around. I didn’t know for sure what he’d done until . . . well, recently.” When the journal had come in. When his father had been arrested for good, and changed his plea to guilty.
It had been a horrible day. At least, he thought it had been. It didn’t seem so bad at the moment.
“Were you shocked?”
“No,” he answered honestly. “I mean, maybe a little. He was always an asshole. Once—” He chuckled to himself. “This one time he put my second-place trophy on the mantel because he said if I wanted to celebrate mediocrity, he would, too.”
She was staring at him, mouth open. Was that not a funny story? He was laughing, so it must have been.
“He gave me Rare for my birthday,” he continued, the words falling out like water from a broken spigot. “The restaurant where he’d been running drugs, the night before he got caught. What a handoff, huh?”
“Right,” she said quietly. She poured another round.
They drank.
The room went a little blurry behind her.
“I’m not going to fail you,” he said, pointing her way. “Marsi doesn’t want my help, but I’m not failing her, either.”
She ran a thumb over her lip and he stared at her mouth, completely entranced.
“Fail at what?”
“At everything,” he said. “That’s what I do, according to my father. Nothing’s ever good enough.”
She was quiet, but he couldn’t seem to stop talking.
“I’m not going to let them hurt you, all right? Not again. I’m going to fix this for you and Marsi and Elaina, too.”
“What do you mean?” She set down the mug. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to pay them.” There was a rushing in his ears.
“Pay who?”
“The guys who burned down the diner. I’ve got a buyer for Rare, and when he comes through, I’m gonna pay them to leave you and Marsi alone.”
She leaned closer, grabbed his face. Her hands were soft, and he remembered how they’d felt when he’d kissed her.
“Cole, are you crazy?” she asked. “Whatever money you have won’t be enough. They’ll just keep wanting more.”
“Then I’ll give them more.”
“How?”
He almost told her about his Plan B—offering up the same deal Mr. Lynch had with August, a restaurant to move drugs through, but by then the warning had reached his brain. He shouldn’t be telling her this. He’d already said too much.
“Are you getting me drunk?” he asked.
“Cole, listen to me. You can’t do this. It’s not safe.”
He frowned.
“I have to.”
“You don’t. We’ll think of another way.” Her thumbs ran down his jaw. “That’s why you said you had the money in the car, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been doing these past few days?”
He shouldn’t have told her this. He needed to keep his mouth shut. He should’ve stopped a drink ago.
“You’re going away again,” she said, moving both hands to his thighs. He swallowed, feeling the heat in his stomach, and in his muscles through her hands, and pooling, right below his belt. She smelled so good up close, like cinnamon, and when her thumbs rubbed along his inseam his thoughts went straight to the gutter.
He leaned forward to hide his body’s reaction, which put them even closer. Her mouth was right there, soft and wet like he remembered.
“Hobbit.” She pointed an accusing finger in his face.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said.
“Cole.”
“How anybody let you go is beyond me.”
He hadn’t meant to say that last part. Or that first part. Well, maybe that first part. She was frowning, though, and he wished he could rewind the conversation.
Instead, like a fool, he plowed on.
“You’re funny, and you’re sweet, and I feel very protective of you.” He paused. “I’m talking a lot.”
“I like it.”
He did, too. He liked telling her things. He liked being here with her, even if the world was falling apart and people were after them. But despite her claim, she looked sad.
“I like the purple in your hair,” he said.
She smiled a little. “I read somewhere that purple stands for loyalty. My grandpa used to say I’ve got a loyal streak that won’t quit. I think that might have started after I beat up Jackson McGovern on the playground for saying Garrett looked like a praying mantis.”
For some reason, it wasn’t hard to believe she’d take on anyone, even when her brother seemed fully capable of fighting his own battles.
He reached for her hair, winding the purple around his finger. It was soft as silk.
“I like it,” he said. “You’re so beautiful.”
She gave a small laugh. “You said that already.”
“I think about you all the time.”
“Cole, promise me you won’t do anything crazy.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m scared for you.”
“Don’t be,” he said. This time it was him who reached for her, lifting her chin with his finger, and then sliding it down her jaw. Her skin was soft and warm.
He didn’t want her to be scared for him, and knowing she was made him that much more intent to keep her safe.
“We’ll figure out another way,” she said.
“Later,” he said. “When the room stops spinning.” When the air didn’t feel so charged. When she wasn’t so close, looking so beautiful and smelling so good.
She was quiet. “Why did you leave after you kissed me?” she finally asked, looking up at him through her dark, thick lashes.
He couldn’t remember right away, but he kicked himself for doing it all the same. He needed coffee. Or water. He would have stood, but her hands were still on his thighs. Her thumbs, still rocking back and forth.
He needed her.
“You didn’t like it?” It wasn’t meant to be a question.
“I did,” she said, quieter now. “It’s just a lot, right? You and me, here. My diner, gone.”
He scowled. He had made her feel uncomfortable, and he didn’t like that.
“I just wanted to know what you were thinking.” She held his gaze, steady and unwavering, and it occurred to him he was much farther gone than she was.
“I want you to know me.” He wasn’t sure where that had come from. He wanted to know her, though. Everything about her. What she’d done today, and what her middle name was, and what she looked like over him, when he was inside.
The things that made her feel good.
The things she wanted him to do.
She smiled.
That smile destroyed him.
“You could kiss me again if you wanted.” Her voice was smooth and quiet, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his cock as her fingers spread.
She was close enough that he didn’t have to go far. He leaned in, and just before his lips touched hers his brain went into overdrive. Is this okay? he wanted to ask. They’d been drinking. He didn’t want this to be a bad decision, like she’d said before. He couldn’t have her regretting him.
Kenzie was different.
Then their lips touched, and his thoughts went silent, giving over to the rushing between his ears. He closed his eyes and lost his balance, holding on to her shoulders as the world tilted, and then steadied. Tasting her lips made him want more, and he moved to the edge of his chair, touching her face and her neck and her arms.
Closer. He could feel the word pounding in his head.
Reaching beneath her knees, he dragged her to the edge of her seat, spreading his legs to seat her within them. She gave a little gasp of surprise, and then kissed him harder, her teeth scraping against his bottom lip. It was a blur of movement, of sensations. Light and color. Pictures sliding frame to frame.
Maybe it was the vodka, but this felt right. Like the rightest thing there was. He moved her hands behind his shoulders. She slid her fingers up through his hair, dragged her nails down the back of his neck.
“You like that,” she murmured when he groaned.
He was losing his mind. He dragged her onto his lap. She straddled him and the weight of her was perfect. The way she fit against him was perfect. The chair squeaked, and he rose. He needed to lay her down. Touch her. Make her feel good.
He held her, gripping beneath her thighs. She pressed against him, rubbing without even meaning to. They bounced off the counter. She giggled, and he laughed, and then she shrieked when he stumbled and caught himself. Somehow they found the couch, where she straddled him, knees beside his hips.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“I haven’t yet,” she answered.
They laughed some more.
It hit him a second later. They were going to have sex.
“Wait, I . . .” She was kissing his neck now, giggling, and the vibrations of her mouth were making it hard to think straight. He pulled her closer, lost in the way she rocked up against him, powerless to do anything but respond.
He wanted this. Wanted her. Kenzie.
Wanted her laughter on his neck, and her hands in his hair, and her clothes on the floor. It had never been like this with him before—definitely never with Candi. He felt wild. Happy. Wanted.
It had been a long time since anyone had wanted him in any capacity. He’d sort of gotten used to being left behind.
His hands rose up her hips, under her shirt, to her waist, blood thundering through his veins when he felt her warm skin. His hands rose higher, fingertips skimming beneath the bottoms of her breasts. Her breath hitched, and all he wanted was for her to make that sound again. He touched her sides, her back, focused on finding the places that made her breath change. He didn’t have enough time—before he’d gotten very far she leaned back and pulled her shirt over her head, and he blinked at the sight straight ahead of him.
Purple satin. Black lace edges. Her full breasts were practically spilling out of her bra.
She was perfect.
“I knew it,” she whispered, that sound heating everything inside him. “I’ve seen you looking.”
He blinked.
She reached behind her back, undid the clasp. The straps went slack on her shoulders, sliding down her upper arms. He watched in awe as the cups lowered, revealing one millimeter at a time of her bronze skin.
Wait.
Wait.
“Wait,” he finally choked out. His hand moved between her breasts to stop the falling bra from revealing everything. For a dizzying moment he forgot was he was doing, though, his thumb swiping over the satin, and the lace, to her skin. He could feel her heart pounding there, just as hard as his. His thoughts were failing. If his cock could talk, it would have screamed in revolt.
She tilted her head, taking his face in her hands. His gaze tore from her chest to her dark eyes, round with concern.
“Are you all right?”
With a quick shake of his head, he remembered.
“I didn’t plan on this.”
“Okay,” she said slowly.
“I don’t have a condom.”
He’d been to four different stores last night. How had he not managed to prepare for this?
Because they’d kissed, and she’d stopped him, and he’d thought that was it.
Because good things didn’t happen to him.
Because he was supposed to be keeping her safe.
“Oh,” she said. “Shoulda put that on the list.”
His hand still held her bra in place, and she reached for his wrist, both hands wrapping around it.
“I guess this means you don’t do this much.”
He wasn’t sure if this was a question, a test of some kind. He answered truthfully.
“I don’t.”
Did she? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If she did, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was here, now, with him. She’d chosen him.
“I’m glad.” Her hands moved his down slowly, peeling away the thin fabric. “We can still do other things.”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. The bra was between them now, her breasts directly before him. Her nipples were a darker shade of brown. Tight and small, and at the sight of her, his blood roared.
She leaned closer and he touched. Felt. Intently, she watched, her breath growing uneven and his fingertips circled the hard points. With a shudder, he sat straight and kissed the swell of her breast. Lower his mouth moved, tongue licking, flicking, tasting. He sucked her nipple into his mouth. Her back arched. Her hips moved.
The world behind her tilted again.
Think, he told himself.
He couldn’t think.
She backed away suddenly, grasping his face and kissing him in a hungry way that made him forget everything but her.
“I want you,” he said.
“I know.”
She backed off his lap. His hands slid down the denim of her pants. He hated jeans more than he hated anything in this world.
Her mouth on his neck, on his shoulder, on his chest. She moved lower, spreading his knees, sliding between them to the floor. She looked up at him, gaze hooded, eyes dark. Her hand was on him, on his cock, stroking through his pants. He could imagine her gripping him, how his dick would look in her grasp. He could barely breathe.
Other things. Her voice swirled around his brain.
Was this okay? He wasn’t sure if he should stop her. He was drunk. He wanted her. He wanted her to feel good. She didn’t have to do this. He would have been happy holding her. Kissing her. Just hearing her laugh.
Her hands moved up and down his thighs. He couldn’t stop watching them.
Is this what she wanted?
“Relax,” she whispered. “This can be our secret. The others don’t have to know.”
The others. His sister. Her brother.
She was going to keep this quiet. That was good. It was none of their business, anyway. He didn’t even know his sister was with Jake, and they seemed serious enough. This could stay between he and Kenzie.
A secret.
He pressed his fingertips to his eyebrows.
She didn’t want anyone to know about them. It occurred to him she didn’t really want him after all. He almost didn’t care. This was how it went. This was what people did. It didn’t matter if she left in a few days. He would move on with his life. He could keep secrets, too.
Her kiss. Her smile. Her laugh.
The way she felt.
The way she looked.
He could tuck it inside, just like everything else.
The only problem was, he couldn’t.
“Kenzie,” he said.
She sat back on her heels. Too much to drink, he told himself. What kind of guy stopped a beautiful woman now? He was an idiot. He was insane.
He wanted more from her than she wanted from him. Just like with his own family.
Get it together. He needed coffee. Water. A lobotomy.
He moved to the edge of the couch and slid down to the floor, so she was kneeling between his thighs. He was still wearing his shoes. They’d almost had sex, and he still had his shoes on.
Her gaze held his, confusion in her eyes. Her hands were on her thighs. Tentatively he took one, and pulled it to his lips.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not good at this.”
“This?” she asked, brows raised. “You don’t have to overthink it. I told you it doesn’t have to be anything.”
“What if I want it to be something?”
She stilled. “You do?”
He didn’t. He couldn’t. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She was going to leave, and giving her a reason to stay would only put her in more danger. He was about to meet with criminals—to bargain his integrity and freedom for her life. He couldn’t send her away and keep her for himself; it didn’t work that way.
“I don’t know.” He dropped his chin, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead. He wasn’t an idiot; why couldn’t he find the right words?
She still wasn’t moving.
“You’re leaving.”
“That’s right,” she said.
“I’m not very good with women,” he admitted. He thought of girls he’d liked in high school, girls he’d been afraid to talk to because his father always made him feel so worthless. Why would they want you? August had said. Your own mother doesn’t even want you. There were girls in college, but no one serious. Then Candi, who only ever looked for a good time.
His own sisters didn’t even want anything to do with him.
He wasn’t sure if he should be humiliated, but her hand curled around his jaw, and lifted his face. Her eyes were round, and patient.
“I wish I could take you out,” he said. “We could go wherever you wanted. On a walk or out for drinks.”
A hint of a smile lifted her mouth.
“I’d like that.”
She leaned closer, touching his hairline, tracing his jaw.
“We could go to a movie,” she said.
“We can’t . . .” He glanced to the door.
“Here,” she said. “Want to go to a movie with me?”
He wanted to do whatever she wanted to do.
“Yes,” he said.
Pulling her shirt back over her head, she took a seat beside him on the couch. He gave a small, relieved laugh, and grabbed the remote, then passed it to her.
“You pick.”
She chose some action movie. Something with a helicopter and a waterfall. He wasn’t paying attention. A few minutes after it started, she tucked her bare feet under her, and rested her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her.
He was tight, and stiff. And then he settled.
She reached across him for the blanket, her chest skimming his, her mouth close enough to kiss. He held his breath.
Then settled.
She rested her head on his thigh, and flattened her hand on his knee, and he spent the rest of the movie with his hand on her side and his thumb grazing her ribs, stealing glances of her pretty face.
He would do whatever it took to protect her. He would not let her down.
His mind drifted to the things she’d done for him tonight—the meal, and the cake, and the advice about the restaurant. He wanted a place like she’d described—where everyone was welcome. Where employees treated each other like family. Home was the place that always called people back—at least, it was with other people. He could make this restaurant like that.
He could, if it wasn’t just a shell for something illegal.
Shaking that thought from his head, he focused again on Kenzie. She’d made him want things tonight he’d told himself he couldn’t have, or didn’t get for whatever reason. She’d made them seem attainable. Home. Friends. Family. Things his father’s crimes had stripped from his children.
He may have been considering doing things August Talent had done, but he didn’t want to be like him. Maybe that was a fool’s hope, but with Kenzie laying across his lap anything seemed possible.
He knew she was asleep by the time the credits began to roll, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want this perfect night to end. He wanted a thousand more just like it. There was no greater regret than the moment the commercials began to play.
When it was clear she was out for the night, he gently shifted her against his chest, and eased to a stand. She moaned quietly, a sleepy sound that stirred his blood, and rested her cheek against his neck. Holding her close, he brought her to the bedroom. Then, laying her on one side of the mattress, he pulled back the covers on the other, and eased her beneath them.
He meant to leave. He wasn’t invited into this bed, and it wasn’t right to stay while she was sleeping. But he sat beside her, and moved the hair from her face, and kissed her forehead, delaying as long as possible.
His chest felt full. His head, quiet.
She rolled on her side, away from him, the shadows in the dim room showing a silhouette of the slope of her hips and the valley of her waist. It should have been his dismissal, but she reached behind her blindly, a clumsy hand sliding down his arm to his wrist. With a tug, her desire was clear.
He laid beside her, one arm over her. He kissed her shoulder, and breathed her in, and smiled as she wiggled backward, bringing her hips into the cradle of his.
“Stay with me,” she whispered.
He loved his birthday.