“Fuck off, Savage.”
He releases me and walks over to Smith and leans in close, murmuring something for his ears only before he returns to me. His arm slides around my shoulders and sets us in motion. On our way home.
Finally.
But as happy as I am about Rick being home, I’m sad for Smith. I know what being alone and in love is like. I want him to find his happiness, too.
Once we’re at the front door, about to head out into the cold night air, I slip into my coat. “Brrr,” I say. “Hello, winter night.”
“Stay inside where it’s warm. I’ll have them pull the car up.” He kisses me and heads outside with long, ridiculously masculine strides. Since the moment I met him, that way about him—that explosive raw alpha energy—has always done it for me. Because beneath all of that, he’s complicated, layers upon layers of complicated. And yet, I understand him like he’s another part of me. He is another part of me.
I draw in a breath on the sensation of being watched and fight the urge to turn and look around. Instead, I walk to the side of one of the doors and pretend to lean on the wall, scanning my surroundings, but no one and nothing stands out. Why am I having this feeling when Rick is home? I thought I was just paranoid about his little mission. Apparently, it’s more than that.
Savage reappears in the lobby, scanning for me, and I call out his name. “Over here.”
He motions me forward and offers me his hand. I hurry forward and accept it, but plant my feet. “Before we leave, I know this is crazy, but last night I felt like I was being watched. I told Blake. But I feel it again. Maybe I’m having wedding jitters and it’s making me lose my mind. Can we just elope already?”
He cups my neck and drags my mouth to his, kisses me, and says, “Never ignore a gut feeling. And Blake told me what happened.” He snakes his phone from his pocket and punches in a number. “Smith,” he says. “You still here?” He listens a minute and then says, “Good. Candace feels like she’s being watched again.” He listens again and then says, “Really? Ain’t that something, man. Thanks.” He disconnects.
“He says Kirk never left the hotel. He just walked back into the bar. I don’t know who you felt watching you last night, but after the way that fucktard was looking at you at the table, he’s our suspect tonight.”
“I don’t know if it’s him,” I say, “but,” I slide my hand into his, “I want to go home.”
“So I shouldn’t find the fucktard, beat the fucktard, and make him wish he was never born before we leave?”
“No,” I say precisely. “You should not. Take me home and undress me.”
“Well,” he says, “since you put it that way.”
He slides his arm around me, leads me out of the hotel, and helps me into the fancy new BMW 5 series he bought last month. And once he’s inside, behind the wheel, I’m not thinking of being watched by anyone but him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Candace
The car is warm from the heater, the spicy scent of Rick’s cologne teasing my nostrils and stirring my senses, but not wiping away my concerns.
Once we’re on the road, I rotate in my seat to study him, the streetlights cutting through the darkness, his chiseled jaw set tight. It’s a dead giveaway that all is not well, but then, I’d already figured that out. “What happened?” I ask, getting straight to the point.
“I went in, the big bad boss, and got it done. And here I am.” He shoots me a look, his lips curved slightly, and gives me a little wink.
From the day I met this man, he’s always used charm and jokes, among other methods of distraction, to protect himself and shelter others. But in doing so, he pushes people away. He should know that doesn’t work with me.
“Rick,” I press softly but firmly.
He draws a breath, turns a corner, and then casts me a look. “It didn’t go perfectly,” he says, his tone serious now. “But I’m home.”
“What does ‘it didn’t go perfectly’ mean?”
His cellphone rings. He reaches for it and I say, “Don’t answer it. Not until you tell me what happened.”
He glances at the screen and then me and says, “I need to take this,” before he punches the answer button and greets his caller with “Yeah, man.” He listens a minute. “And?” He’s silent again. “No.” His tone darkens. “I said no.” He hangs up and pulls the car to the front of our building, places it in park, and glances at me. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I don’t push. Not now. Something is going on and it’s not good. And I don’t even care about the timing just before our wedding. I care about Rick’s safety. The doorman opens my door, and I step outside into the chill of the night that is somehow chillier with the impact of tonight’s events. Rick is instantly right beside me, his big body sheltering mine from the wind. Which would be wonderful if it wasn’t so completely symbolic of all the ways his need to shelter me has destroyed us in the past.
I tell myself this is now. The past is the past. He hands off the keys to the doorman and says, “If you play, you pay. It’s not always worth it, either.”
The doorman, a young kid I’ve never seen before, blanches, and looks confused. Savage laughs, and throws his arm around me, setting us in motion. He enjoys his witchery of words that fuck with people’s heads, but somewhere in the depth of everything he says is a little piece of brilliance. And often, something not as gentle as it may seem, something dark. We enter the building, and I decide it’s almost as if he’d been talking to himself, not the kid.
“You play, you pay?” I ask, glancing up at him.
“Wise words from a man who hasn’t been wise,” he assures me, leaning in and kissing me before he punches the elevator button.
And I have my confirmation.
You play, you pay holds meaning.
One I’m no doubt going to understand soon.
Once we’re inside the elevator, he gives me no chance to ask the questions I need to ask. He keys in our floor and then his hand is under my hair, his palm against my skin, stealing my breath a moment before his mouth lowers just above mine, his breath a warm tease that promises a kiss. And I want that kiss. God, how I want it.
“I missed you,” he says, his voice a low rasp of emotion. “So damn much.”
“I missed you, too,” I whisper, and then his lips press to mine and I’m leaning into him, into the moment, into the slide of his tongue. Warmth spreads through me as I taste the two sides of Rick I know so well—the tenderness of a man who loves me, and the demand, the dominance, of a man with too much to ever forget, but he tries.
The elevator dings and his mouth parts from mine, but there is a reluctance there I so understand. “Come on,” he says, capturing my hand and guiding me out of the car and into the hallway.
Suddenly, that pay-for-play and a need for answers aren’t on my mind. My nipples are puckered. My skin is hot. Dampness clings to my thighs. We need each other right now. That’s what matters. Rick opens the door and urges me inside, but he’s right there behind me. He locks up, secures the entryway with the comprehensive security system he’d installed long before I moved in with him, and I don’t miss the fact that this isn’t a step that he misses. Not that he ever does, but I feel some sense of necessity in the action tonight.