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seven
“You really think that will work?”Ice asked his daughter as she swirled maple syrup into a spiral of the pancake he was making. “You know most people wait until it’s cooked to add syrup.”
“But then you don’t get syrup pockets,” she assured, and he wondered if this was a staple at Misty’s or if his baby girl was trying to become the next Cat Cora.
“What do you think, Aidee?” Ice asked his son, who was supervising from the counter.
“I like chocolate chips with strawberry syrup and bananas,” he said, and Ice tamped down the shiver from the combo of flavors.
Where had making pancakes gone left? It was simple, a basic recipe he could throw together when he had a handful of staples, the one thing his grandmother didn’t look for the instant version of that got him through the leaner times. It was filling, quick, and simple—until his kids went all fancy wanting syrup pockets.
“Syrup pockets, okay, you’re the boss,” he said as he flipped the pancake. A distant noise made him turn his head to the side, trying to locate it again. The shower stopped, but there wasn’t another until he flipped the pancake onto a plate.
“Ice!” The call came from Bree, but it wasn’t a siren call; it was urgent. Putting down the measuring cup he was using to ladle out the batter, he listened closer, hoping to quell the unease setting his skin on fire. As he crossed to the stairs, a heavy thud sounded from the landing. He rushed and found her slumped over, eyes drooping as she tried to speak, only to pass out.
The sound of footsteps had him dragging her back into a bedroom to safety as he pulled out the Glock he kept in a shoulder holster, clearing rooms, or so he thought. A lamp smashed the back of his head, sending shards of porcelain from the base to the carpeted floor, stunning him long enough for the person to shove past him down the stairs. Uneven or not, he gave chase. The alternative was leaving the intruder to snatch one of his kids. He heard Jane’s scream and Aiden calling out “Daddy!” as he bounded down the stairs to a wide-open front door and the kids both pointing.
“That’s him,” Aiden said, his panic sending him into a gulping fit he shoved through. “That…was…him.”
By the time Ice got to the front step, the neighborhood was quiet. No engine noise pulling away or squeal of tires. People milled around, women paired up on their evening walks with their dogs and even a few teens rolling out late on their dirt bikes. If they’d seen the man bursting out the door and running away, none of them registered the action. Instead, they were silent, the neighborhood the polar opposite of the south side of Vegas. Heading back inside, he closed and locked the door, then went to a patio door and secured the glass with a stick that was resting in the corner.
“Kids, you okay?” he asked, and they nodded, being the stoic brand of children having seen things. “Give Daddy a few minutes to make sure Bree is okay.”
“What about you?” Janie asked. “You’s bleedin’, Daddy.”
He reached his hand to the back of his head, and wetness coated his fingers where a goose egg was already forming. Snagging a dish towel, he held it to the back of his head and went to Bree.
Opening the door, he saw her lying on her side, her eyes struggling to open, the towel undone and draped partially over her body. Droplets of water were sprinkled on her shoulder like tiny diamonds catching the light, while rivulets cut paths once free from the drop.
“Bree, Bree,” he said, shaking her shoulder with one hand and cradling her neck to protect her with the other. She moaned a little, her eyes fluttering as he rolled her to her back and opened a window.
Inspecting her body, he searched, finding nothing but satin-smooth skin, dangerous curves, and a dusting of hair reminding him she would want her modesty preserved. He covered her chest and waist, then opened her eyes one by one to see the pupils weren’t dilated. The ache in his head had him checking the back of hers for injury. Her buzzed short hair tickled his palm as he stroked from her neck to the back of her head. Emotions were triggering inside him that were ten types of wrong. It wasn’t the time or place, and yet, the idea of losing her and the pleasure he was deriving from simply holding her was dulling his natural instincts.
She was a woman. They had one purpose and one alone. Best practice was to rotate stock and not stick to one. And yet, as he watched her eyes flutter and saw the way her body moved as she slowly came around, he feared there weren’t enough years to properly explore, feel, and take in every inch of the woman. Bree was breathtaking, but her room was well ordered, home pristine, and life in line.
Ice, in many ways, was anchored, but it was to a club that rode wild, cutting through desert, city, and borders. This woman probably never had anything stronger than Tylenol with a glass of red wine, and he dealt a cornucopia of sin. The best thing he could do would be turn her over to Detective Nunez and ask for her to be protected until he discovered who the Doctor was or repaid the outstanding debt.
“Ice,” she breathed, coming out of her dazed state, calling his name and not because he held her.
He was who she’d called out for to save her.
“Hey, Bree,” he said, stroking her cheek with curled fingers, his knuckles rolling over the smooth flesh. “Not sure I qualify as the prince’s kiss you need, Sleeping Beauty.”
“True loves don’t have to be a prince,” she mumbled, groggy voiced, her full lips pulling in as her body twisted and turned, her mind struggling past whatever had knocked her out. “Just need to be my true love.”
“I’m game if you are,” he offered as her eyes opened to small slits before the weight of the lids closed them again.
Lifting her slightly, he leaned down, brushing his lips along hers. A surge shot through him, thickening his length as he deepened the kiss and her mouth opened, inviting him in as if she didn’t know the danger he posed. Her hand smoothed along his arm, over his shoulder, and came to rest at the back of his head. Shorter nails dug into the back of his neck as she roused more, her other hand slipping to gather his shirt into a fisted hand as his tongue stroked the velvet of hers. A moan vibrated between them, and he wasn’t sure if it came from him or her, but every part of him wanted to keep it going, to pull her close and let his hands wander.
Sadly, Bree’s control and resolve leaked through the passion building between them. Her hand slipped from behind his neck to the center of his chest, and she pushed to distance their bodies all while curling her tongue to hook his. At least Ice knew he wasn’t the only one of two minds when it came to the two of them.
“We need to stop,” she said, breaking the kiss momentarily before tugging him closer and restarting the contact. Obviously,oh no, stop, I can’tweren’t her safe words. His hand moved to her breast, the towel having fallen away, and he kneaded the mound as his thumb glided back and forth over her pebbling nipple. “Jesus, Ice, I’m serious.”
Her mouth crashed back to his, and he couldn’t help laughing a bit before going in for more. His protesting princess had no idea he read bodies more than words, and her body was pulling him in even as her mouth claimed the opposite should be happening.
“Ice,” she breathed, and he released her from his hold, gently to make sure she didn’t plop to the carpet. “What are you doing?”
Mahogany eyes blinked at him before her mind regained control and she reached back, pulling the comforter from her bed to cover her naked body.
