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“It’s not my fault you have ten different kinds of pepper in your kitchen. How would I know red pepper would be that much hotter than black?”
He pulled me under his arm and kissed my cheek, then my neck. I melted a little as his five o’clock shadow rubbed over my skin, sending chills racing down my spine. These moments were why I had to keep him in the dark. I craved this.
He didn’t want to know that last week, when I canceled our plans, it was because one of Uncle Jimmy’s couriers had dropped off a bag of stolen estate jewelry. And I spent the entire night in the workshop at Oleander, popping the stones out of the settings and melting the gold down.
It was another minor job, a way for Jimmy to remind me I was still working for him. It had pissed me off, but I’d done it and given Jimmy’s guy top dollar for his hot merchandise. I still wanted out, but I hadn’t forced the issue since Tony’s visit. I wasn’t scared, but I wasn’t stupid either.
“No poison tonight. I bought and arranged. No cooking.”
We sat on the couch, and I passed him a real plate. Yes, I owned them. I wasn’t a heathen. And one of the fancy paper napkins, the expensive kind. No way I was washing cloth ones.
“This looks great.” He filled his plate. “And your house is gorgeous. It reminds me of the store.”
“Same interior decorator. She did a great job. You should hire her for your next flip.”
“I’m guessing she’s above my price point.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.
I considered how my place might look to him. Over the top. Ostentatious. “I doubt that. She works for a living like you and me. A paying client is a paying client.”
“If you say so.” He popped a bite of brie into his mouth. The tension wrinkles around his eyes were back. I was sure thoughts of how I paid for this house were imposing on our evening. It was the reason I had been cautious about inviting him here.
He wasn’t wrong. Every dime of ill-gotten gains I could free up had gone into this place. I liked investments I could see: diamonds, gold, art, cars, and real estate. No stocks or bonds for me. I didn’t understand them.
I poured a glass of wine for each of us.
“That’s plenty.” He held up a hand to stop me at half full.
“You and your moderation. Why?” I shook my head; he was always such a Boy Scout.
“I can get carried away.” He put the plate back on the coffee table and turned to look at me. The tension wrinkles were gone, but his expression was incredibly earnest. “It started after Ray’s death with alcohol. I don’t think I was ever a clinical alcoholic, but too often, a couple of beers became more like a dozen and a shot of whisky became half a bottle. It wasn’t good. It never interfered with my missions as a SEAL. But I didn’t like it.”
“So…” I urged him to keep talking. This was an insight into a new side of Derek that I’d not seen. To me, he still was the larger-than-life figure I had a crush on as a teenager. Knowing he was human and had failings was a revelation.
“I picked up a self-help book on getting your life under control. No way I’d go to a therapist, but reading books I could handle. The message in the book clicked. My extreme tendencies had helped me excel in some aspects of life, like becoming a SEAL. They weren’t serving me in others. Moderation was a new skill I had to master.”
“Alcohol, what else?”
“Food. I love food, and as I got older, I was doing these grueling workouts to stay lean. I was wearing out my body over-exercising.” He rubbed his left knee, a grimace of remembered pain on his face. “Eating less and healthier was better. It was all mind over matter.”
He crunched down on a carrot stick from the platter to illustrate his virtuousness.
“All this from self-help books?” It looked to me like he’d even taken moderation to the extreme.
“Absolutely.” He laughed and took a small sip of his wine.
“As long as you don’t decide to moderate your sex life the same way.” I joked.
“Angel, there is no way I’m giving up any opportunity to get you naked. All you have to do is ask.” His voice had gone deep and raspy, and he punctuated his sentence with a nip of my earlobe.
I moaned and tilted toward him. He was like a magnet drawing me closer. Food and television. What had I been thinking? Our other needs were taking precedence. I put my plate on the table.
“All I have to do is ask. I never knew that phrase would become my favorite sentence in the world.” I whispered the words in his ear, my fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons. “Derek, please take me to bed and make me come until I forget my name.”
He stood and yanked me up. His arms wrapped around me, and before I could stop him, I landed over his shoulder like a sack of grain. His hand clamped over my ass.
“Which way to the bedroom, angel?”
Enjoying the view of his ridiculously fine ass and my marble floors, I gave him directions between peals of laughter. He smacked my ass when I squirmed and tried to get down before he could mount the stairs.
