Lover Enraptured: Thieves of Aurion, Book 2 (16 page)

His instincts warning him not to be lulled by the illusion of normalcy, he abandoned the hall and approached the first aisle, the makeshift weapon of the pole ready to bash a skull in if necessary. He cleared that section and rounded the next, working with steady precision until he’d swept the entire room and ascertained no one was skulking in a convenient hiding spot.

That left only Avi’s apartment. He retraced his steps to the doorway leading up to the loft. Unlike the alley entrance, the handle bore no signs of forced entry. Unswayed by that assessment, he picked the lock and crept up the stairs. Employing the same methodical surveillance he’d used downstairs, he listened at the top landing, his ears straining to detect the minute creak of a floorboard or slightest disturbance of air.

Seconds dragged into infinity.

Finally satisfied he wasn’t in imminent danger of being ambushed, he left the landing and checked the central living space and the kitchen before proceeding to the remaining rooms.

Nothing.

The tension didn’t immediately dissipate from him. There were too many unanswered questions lingering to give in to the luxury of relief. Starting with why her place had been broken into.

He jogged down the steps. Avi cracked open her door the moment he slipped past the exit. “Took you long enough.”

“Would you rather I hadn’t performed a proper sweep?”

“No, but I’ve been giving myself a minor stroke the last fifteen minutes, imagining the worst.” She swallowed, her coloring going a shade whiter. “You can tell it to me straight. Did they clear me out?”

“Far as I can tell, they didn’t steal anything.”

She blinked. “Want to run that by me again?”

“You’ll need to go over your inventory to double-check, but nothing’s been ransacked and the shelves are untouched.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Neither did he. Which might explain the buzzing of his senses despite no outward motivation why they should be. He held the steel door aloft, allowing Avily to precede him inside the store. While she investigated the status of her stock, he tailed her like a shadow, alert to any potential threat he might have overlooked.

She stepped back from the last display and gusted a relieved breath. “Everything’s accounted for. Thank gods. The would-be thieves must have gotten cold feet or were scared off. What moron would try knocking off a place in broad daylight anyway?”

One whose aim wasn’t to steal, but something more sinister. Maybe the culprit had hoped to take advantage of the absence of customers loitering around so they could harm Avi. Or there was always the possibility that this was an ominous calling card from the assholes who kidnapped him. A subtle message that they were watching.

And waiting to strike if he didn’t do their damn dirty work.

Chapter Fifteen

Avily had never been happier to close up shop in her life. Usually she loved the opportunity to mingle with customers, but as she’d predicted, she’d spent half the time fielding their wariness over Jerrick’s intimidating presence. The other half of the time she gritted her teeth at the blatant flirtation a handful of the braver ladies showered upon him. Really, it was revolting. Especially when a few of the hussies slipped him their numbers.

She lost no time calling him on the obnoxiousness of it the moment he followed her into the apartment.

He grunted, the bastard. “What did you want me to do, rip it up in their faces?”

You could have told them you were already committed to someone.
Yeah, and that would have been a big, fat, hairy lie. Mr. I-don’t-believe-in-love tying himself to a relationship that lasted beyond a convenient roll in the sack? Not happening.

“Are you intending to call any of them?” She tried to convince herself that it didn’t matter if he did, but the awful tightness in her chest told a different story.

“No.”

A fraction of the heaviness lifted from her diaphragm. “Then you’re only giving them false hope.” Rather like her own delusional fantasy of torching through those steel bars caging his heart.

He made a frustrated sound. “I can’t win with you.”

Wrong. He’d won the most prized possession she owned. He just didn’t want it.

She shrugged from her light spring coat and hung it in the cupboard, along with his jacket. No clothes-sniffing this time around. Feeling guilty over her bitchiness, she ventured into the kitchen and cataloged the options in her cooler. “I’ll make Steak Silano for dinner. Least I can do after our botched lunch.”

An unmistakably happy moan floated from Jerrick. The dish had always been his favorite, hence Avily begging her mom all those years ago to teach her the steps in putting together the complex dish.
Practice made perfect, and in considerably less time than it used to take her, she popped the succulent cut of meat topped with the creamy glaze and fresh vegetables into the oven. The key was a slow, even cook that gave ample time for the beef and savory ingredients to mingle in a tasty mélange of flavors.

Jerrick leaned his hip against the counter and took an appreciative whiff of the onion-and-herb-spiked air. “So much for that spare tire you warned me against.”

That bit of ridiculousness had been a deliberate goad on her part. If there was one thing he didn’t need to worry about, it was excess flab. Anywhere. Still, he’d handed her a prime opportunity to get her greedy mitts all over his naked flesh again. She was no dummy who’d let
that
pass her by. “Speaking of love handles, maybe you better try on your getup so we know it fits.”

The look he leveled on her verified he’d seen through her ruse, but he only awarded her a wry smirk and crossed to the chair where he’d left the leather pants the other day. He nabbed the garment and started to retreat to the bathroom.

She cleared her throat pointedly. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” She tossed the harness and leash, and he caught both items midair, his scowl firmly chiseled in place.

It was probably hideously wrong to be looking forward to this as much as she was.

While he changed, she made herself busy straightening up the space. She plumped the pillows on the sofa and arranged them to her liking. Fingers smoothing over the brocade fabric, she eyed the indentation in the middle cushion.

I want you to be my first lover, Jer. Make love to me.

Would she ever be able to look at this couch and not remember that day? Why the hell didn’t she get rid of this thing?

Probably for the same reason she couldn’t bring herself to part with her tattoo. Why move on from the past when she could continue torturing herself with it?

Grimacing at her utterly pathetic behavior, she slumped onto the cushion. Had Jerrick noticed the sofa was the same one he’d rejected her upon? Doubtful. Males likely weren’t sentimental about such things.

Smart of them.

She plucked at the couch seam, her dejection increasing. More than ever, her unrequited love for him mocked her. She held no prayer of him coming to his senses one day and loving her back. He didn’t have it in him. Love had become the enemy, and he would resist it at any cost.

Since the cost was her heart, it was a hefty price tag, clinging to this fruitless dream of a happily ever after for them.

She repeatedly hammered that resolution into her brain—right up to the moment Jerrick strode back into the room. He stopped a few feet away from her, the corners of his lips twitching. “Is there something you’d care to come clean with me about?”

Her brain went completely blank. “I, uh, don’t think so.”

“Really?” He slowly pivoted, and her gaze landed on the delectable sight of his butt cheeks protruding from the cutouts she’d made in the tight leather. “Pretty damn sure these pants didn’t have built-in air conditioning for my ass two days ago.”

“I might have made some adjustments back when I was pissed at you. Now I’m extra glad I did.”

He grunted and turned around to face her. All moisture drying in her mouth, she stared at the sheer masculine magnificence of him. The red leather molded to his long, powerful thighs like a second skin. The garment was slung low, revealing the deep, mouth-watering V lines where his hip and groin met while also accentuating the eye-popping bulge of his cock.

“On top of having my ass exposed, if these damn things sat any lower, I’d have to shave everything,” he groused.

There was an intriguing prospect. It took all her restraint not to ask if she could apply the shaving foam for him.

He adjusted a strap on the chest harness, drawing her focus to that portion of his costume. On anyone else, she suspected the accoutrement would look ridiculous. But it absolutely suited Jerrick. It was easy to imagine he’d come tumbling out of the womb wearing it. Which was a weird thought that threatened to make her chuckle. Regardless, the leather harness created an ideal framework for the glorious, caramel-skinned perfection of his muscled torso. He looked so damn alpha badass, she wanted to swoon. “Just so you know, you couldn’t resemble a sub named Bill any less if you tried.”

He grunted. “What does everyone have against the name Bill?” Returning his focus to the uncooperative strap, he continued tugging and cursed when it remained unbudging. Taking her cue, she launched off the sofa and batted his hand away from the buckle.

She eased her finger beneath the leather strip, and the velvety expanse of his rib cage rippled under her touch. He radiated heat and delicious, woodsy musk. She longed to bury her nose against his golden skin. Become drunk and woozy on the essence of him.

So she did.

His sharp inhalation drew his muscles rigid, and the rapid drum of his heart pounded beneath her lips.

“Avi, what are you doing?”

“Not Avi, remember? Mistress Scarlett.” She shifted lower and swirled her tongue over his nipple. The flat nub hardened, and she rewarded his response with a gentle nip of her teeth.

The shaky groan that slipped from him filled her with feminine pride. To be able to affect him, crack through his defenses—no headier power existed.

Curling her tongue, she followed the curve of his pectoral and beelined south. His abdominals quivered under her roving kiss, bolstering her confidence. Gripping his hips, she crouched in front of him, her rapid breaths fanning his straining fly. She peered up at him through her lashes and caught the tautness of his features and the wild, exotic glow in his eyes.

Without breaking the intimate connection of their gazes, she inched forward and stroked her tongue over the swell of his erection. Even through the layer of leather, she swore she tasted him and the potency of his desire. She trembled with need, with love and desperate craving.

She reached for the fastener on his pants, but he hauled her up fast, his hands banding fiercely on her upper arms. “Goddamn it, Avi.”

“No,
Mistress
—”

He slammed his mouth over hers, cutting off the remainder of her denial. His tongue thrust past her lips, sweeping deep and igniting her blood. He tangled his hands in her hair, his kisses greedy. “You’ve had your turn at playing master. This time it’s mine.”

Her pussy clenched at his primal growl and the carnal way his gaze drifted over her body, as if he were already fucking her in his mind. He deftly slipped the buttons free on her blouse and eased the garment from her before following suit with her skirt. His hands glided over her butt, instigating a colony of goose bumps. Just as she was melting into his touch, he delivered a firm smack on both ass cheeks.

She jolted, gasping. “What was that for?”

“Desecrating a bloody expensive pair of pants.”

She started to rub her backside, but he held her arms to her sides. Excitement heated her blood, further fired by the persuasive caress of his lips along her tummy. Punishment became bliss as he ran his tongue over her quivering skin. She moaned, and he immediately stopped. He released her hands and offered a warning tap on either wrist, mutely commanding her to stay put. Weak-kneed with anticipation and desire, she breathlessly waited to see what his next demand would be.

It didn’t come until after he pulled his belt from its loops. Instructing her to clasp her hands in front of her, he secured the unyielding strip of leather around her wrists. His palms a gentle coax on her shoulders, he guided her down to the floor. She stretched her arms above her head and looked up into his impossibly blue eyes. There wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t tremble in expectation.

He lifted to his feet and crossed to the silver bag that’d been left with his pants. He removed the strange fur mitt she hadn’t been entirely sure of the purpose of when she’d first discovered it. Witnessing the blazing intensity in his gaze now, she had a good inkling that mitt came with nefarious designs guaranteed to drive her out of her mind.

He sat near her hip and blew a soft breath upon her nipple. She shivered, the tremors quadrupling when he coasted the mitt along the swell of her breast. The fine, ticklish fur proved an inescapable torment as he swirled over the hollow of her belly. Whimpering, she dutifully spread her legs when he directed her to do so. The fur swept lower and found a new target to tantalize and torture. She bit her lip to keep from crying out when he unerringly zeroed in on her clit. Dander-fine fluff teased the agonized bundle of nerves. Fluttering…fluttering…