“Vance?” Lyla rushed over, a coffee pot in hand.
“One sec.” I held up a finger, rounding the table.
Curiosity, that red hair, got the better of me, like it had for four years. So I walked to the door, ripping it open as I hurried outside.
I needed a closer look. I needed to get that face out of my damn mind.
Except there was no redheaded woman on the sidewalk. Whoever she was, she was gone.
I jogged to the nearest corner, searching the side street. Empty. I spun in a slow circle, looking everywhere, for a hint of that red. By the jewelry store. The hotel. The bank. Nothing.
There was no redhead. The only woman on the sidewalk was Lyla.
“Vance.” She jogged my way from the coffee shop, her breath billowing. She wasn’t wearing a coat, so I shrugged out of mine, draping it around her shoulders.
“Wear this.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Just me losing my fucking mind. I scrubbed a hand over my face, then sighed. “I’m just . . . seeing ghosts.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LYLA
The dead bolt flipped with a thunk. With that sound, my shoulders dropped from my ears.
I’d wanted to shut down the shop for hours so I could talk to Vance about what had happened earlier, what had sent him racing out the door. But I’d had to bide my time until closing. Finally, we were alone.
I turned off the lights, not bothering to mop the floors or wipe down tables—I’d do it in the morning. The work could wait.
Vance strode out of the kitchen, his broad frame limned by the dim light. “What about cleaning?”
A few nights spent working with me here and he’d already learned my routine.
“I’ll do it tomorrow.” I met him behind the counter, walking right into his space to put my hands on his hips. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, his gaze tracing down my nose before he dropped his lips to mine. The moment I opened for him, he sucked my tongue into his mouth.
I’d expected a chaste kiss, and his urgency took me off guard.
His hands raked down my back, sliding to cup my ass.
With a hand planted on his heart, I gave him a small shove, enough that he tore his mouth away. But he just moved his kiss from my lips to my pulse.
“We should talk,” I breathed, threading my hands into his hair.
He ignored me and swept me off my feet with a quick hoist into his arms. With a spin, he turned and walked us to the counter, setting me on its surface. Then he licked the seam of my lips, eliciting a low moan in my chest as desire pooled in my core.
This was just another tactic for changing the subject. “Vance.”
“Lyla,” he murmured, trailing his mouth along my jaw, that beard leaving a delicious scrape against my smooth skin.
My head lolled to the side as my fingers continued to tug and pull at his thick, unruly strands. “Talk to me.”
“Not yet, Blue.” He pulled my earlobe between his teeth.
My breath hitched.
Goddamn it, I was going to cave. I always caved.
I’d let him have his way with my body and the important conversations would go unspoken. Like the shooting Winn had mentioned. Like whatever had happened today. Like whoever he’d thought he’d seen on the sidewalk.
“Have you ever been fucked on this counter?” His gravelly voice was thick with want.
I gulped. “No.”
“Then I’m taking it. When you come to work every day, I want you thinking about me inside you.”
He’d leave his mark, and I’d never recover. He’d change this place forever.
And I was going to let him.
Maybe I’d regret it someday. Maybe when I met the man I’d marry—if I met that man—I’d regret letting Vance claim this space.
But tonight, I just wanted to have something from him I’d never forget. So I reached between us and unfastened the button on his jeans, working the zipper free so I could dive into his boxer briefs. The moment I fisted his shaft, a hiss escaped his lips.
“No going back,” he warned.
I loved him for knowing I’d remember him. I loved him for giving me a chance to stop and save this for someone else.
I hated him for expecting there’d even be a someone else.
With my free hand, I fisted his shirt, gripping it as hard as I had his cock. Then I hauled his mouth to mine. Now it was my turn to shut him up.
I delved inside, exploring every corner of his mouth. Leaving my own mark and memory. I kissed him with every bit of love and hate that coursed through my veins.
Good luck to the woman who came next. She’d have her work cut out for her to erase me from his mind.
His tongue tangled with mine as he tore at my jeans, somehow working them off my hips while keeping me from falling off the counter. Then when yet another pair of panties were shredded on the floor, he positioned himself at my entrance and thrust home.
“Vance,” I cried out, my voice filling the dark space.
“Fuck,” he gritted out.
I was already trembling, my inner walls fluttering.
His gaze drifted over my shoulder, so I followed it, looking to the windows that overlooked the street.
We were shrouded in darkness, hidden from anyone passing by. But if someone stopped, if they looked close enough, they’d see us together. My pussy clenched.
“You want someone to see us, Blue?”
My eyes whipped to his.
“You want someone to walk by, stop at the glass and lean in, just a bit, don’t you? Maybe they cup their hands over their eyes to see inside.” He pulled out, then pistoned his hips forward again. “You want someone to watch me fuck you.”
I moaned.
“Say it, Lyla.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Close your eyes.”
I obeyed, losing myself in the feel of him slide in and out.
“This is mine.” He reached between us, his finger finding my clit.
“Oh, God.” Those slow, perfect circles he alone knew how to draw would be my undoing.
“You can think about some stranger watching us together, but you’re mine, Lyla. To kiss. To fuck.”
I whimpered as his finger moved faster, my orgasm building faster and faster.
“Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“No.” How did I promise myself to him when he was leaving?
“Say it, Lyla.”
I shook my head.
Vance let out a frustrated groan. “Blue.”
I opened my eyes, his gaze waiting.
He rocked forward, his cock finding that spot so deep inside it made me feel like I’d been put on this earth for him and him alone. “Please.”
All these weeks and he’d made me say please. To beg for an orgasm. Each time, it had been driven by desire. But this please, his please, was different. Desperate.
This please made tears well in my eyes.
So I cupped his cheek. “Yours. Only yours.”
He slammed his mouth on mine, swallowing my gasp. Then he moved faster, bringing us together until the only sound was our bodies colliding, our breaths ragged.
I came on a cry, my shout echoing off the walls. He was close to follow, pouring long and hot inside my body. And as I collapsed, boneless against his chest, his arms wrapped around me like chains.
God, I wanted to cry. Why did he have to leave? Why did he have to have this life beyond Quincy? This life I knew nothing about?
Tears threatened again but I squeezed my eyes closed, refusing to cry. Not yet. I’d cry when he was gone. It seemed silly, wasting the little time we had left on tears.
So I clung to him, my face buried in the crook of his neck to drag in that fresh, earthy scent. I held tight until we’d both regained our breath and he pulled back, tucking himself away before helping me off the counter and into my jeans.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Are you?”
He didn’t answer.
“Vance?” I whispered. “Talk to me. What happened earlier?”
“I’m losing my fucking mind.” He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. Then he hoisted me up again, putting me on the counter. He paced the length of the counter. Twice. “I thought I saw Cormac’s daughter.”
His daughter? Hadn’t he killed her?
Vance stopped moving, giving me a sad smile. “She’s dead. I know she’s dead.”
The way his voice cracked on that awful word. Dead. My hand came to my chest.
“Sometimes I see red hair and it makes me think it’s one of his girls. I know it’s not, but the grief is . . . it just never goes away.” He rubbed a hand over his heart, like he was trying to erase the pain. “His oldest would have been twenty-one. I could have taken her out for a beer. Maybe she’d be in college. The twins would have been fourteen.”
At fourteen, Talia and I would have been freshmen in high school. We would have been worried about acne and which boy would ask us to winter formal.
Vance didn’t tell me their names. Was that because they were too hard to speak?
“What were they like?” I asked.