Two Chapter Preview: Provocative

I stand there, mentally dissecting all the reasons she’s just kicked me to the door, that I don’t plan on exiting. Something to hide. Embarrassment. The something to hide might not even be about a crime, but that embarrassment. Macom. He was obviously part of her life and a bad one, and I’ve stormed into hers without giving her time to breathe or to reject me. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t let that happen. Not under these circumstances, and as it turns out, I don’t want it to happen for my own personal reasons, of which I’ll examine when the heady scent of her isn’t driving me fucking insane.

I pursue her yet again, finding her in the kitchen, her back to me while she stares at a Keurig dripping coffee into a cup. She knows I’m here. I can sense it, but she walks to the refrigerator and pulls out some kind of flavored creamer. I want to storm around that counter, pull her to me, and kiss her until she melts for me. I want to strip her naked and fuck her right here on the solid wood island I didn’t fuck her on last night. But doing those things would only drive home her accusation that I just want sex from her.

Clamping down on all those male urges, and a hell of an overload of testosterone, I walk to the barstool opposite her at the island and sit down. She walks to the Keurig, fills her cup with creamer, and then turns to face me, that cup cradled in her hands. “I am not your plaything.”

“No,” I say. “You are not. And I’m not yours either, Faith. That isn’t what this is.”

“It feels like it is.”

“We are, as I said before, red hot together. That doesn’t make it all we are.”

“You can’t just come into my life and try to take over,” she repeats.

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s your way.”

She’s right. It is. “Usually people are relieved when I want to help them.”

“Aside from the ridiculous arrogance of that statement that isn’t working for you right now, Nick Rogers, have you just fucked and spanked those people?” She holds up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want you to tell me what I want to hear.”

“What do you want to hear, Faith?” I ask, her statement speaking volumes about where her head is, and it isn’t focused on kicking me out.

“Nothing,” she says. “I told you—”

“Let’s talk about my hard limits with women,” I say. “They’re really quite simple. No tomorrows. No conversation. No confession over my many nannies I tell no one about. For me, I just want to fuck.”

“Why did you tell me about the nannies?”

“Because my gut said that you needed to hear it. Fuck. Maybe I needed to say it to someone who needed to hear it. I don’t know what this is between us, Faith, but it’s not what you’re trying to turn it into.”

“You said that we just needed to fuck each other out of our systems.”

“I know what I said.”

“And now—”

“And now I want more. That is exactly what I keep thinking with you. I want more. What the hell does that mean? I don’t know, but I need to find out and I think you do, too.”

“Arrogance again?”

“Not this time. Just facts. Just possibilities. And I can’t promise where that leads, but I can tell you that for me, it’s not just sex. If it was, you’d be naked and on the counter right now, because that’s exactly where I wanted you when I walked into this kitchen.”

She doesn’t blush. She looks me in the eye. “You said you didn’t want more.”

“I didn’t, but I have learned in life not to run from the unexpected. And I’m not running from this and I’m not letting you run from it because of a past that I’m not a part of.”

“The past is a part of me.”

“But I am not,” I say, “and you responded to me like I was in the foyer.”

She turns her head, obviously struggling with where this is leading, seconds ticking by before she sips her coffee and then sets it on the island, her eyes meeting mine. “You are very assuming, Nick.”

“Agreed,” I say, reaching for her coffee cup. “But only about things that matter to me, and it appears you do.” I turn the cup so that my lips are aligned with the exact spot where hers were moments before, the act telling her we’re connected now, that possessiveness I’ve felt on numerous occasions with Faith back again.

I drink, taking a sip of the chocolatey concoction that would taste better on her lips, against my lips. “I’m beginning to get the idea you have a sweet tooth.”

“I do,” she says. “And yet there is nothing sweet about you, Nick.”

“You might be surprised. If you give me a chance.”

“You aren’t going to bulldoze me.”

“So you told me,” I say, sipping her coffee again, and then setting it back in front of her. “And since you seem to need to hear it again, if I could, you wouldn’t be interesting to me.” I soften my voice. “Don’t let pride, or fear of us, get in the way of a solution to a problem you need to solve.”

She picks up the coffee, takes a drink, and then another, and when she sets it back down, I arch a brow at her interest in drinking, that she’s called nerves. I like that she can be nervous and overcome those nerves. That makes her strong, as proven by her next smart question. “Isn’t sleeping with me and representing me some kind of ethical issue for you?”

“Not so long as the relationship existed prior to me becoming your counsel.”

“Frank is my attorney already. I have him on retainer.”

“Frank’s an estate attorney on the verge of retirement. He is not going to make the bank his bitch. I will.” I soften my voice. “Talk to me, Faith. Let me help and I promise that help comes with no conditions. Whatever happens with us personally, I’m with you on this until the end.”

“I hate airing my dirty laundry to you. And it’s not even that I barely know you. It’s that I don’t want this to be how I know you.”

It’s an honest answer. I hear it in the rasp of her voice. I see it in the torment in her eyes. And every honest answer she gives me makes me trust her more. “We all have our dirty laundry, Faith. I told you my father fucked all of my many nannies. I don’t talk about my father. Or the many nannies.”

“You don’t?”

“No, Faith, I don’t.”

“You thought I needed to hear that,” she says, but it’s not a question, and she reaches for the cup again, withdrawing.

“Why did you just try to shut down on me?” I ask.

She sets the cup down, a few beats passing before her eyes lift and meet mine. “I appreciate that you shared that with me.”

“But you withdrew.”

“No. I just…I was taking in the impact of your statement. Taking stock of myself, too, and my reaction to…you, Nick. And I don’t mean to seem unappreciative of your offer to help. I’m sorry. I am embarrassed about this. And you are very unexpected.”

“I met you while those two assholes were trying to collect from you at the winery. I knew what you were going through when I pursued you.”

“You knew you wanted to get me naked,” she says, giving a humorless laugh. “There’s a difference.”

“I repeat. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I’m helping you. If that makes me a bull, let’s fight about it and get past it.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, too.”

It’s not hard to surmise the “too” means the collectors, but my gut says it’s more, but avoiding an emotional trigger right now, I focus us on business. “If you don’t want to replace Frank, I’ll manage Frank. But I need details from you first.”