DEBT (23 page)

"You didn't," I reminded him.

"Not yet, no," he said, his fingers whispering over the triangle above my sex. "But, babe, I was in a mood."

"I noticed," I said, because, well, I had.

"And I needed to get that energy out."

"I was literally just seconds away..."

"I want to take my time," he said, his fingers pressing between my thighs and running up my cleft. "I want to get my tongue in here. I want to taste you on my tongue again. I want to make you come until you feel like you can't come anymore. So if you're over your snit, I'd like to get to that."

"I was not in a snit," I objected.

"Fuck off," he smiled, leaning forward and planting a soft kiss on my lips. "You still are. But I think I know the cure for that..."

"Orgasms don't fix everything," I objected as his weight shifted and his mouth pressed kisses down my neck, then over each breast, then into the delicate undersides of them, before moving a trail down the center of my stomach.

"Want to bet?" he asked, looking up at me from the juncture of my thighs.

I knew better.

Because if there was one thing I knew about gambling, it was the house always wins. Eventually.

This was no exception.

Afterward, he'd held me for a long while before slipping into his clothes and going out my door, leaving me alone to feel the piercing in my chest that I had already started getting used to. It didn't make it hurt any less. But it wasn't a surprise either. It was expected.

But then a few minutes later, he came strolling back in with a big white box and a charming smile on his face.

"More lingerie?" I asked, giving him a smile back.

"Open it," he said, putting it down on the bed and keeping his feet.

On a shrug, I sat up and reached for it, pulling off the top and moving the decorative paper aside to reveal a gorgeous bodycon midnight blue dress nestled there with a pair of nude heels. "My new work uniform?" I asked, looking up, trying to ignore the swirly feeling of happiness in my belly.

"Of sorts," he said, gesturing toward it. "You're coming to the party. Not just as a baker, but a guest. You need to look the part."

"I'm coming to the party?" I repeated, not quite comprehending that. I was pretty sure Ella and Matt and the others weren't invited to the party.

"Don't over-think it," he said, but it was already too late for that. "Just show up in the dress. Got it?"

"Got it," I agreed, watching him turn and leave but, that time, not so upset about it.

--

The day of the party was a blur of activity. Ella and I shuffled around the kitchen in synchronized harmony, knowing each others moves, anticipating when we were in the way. There were hired caterers dressed all in black shuffling in and out, seriously messing with our flow, but necessary evils.

About fifteen minutes before the party was due to start, I put the last of the desserts on trays then hightailed it up the stairs, nearly knocking into three people on the way. Fifteen minutes was, as all women knew, not nearly long enough to get themselves all dolled up for a somewhat formal event.

Thankfully, when I let my hair down from my top-knot, it was a wavy kind of alluring, not a kinky mess. All I had to do was apply some mascara , brush my teeth, shave my legs, and throw on my clothes.

The dress was more provocative than I would have chosen, short of hem and somewhat low of bodice, but not obscenely so, and absolutely skin tight. But the color was an alluring midnight kind of blue that made my blue eyes and light skin pop. The heels were too high, but reasonably comfortable. I made my way down the stairs fifteen minutes after the fifteen minutes I allotted myself. But I was under no obligation to show up at a certain time and I always hated being the first person at any event.

So when I walked down the stairs to hear quiet music, the bustle of the servers, and the smattering of men and women in dresses and suits, I felt both a rush of relief and a heady dose of anxiety. What, exactly, was I supposed to do? I didn't know any of the people there and, even if I did, I was never a social butterfly. I always sucked at small talk. And what if I made a foo...

"Babe, relax," Byron's voice met my ear as I stepped off the bottom stair, his hand at my lower back, the other offering me a glass of white wine.

I took it and turned my head slightly to look at him. "I don't know anyone," I confided my anxiety.

His hand pressed harder into my lower back. "You know me. And Aaron is here somewhere. If you're not comfortable, you can go hang out with Ella for a bit then come back out. Okay? Stop stressing out."

With that, he left me to go greet the next group of people who were ushered through the door.

I bounced around hugging the walls for a minute before I felt someone sidle in next to me. "You couldn't look any more uncomfortable if you tried," Aaron's voice said in my ear.

"I just work here and make the desserts. I don't understand why I am here."

"Don't you, though?" Aaron asked, looking down at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You know, the day I met you here, that wasn't the first time I saw you," he said, changing the topic.

I felt my face scrunch up a little at him acknowledging something I had already considered when I got a look inside their security room. "You've seen me picking up my dad."

"Just about every week. In dresses like this. Sometimes all dolled up, sometimes with bed-head and half-awake eyes."

"Gee, what a great impression I have left."

"I'm just saying, sweetheart, not judging."

I paused for a minute, my eyes seeking Byron across the room where he was talking to a small group of people. One of which was Lyla. Lyla from the 'one and done' sex. I took a deep breath, reminding myself it wasn't my place to feel jealous or worried.

"Aaron," I said, feeling a swirling sensation start in my belly.

"Yeah?"

"If you've seen me every week for... however long," I started, turning to look at him and I saw the answer on his face before I even asked the question. "Has Byron?"

"Sweetheart," he said, taking my empty wine glass, "now you know why you're here." With that, he walked away, leaving me feeling like my brain was swirling.

Byron had been watching me? When he called my dad in, was that his plan all along? Did he just see me and decide I was an itch? God, how had I not considered that option before? It wasn't like he got accustomed to me, liked me as a person, then decided he wanted to fuck me. He saw me, wanted to fuck me, manipulated my life to make that happen, and then maybe started to appreciate me as a human being.

I looked up to see Byron watching me, brows drawn together like maybe he picked up on some of the shock and anger and hurt on my face. He excused himself from his group and made his way toward me. Not trusting my mouth to keep shut and not wanting to make a scene, I slipped sideways and away just as he closed in. The last thing I saw before I disappeared was his brow lifted and the promise there that said he was going to get to the bottom of my actions.

I didn't come back out when desserts were delivered. I didn't even find myself caring what the reactions were. When things started to sound like they were dying down at the party, I left Ella to get her cleaning done, kicked out of my heels, and made my way outside. I just needed a couple more minutes of peace. At a loss for what to do, I went off toward the walking track and did a few laps before moving to the grassy center and lying down, looking up at the sky.

It didn't surprise me when Byron's body towered over me a while later.

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, waving a hand at me.

"I needed some fresh air," I said, avoiding looking at him.

"Your desserts were a hit in case you care," he informed me, knowing damn well that I cared.

"I'm glad your party was a success."

"Alright, cut the shit. What did Aaron say to you?"

I turned my head slightly to look up at him, ridiculously handsome even from that angle. "He just mentioned that he had seen me many times over the years. I put the rest together."

"What did you put together?"

"That this was some elaborate set-up."

"Right. So I forced your father to learn how to count cards and then come into my casino and steal from me for the express purpose of getting in your pants."

"Did you used to watch me on the cameras?"

Byron sighed, taking his hands out of his pockets. Then he was down on the ground, his legs straddling my hips. It was an intimidating pose, but I knew better than to actually be scared of him. "Did I see you?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, his hand reaching out to touch my cheek. "Face like this, yeah, babe, I fucking saw you. Saw your love and determination too. But that doesn't mean this was a trick. I didn't even know you were coming with Mack until you showed up here. Did I see an opportunity and take it? Fuck yeah I did. Can you blame me?"

"So I am an itch."

"You're not a fucking itch. In case you haven't been paying attention, Prue, I've fucked you in every position, in every hole. And you're still here. If you were an itch, you'd be long scratched by now. So stop bringing that shit up."

"Why haven't you told me that you've seen me? Or watched me? Or whatever."

"Because this is what I knew would happen. You'd bend it all out of proportion and make it something it's not. I saw you. I thought you were hot. Maybe I gave some thought to fucking you. But, babe, if it was anything more than that, I would have come down and gotten the job done on any one of those nights."

"I wouldn't have fucked you," I insisted.

"Yeah, you would have."

"Um, no. The only reason you got in my pants is because I got to spend some time with you and see past the asshole-persona."

"If that's what you need to tell yourself, babe."

"It's not that you're not attractive. You are. But that's not the point."

"You're a relationship girl. It's hard for you to accept that sometimes your body just wants what it wants," he informed me, shifting his weight, going down on his forearms, and pressing his legs between my thighs.

"It's more than that," I admitted, giving him more than I told myself I would ever give him.

"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he agreed, leaning down and planting kisses across my neck.

"So... they really liked my desserts?" I blurted out when I couldn't keep it in any longer, making him chuckle and push up to look down at me.

"Yeah, babe, they really liked your desserts. Several asked for your business card."

"I don't have a business card," I added unnecessarily.

Byron's face went a little wicked as he pushed back to sit on his ankles, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a card. He held it out to me and I reached for it, already knowing what it was, but needing confirmation. And sure enough, it was a business card. The front was light pink and white stripes with a picture of a cupcake and my name. The back was plain pink with my cell number and an email address. It was an email address that didn't belong to me, I might add.

"Byron..." I said, looking up at him, feeling a little emotional again.

"Look, I get that you need the safety and stability of your boring nine-to-five. I know you need that for your peace of mind. But there is nothing saying you can't do what you love too."

"You make it sound easy."

"Maybe it will be, maybe it won't. But there's nothing saying it needs to be easy. What in your twisted little life has been easy? At least this will be the kind of hard that leads to something you really want."

And, well, he had a point.

"Can I ask..." I trailed off at his brow raise, knowing he hated when I asked permission to ask a question. "Why waste your time designing and ordering and handing out cards for me?"

He was silent for a long minute, looking off into the darkness before looking down at me again. "Fuck if I know, Prue. You've had a rough life. I can commiserate. I had someone to help me get a leg up. Figured you deserved at least that."

"So you're... paying it forward?" I asked, hearing a bit of disappointment in my words and hoping he didn't catch it.

"Something like that. Now are you done with this bullshit? Can I fuck you now?"

And, well, I wasn't done with the bullshit. But I definitely wanted him to fuck me.

So he did.

Slow and sweet at first, then ending up rough, dirty, primal, my cries echoing out across his open land.

--

Four days after that, everything going the status quo I was beginning to expect, even if it hurt my soul and heart a bit more than I wanted to admit, Byron walked up behind me in the kitchen as I refilled both of our coffee cups. His head rested on my shoulder; his arm went around my belly. "There's a dress on your bed," he informed me.