Chapter Twenty-One

Allen

After the euphoria has subsided, I lift my head to kiss her cheeks, forehead, mouth, then brush a strand of her beautiful brown hair aside.

“You okay?” I murmur, and Brielle sighs, her face still soft and dreamy.

“Fabulous,” she purrs, softly running her nails down my back and causing my return to full mast. “You?”

“Baby,” I growl against her mouth, “you keep doing that and we’re gonna have to go again, right now.”

“And that’s a problem because…” she says, then shrieks when I roll us so that she is on top.

“You drive this time,” I tell her, and she grins before she kisses me.

“Hold on tight, then.”

***

Once we are both exhausted but sated, I leave her side only to draw a bath in the oversized clawfoot tub that I bought specifically for the cabin.

I return to the bedroom and scoop her into my arms, pausing at the dresser for her to grab her soap and shampoo bottles, then carry her in and set her down gently in the tub.

“Oh, that feels nice,” Brielle says, closing her eyes and leaning back.

“Leave some room for me, baby,” I tell her, then slide in behind her. I pick up the little plastic pitcher I stashed in the bathroom and use it to wet her hair when she tilts her head back. Then I pick up her shampoo and lather it in, massaging her scalp as I do.

“That feels so good,” she moans unashamedly. “I nominate you to wash my hair from now on.”

“I think I could be persuaded,” I tell her before I lean forward to kiss her shoulder. “This stuff smells so much better than mine. Now, lean your head back again and let me rinse it out.”

***

The bath takes a little longer than anticipated, mainly because we find it impossible to keep our hands off each other.

Rinsing the shampoo out of Brielle’s long, gorgeous hair was one thing. Washing her body? Well, I got a little sidetracked but thoroughly enjoyed myself, and from the sounds I made her make, she did too.

“Hungry?” I ask after we are both dried off and she is wrapped up in her fluffy robe.

“Yes! And I feel like I burned a million calories recently. No idea why,” Brielle answers, wriggling her eyebrows at me. “So yeah, I’m starved.”

I laugh and swoop in for another kiss. “Bacon and eggs all right?”

“Works for me.”

We move to the front room, where I walk over to my duffle bag to pull on pajama bottoms, then retrieve two saucepans from the cupboard and place them on the stove as Brielle grabs the package of bacon and the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“You handle the bacon. I’m making us an omelet,” she announces.

“Deal.”

I have just finished arranging the slices in the pan when my cell phone chirps. Brielle and I look at each other, then over at the little coffee table where I left my phone.

“Good Lord. Does he ever sleep?”

“What?”

“Two missed calls and a text, all from Pete,” I tell her before I open and read the text message.

There’s been a development. Call me please – Pete.

Brow furrowed, I dial and wait.

“Pete, what’s going on?” I ask as soon as he answers.

“Boss, I did some digging,” he says in a foreboding tone. “Did you know one of Brielle’s current clients keeps some pretty shady company? Because I’m sure she has no clue.”

“What do you mean?” I ask casually, not wanting to alarm Brielle, who is eyeing me from her position at the stove.

“I mean, I think he’s mob-connected,” Pete replies solemnly, and I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose as I take this latest piece of news in and process it.

“Hang on a second,” I tell him, then step outside to the porch where I can speak more freely.

Brielle

I can tell by the stony expression on Allen’s face that whatever Pete just told him was not happy news, despite the thumbs-up he gives me before he opens the door and walks out into the night air, shutting the door firmly behind him.

While he is gone, I tend the pan of bacon, rotating the pieces to make sure they cook evenly and do not burn. But I find myself smiling as the memories Allen and I have created tonight play like a carousel in my mind.

The first time we made love started off slow and sensual. The subsequent times took on different moods – playful, carnal – but every single one of them had one thing in common: a passionately deep and abiding emotional connection unlike anything I have ever experienced.

The mere thought of it makes me go deliciously warm from head to toe.

Humming to myself, I pull the cooked bacon from the pan and set them on a paper towel to drain, then turn my attention to prepping ingredients for the omelet. I have just about finished chopping up green onions and some ham when Allen comes back into the cabin and plugs in his phone.

He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me, snuggling against my back and resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Sorry I was gone so long,” he murmurs.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, knowing full well that the answer could deflate the protective bubble of bliss that I am currently cocooned in thanks to the gorgeous man holding me.

He sighs.

“How well do you know Calvin Roberts?”

“My client? Not at all on any sort of personal level. But as his realtor, I know he has his heart set on owning this certain warehouse in Dallas, and that he is like a bulldog with a bone, he just will not let it go. To the point that he and some other parties are currently in a bidding war over it. Why?”

“Some information has come to light that leads us to believe he could have certain… people in his circle,” Allen says, and I can feel my nose scrunch up in confusion.

I set the knife down and pivot in his arms so I can see his face.

“Huh? What people?”

“Mafia-type people,” Allen answers, holding me a little closer, although I am not sure whether it is to give, or get, comfort.

“But what would any of that have to do with me?”

“I’m not sure,” he admits, “but trust me when I say I plan to work this lead and make sure that it doesn’t impact you.”

“Okay,” I tell him, and he releases me so I can throw the diced onions and ham into the saucepan. “Do what you have to do, of course. But I don’t think that what is happening to me is connected to him at all. He was a client long before all this stuff started. The timing of it all doesn’t line up, Allen.”

“My gut says you’re right, Brielle, but I have to rule it in or out.”

“I know. And the sooner you do, the better, right?”

“Yep.”

I add a touch of milk and a little bit of pepper to the four eggs I cracked open into a bowl earlier and stir the mixture briskly. Once the onions and ham begin to sizzle in the saucepan, I give them a stir before I pour the egg mixture into the pan as well.

“Spatula?”

Allen takes three steps to the right and pulls it out of the drawer to hand to me.

“Thanks. I’ll need the shredded cheese, as well.”

“Coming right up.”

Within the next few minutes, I add the cheese in, then fold the omelet and turn off the burner.

“You don’t seem very rattled by what I just told you,” Allen observes as he pulls out two plates for us and puts some bacon on each one.

“That’s because I know you’re going to find and stop whoever it is,” I tell him as I cut the omelet in half and add it to the plates, then set the spatula down and frame his face with my hands. “I know you will keep me safe. I believe that with all my heart. Now, how about we eat while it’s still hot?”

Allen

Brielle never fails to surprise me.

I was hesitant to even ask her about Calvin Roberts, unsure how she would react, and unwilling to raise her stress level.

But she takes Pete’s revelation even better than I did, and I feel her warm sincerity when she says she believes I will keep her safe.

With nothing more to discuss on that topic, I kiss her on the tip of her nose and sit down at the table to enjoy the meal she made. When we are finished eating, we wash and put away dishes, then snuggle up on the couch to watch a movie.

About a half-hour in, Brielle is fast asleep, her head on my shoulder. I stop the movie and turn off the TV with the remote, then angle myself so I can pick her up, bridal-style, and carry her to bed.

I walk back out to the living room to make sure the door is locked before I turn out the lights and join her. By the time I get back to the bedroom, she has awakened long enough to shed her robe and crawl under the covers.

I slip into bed and turn out the bedside lamp, then roll her direction to gather her to me in the dark. She sighs and moves closer, and I wrap my arms around her and rest, enjoying the way her body seems to naturally fit against mine.

These feelings are even stronger than I thought they would be, I admit to myself.

I touch my lips to her hair.

“I will keep you safe, Brielle,” I whisper aloud in the pitch black. “No matter what it takes.”