She watched Brandon’s expression go from open and affable to enigmatic. “Several days?” he countered. “Odd, since you’re his personal assistant and see him more often than I do. I wouldn’t know, myself, but I’m sure business is still running. He would have it no other way, as you well know.”
Business.
“Wait a second.” Aziza felt as if her head were about to explode. Greg, who’d been watching on the sidelines, caught on at the same moment she did.
“Is she in your business? The
family
business?” He was looking at Brandon. “
Penn’s
Hillary?”
Penn wrinkled her nose, finally letting go of Brandon’s hand and turning toward her girlfriend. “Why do I feel as if I just walked into the middle of a play, darling? And why does real estate investment and land management suddenly sound ominous?”
Hillary, looking uncharacteristically out of sorts, ignored Penn’s question to glare at Shev. “What is
she
doing here, Brandon? Are you transporting one of them without backup?”
Aziza felt a sudden need to defend him, though she was dying to ask more questions about Hillary’s connection to the “them” police. “He didn’t bring her. I did.” She glanced at her aunt and felt her heart drop. Penn didn’t know about enforcers. “I’m sorry if we didn’t give you enough warning, Hill. But we
needed
to…to make sure Penn was okay.”
Hillary froze, hearing the undercurrent Aziza hoped she would in her words. “I see.”
“Fascinating.” Shev’s laugh was soft and rich with amusement. “I believe I’ll join Ram outside while the rest of you put this house in order. He should know firsthand how delicious the dinner conversation is going to be.”
Aziza sighed. She would’ve kissed her for making herself scarce if Shev hadn’t seemed to be enjoying the uncomfortable situation so much. “Penn, I think you and I need to talk. This place looks like it must have a library or a den or something, right? Don’t all English manors have libraries? Can you show me?”
Penn shook off Aziza’s hand, still staring at Hillary. “In a moment, Aziza. What’s going on, Hill?”
Hillary held up her hands, the towel fluttering like a flag of surrender. “Do we have to do this in the doorway? Aziza hasn’t even seen the house and I never thought…” She looked over at Brandon, almost helplessly. “Why are you here? How did you find out what she was?”
“This should be interesting,” Greg murmured from behind Aziza.
Brandon crossed his muscular arms and stared Hillary down. “I still don’t
know
exactly what she is, but apparently you do. Who else, Hill? Who else has been keeping information from me? My father? Does he know about her?”
Hillary lowered her gaze to the floor respectfully, shocking Aziza with the strange behavior. “Absolutely not. No one else knows. Not Devil and not your father. I only discovered it after I met Aziza and her brothers. When I returned I went to the archives for verification, but I never shared that knowledge with anyone.”
“Time. The
fuck
. Out.” Greg’s hands formed a T shape, and he pushed past Aziza to stand in front of Brandon. “Too much information and not enough context. I’ve had a lot of shit in my head for the last few days, and most of it’s gone, but there are one or two tidbits still floating around.”
He took a breath and studied the larger man with something akin to awe. “I wrote this down, didn’t I? And I think I’ve figured out what you are, Enforcer. What Hillary has to be.” Greg sent a look of empathy over his shoulder toward Penn. “We might not have to worry about normal anymore. However, I think everyone could use a drink—and maybe a few silver bullets—before we continue
this
conversation.”
Penn pointed distractedly down the hallway, obviously unwilling to move on until she’d spoken to her significant other in private. “In the study, Greg. Aziza? The kitchen is all the way down and to the left. The dining room is just beyond that. Take Brandon and set the table.
Now
.”
It was clear Aziza had lost complete control over the situation. It was also clear that their arrival had set off what could be a relationship-altering conversation between Penn and Hillary. Because Aziza hadn’t done enough damage this week.
She wanted to scream at them all that she didn’t care who or what anyone was. There wasn’t time. A woman had died and Aziza’s last surviving family member was in jeopardy. Nothing else was important.
Should
be important.
She wanted to follow Greg and grill him about his last, enigmatic statement before he headed for the alcohol.
Instead she moved obediently down the hall and toward the kitchen, feeling like a child being sent to her room so her parents could argue. She could sense Brandon close behind her, her silent, looming shadow, as she tried to put the pieces together.
Hillary must be an enforcer as well, or she knew about them. Greg had hinted as much. She’d also known about Aziza since her mother’s funeral. But what did she know?
How
did she know? And why would she keep it a secret from her own family? From Penn?
And what the fuck had Greg meant with that crack about silver bullets?
He’d written it down…
She needed a primer for her new life.
An Idiot’s Guide to Fireborne.
What was she really? What was Brandon,
really
? She’d already suspected the answer was more complicated than simply a magical cop, but the current possibility floating around in her head was almost too impossible to believe. She was sick of asking the same questions. None of the answers made sense anyway. None of the answers made her feel any better. Any safer.
They reached the kitchen and she looked around the large room and the endless sea of white cabinets, unable to move.
Dog-men standing guard…
“A timeout, Aziza, wasn’t that what you wanted? What your friend Greg just demanded?” Brandon brushed past her, his earthy scent making her sigh. He started opening cupboards, searching for plates. “I can practically see the wheels turning in your head, but this moment of peace won’t last long. We may as well stop thinking and enjoy it.”
Her lips twitched. Enjoy setting the table? She joined him and began sliding out shelves in search of silverware. “Absolutely. This is my idea of fun, you know. Forget traveling the world. Forget freezing people in odd positions on the street. I’ll choose cutlery every time. Folding napkins turns me on.”
He covered her hand with his before she could reach inside the silverware drawer. “Stop it.”
“What?” She tried to turn to look at him, but he pressed himself against her back, pushing her body against the counter with the weight of his. “Brandon?”
His gravelly voice was rough with need. “Stop time. Do it again. Now, before either one of us finds out more than we want to know about the other. Before we can’t. Before we shouldn’t.”
“We already shouldn’t,” she whispered. But she was tempted. Oh God, was she tempted.
His erection was hot and heavy against her lower back. “But we will. You will.”
It sounded like a command. She shivered. The kind of command that could help her stop thinking about everything else. The danger. The insanity waiting right outside the door. “I don’t even know if I can do it again.”
Brandon’s lips pressed against her temple, the hand that was covering hers rising until she could feel her fingers and his on her breast. Caressing her through the fabric of her blouse. “You can. You have to. Because you want to know as much as I do how good we’ll be together. How many times I can make you come before the sand runs out.”
“Jesus,” she swore softly, shuddering against him. “Stop.” She tried to focus on the feeling she’d had before. The desire to stop fighting. Stop worrying. Stop everything in the world except the feel of his touch.
“Stop.”
Her hand was burning and she lifted it from where she’d been clutching the pristinely tiled counter to study her palm. There it was. The circle. The hourglass, newly filled. “I did it,” she marveled. On command. On cue.
“About time,” he moaned, turning her around in his arms and lowering his lips to hers for a ravenous kiss. She cried out into his mouth as he tilted his head to get deeper, his tongue battling with hers, his lips hard with fierce, primal need.
She tore her mouth away from his to gasp for breath and he buried his face in her neck, tasting her with his tongue. “I don’t think this is what I’m supposed to use this for,” she whimpered.
He lifted his head and looked around a little wildly, his eyes golden and his cheeks flushed. “You told me once to stop thinking. Now it’s your turn. Just feel, Aziza.”
Feel…
She bit her lip hard at the reminder of her encounter with Ram, knowing he was frozen just outside, moments away. “Maybe this is a mistake, Brandon.”
Just like her time with Ram had been. Like most of her impulsive decisions always seemed to be.
In answer he lifted her in the air and carried her through the swinging doors and into the dining room. “Right now, I don’t care how or why you have this ability. I don’t care how or why you are connected to the beings I’ve taken an oath to police, and I don’t give a damn about what happens after this.” He was almost growling now, his chest vibrating against her as he set her on the edge of the long mahogany table lined with chairs. “Do I need to make you cover your mouth again? I’d rather not. I have plans that require that mouth. Plans I’ve been thinking about since yesterday. Hell, longer than that.”
And just like that she was lost and loving it. He definitely had an unfair advantage. “Too bad we don’t have handcuffs here.”
His golden eyes narrowed as she slid across the table until her legs were dangling on either side of the chair at the end. “By the way,” she added, “I’ve been thinking about your mouth too.”
He stood there, his chest heaving with his slow, measured breaths as his hands curled into white-knuckled fists. “You should take those jeans off before I join you. You won’t be able to explain why they’re torn if you don’t.”
Aziza unzipped her jeans and lay down with her back on the table to slide them off. “You know I had something like this on my secret bucket list.” She huffed out a laugh. “I wanted to be one of those human buffets. Those women covered in California rolls who just lie there as strangers reveal them, one sliver of tuna at a time.”
“Why?”
She sat up and shrugged, reaching for the hem of her shirt. “Because it sounded shocking and scandalous.”
Brandon stepped closer, pulling the chair out of the way until he was standing right in front of her. He was so huge. So tall that he towered over her, even as she sat on the dining table. “You like to shock, I’m learning. You want to be scandalous.”
“Maybe,” she demurred, her hands covering her breasts as she looked up at him where he stood, still fully clothed. “I know I like shocking you. How about you return the favor and tell me what you are?”
He unbuckled his belt and opened the buttons of his jeans as she watched, her mouth going dry at the sight of the bulge pressing against the denim. He ignored her question. “You don’t shock me, Aziza.”
He spread the zipper of his pants and gripped his thick cock in his hand, displaying it without hesitation, making Aziza lick her lips in unconscious desire. He slipped his free hand into the hair on the side of her head, holding her firmly. Controlling her before he spoke again, his voice raw with desire. “You make me hungry.”
She leaned forward, with his hand guiding her, to place open-mouthed kisses on his stomach muscles. His hips. She bent over and ducked her head to wrap her lips around the silken head of his erection. Her eyes closed at the first taste of salt and sun, cedar and man.
How did he know? How did he know this was what she wanted—needed? No thoughts, just this. Just him. To forget all her questions and just feel. She opened her mouth wider to take more, as much as she could of this man who was as intimidating here as he was everywhere else. She couldn’t get low enough to take all she wanted. She lifted her mouth and slid off the table. “Chair,” she muttered, reaching blindly for it and dragging it back toward them, his hand still in her hair as she knelt on the chair and took him deeply into her mouth.
Yes. Perfect.
Imagine it inside you.
Damn, she could. It would take time for her to get used to something that thick. Maybe he was too big. Maybe it would hurt just a little. Stretch just beyond the point of pleasure and into pain.
The idea sent a flood of arousal to her sex, coating her thighs as she continued to stroke his cock with her tongue.
“I knew,” Brandon moaned. “Knew you’d be this way, Aziza. Fearless.”
He slid his other hand into her hair as well, rocking his hips against her mouth, forcing her to take more of him.
Yes. More.
“You like that, don’t you? I know you do. I can smell the heat on your skin. I can taste how wet you are on my tongue.”
She moaned at the rough words and nodded her agreement. She loved it. The way desire changed him. Tore his guard down and forced him to reveal his commanding nature. She put her hands on his hips for balance and she leaned against him, struggling to take more. To take all of him.
“No,” he ordered harshly. “Don’t touch me, Aziza, or I’ll lose control.
I’ll
hold
you
. I’ve got you. Spread your legs a little more on that chair. Like that. Now put your hands behind your back and grip it. Don’t let go until I tell you.”
She hesitated and he growled, spurring her into action. They may not have handcuffs but this was the next best thing, she thought, her body vibrating with arousal. Brandon was the only thing holding her to the earth. The only one in control. She hummed against his erection, her tongue swirling around his shaft until he shouted.
Maybe he wasn’t the only one in control after all.
“Not enough time,” he muttered. “I need days. I need weeks to feel this. Just this. Your mouth. That tongue.” He tugged her head away and removed his hands from her hair, lifting her up with his strong arms and taking her place in the chair as he set her back on the edge of the table. “Lay back.”