Sweet as Sin

38

This earned me a small, wry smile. It looked more like a grimace, but I’d take it. Leaning over the console between our seats, I pressed my lips to that angry pulse in his neck. He wound an arm tightly around my shoulders, kissing my temple. I tucked my face in between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. I loved the way he smelled: purely masculine.

“Do you smoke?”

It took a while before he answered. “Only when I’m really stressed out. It’s bad for my voice.”

I’d only smelled smoke on him twice. Now, and that first night at Lula’s, when he’d been waiting outside as he called. It gave me a little thrill to think he might have been worried about calling me. Maybe I hadn’t been such a foregone conclusion after all.

We drove a while in silence, until we hit Sunset Boulevard and started into the hills.

“So. Your house.” I sat back in my seat, but Nico kept his hand on the nape of my neck, gently squeezing. It was big and warm, and made me feel better.

“Yep. My house.”

“Where your bedroom is.”

Now his smile was genuine. I even got a flash of teeth. “Easy, Tiger. I’m not that kind of guy. You want me, you gotta work for it.”

Playing along, happy that his thunderstorm mood might be lifting, I pretended outrage. “But it’s our third date! You’re supposed to put out on the third date!”

His head snapped around. Above the aviators, his brows shot up. His smile couldn’t have been more brilliant. “Yeah? That how it works?”

Oh, s**t. Foot, meet mouth. I mentally flailed around, grasping at straws. “Uh . . . unless you follow Steve Harvey’s advice, which is that you shouldn’t give up the cookie for, like, ninety days.”

To his credit, he didn’t crash the car. He merely stared at me, those blue eyes burning me straight through his sunglasses.

I looked out the window, pretending to examine the view. When I heard Nico’s low chuckle, I knew I was in for it.

“Okay, darlin’. Game on. Consider your cookie safe for ninety days.”

My mouth fell open. Ninety days! He had to be joking! Only I had the terrible suspicion he wasn’t.

Commence Operation Backpedal.

“I mean, I’m not saying that I necessarily follow Steve Harvey’s advice. I’m just saying there are a few different schools of thought on the subject.”

“Hmm.” He slid his fingers down my arm, picking up my hand in his own. Then he looked at me over the rim of his sunglasses, and sucked my thumb into his mouth. He bit it, lightly, eyes twinkling with mischief.

Son of a b***h.

He must’ve read my dismayed expression, because he looked mighty pleased with himself. “No, I think Steve Harvey has it exactly right, Kat. Man knows what he’s talkin’ about. A girl can’t just be givin’ away her golden cookie to every dog that comes sniffin’ around. Gotta keep that cookie in the cookie jar. Keep it fresh, right?”

I retrieved my hand with as much dignity as I could muster. It was my turn to utter a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

Okay. If the game was on, I wasn’t about to lose. I was going for the gold. Even if it killed me.

I decided to change the subject by texting Chloe to make sure she and Grace were all right. She answered back that they were almost at her house, and Barney had promised to show her how to use his taser. I hoped Grace hadn’t been volunteered as the subject.

“Will Barney get in trouble for using a stun gun on that guy?”

Nico shook his head. “Barney’s ex–special ops. He knows the law inside and out, knows when he can reasonably plead self-defense and when he can’t. The guy he tasered took a few swings at him, which equals the former. Plus he’s in tight with the LAPD; he was a cop for a few years before he went into private security.”

“Oh. So he’s your bodyguard?”

Nico said quietly, “He’s my friend. He’s someone I trust implicitly.”

His tone hinted at mysteries, at tangled history and buried bodies and closets full of skeletons. More secrets. Worried again, I fingered the charm on the necklace he’d given me, wondering exactly what having Nico’s trust entailed.

I was lost in thought for the remainder of the drive. When we pulled up to a stainless steel gate at the end of a long cul-de-sac, the gate swung open on silent hinges, and we began to climb a steep gravel road lined with huge Italian cypresses. It went on for what seemed like forever, until finally we crested the top of a hill.

There sat Nico’s house, a sprawling compound of glass and stone, perched right on the steep hillside so it seemed suspended in air.

I was flabbergasted. He actually did live in a cloud castle.

The views stretched all the way from Malibu to downtown LA. The city was laid out beneath us, vast and shimmering in the morning light. Far off in the distance on the winking blue Pacific, I caught a glimpse of the Channel Islands. I’d never seen anything quite as spectacular.

“Welcome to the Shack.”

Awed, I laughed in disbelief. “Yeah, it’s very shack-like. So small, and ugly. You poor thing.”

Nico’s voice grew dark. “It’s a lot different from the trailer I grew up in, that’s for sure.” His face clouded with memory. After a moment, he shook it off. “So. I expect you’ll wanna see my bedroom first. Get that outta the way, since you won’t be spendin’ any time in there for the next three months.”

I stuck out my tongue. He laughed. He got out of the car, retrieved my bag from the backseat, then strolled around to my side and opened my door, grinning and so cocksure I had to roll my eyes.