Chasing the Fall (Naughty and Spice)

Five

Bran

This job is almost worth the expression on Tallulah’s face. Priceless.

Until she swings the door open, that is, almost braining me with it. I jerk back just in time to prevent being concussed.

“What the hell, Tallulah?”

She scrambles from the vehicle, some kind of sexy muscle car, to stand before me with her hands on her hips. “What the hell? I’ll give you what the hell, you overgrown…big…giant,” she trails off lamely, perhaps noticing for the first time that her head barely comes up to my pecs, and I could easily break her in half. “And don’t you dare call me Tallulah. It’s been Twiggy forever. Thanks to you, I might add.”

She’s still tiny, maybe five whole feet and a buck-twenty soaking wet. But unlike the twig I dubbed her years back, Tallulah Gentry is anything but a skinny stick these days. She’s still petite and delicate of bone structure, but that frame has filled out with compact, dangerous curves. Her hair has grown out from the boyish pixie cut she used to wear, into thick, shiny locks that sweep to one side, even tucked beneath a striped beanie. No one can mistake her for a boy anymore, that’s for sure.

Despite the changes, though, that’s still Twig shooting lasers my way like a pissed-off fairy with a lightsaber.

“Nah. You’re not a twig anymore. Look at Tinkerbell, all grown up,” I murmur.

She glares. “Look at the Incredible Hulk, still a child.” The retort comes immediately, and I can’t help but grin. She was always quick like that.

“Still a mouthy little brat, I see.”

“Still a jackass, can confirm.”

Inwardly, I rub my palms together. This was going to be fun. Outwardly, I frown and take a step closer. “What’s wrong with your car?”

“Flat tire.”

She crosses her arms over her chest as I scan the tires and find the culprit, then walk over to take a look. I see in seconds that it’s no happenstance flat and let out a low whistle. “Someone took a blade to this.”

“Duh.”

I straighten and jerk a thumb toward my ride. “C’mon. We can come back in the morning and take care of your car when it’s light out.”

“I’m not leaving Kitty.”

“Kitty?”

She runs a hand across the top of the doorframe. “My Hellcat.”

I run a hand across the back of my neck. minutes in, and she’s already being a pain in my ass.

“What?”

Did I say that out loud? “I’m not changing a tire in the dark, Tallulah. Get in the truck.”

“Who said I needed you to change my tire? And stop with the Tallulah shit!” She pops the trunk and strides to the back of the car. “Just stand there and look pretty, big guy. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”

Pick your battles.

Pick your fucking battles.

With a growl, I move to the trunk. Tallulah is in my way, so I very gently pick her up by the biceps and set her to the side. “Go wait in my truck. I’m not letting you change the tire while I’m fucking here.”

She eyes me for a second, then shrugs. “If you insist.”

I strum my fingers over the short beard I’ve been wearing since summer ended and watch as she plucks a box of…pastries?…from the front seat and sashays across the road to my truck. I can’t help but feel like I’ve just been skillfully manipulated. Shaking my head, I set about changing her tire.

I don’t like doing something like this in the dark. It divides my attention and puts my back to potential danger. I work quickly, every sense attuned to the night around me. When a car passes, slowing briefly, I stand and watch until its taillights disappear.

Fifteen minutes and a few hundred cunts, fucks, and fucking cunts later, the task is complete. I wipe my hands on my jeans and head to my truck.

Tallulah is thumbing through something on her phone and eating—

“Fucking donuts? You’re eating donuts while I change your tire?”

She turns guileless blue eyes on me. “I’d offer you one, but they’re mine.”

“You’re lucky I’m here to protect you and not murder you.” I slide behind the wheel, trying not to breathe too deeply of her scent, something sweet but with a spicy edge… I shift in my seat, my jeans suddenly tight. “You’re all set. I’ll follow you.”

“Thank you.”

I grunt in reply and track her across the road and into her car, waiting until she starts it up and drives away to turn the truck around and follow her.

Tallulah lives in a small apartment attached to the three-car garage behind the main house. She’s already out of her car and walking to the door, arms full of donuts and her bag and her head down searching for her house key, when I pull in behind her.

Basically, everything you shouldn’t be doing when you need to be aware of your surroundings.

Mother Mary, help me. I close my eyes briefly and follow, scanning the perimeter as I do.

Inside, I close and lock the door behind us. She has a deadbolt and a metal door, so she’s at least somewhat secure there. Her curtains are wide open, though, which means anyone outside can see the interior of her home plain as day. I yank them closed.

“Hey! Be careful with those!”

I slant a look in her direction that very clearly says fuck around and find out. “You need a keeper, Tallulah.”

“Excuse me?”

With a sigh, I sink into her couch. “You got out of your car and didn’t once look around to assess the area. You had your head down, keys not at the ready. Your curtains were wide open, giving any Stan the Stalker a perfect view.” Her mouth opens and closes, and my gaze snags on a bit of chocolate at the corner of her lips. “And you eat too much sugar.”

She pinches her lips together, but not before her tongue darts out to whisk away the crumb of icing. “Okay, Dad. I’m going to bed. You can do…” she waves her hand airily. “Whatever it is you bodyguards do. Couch is yours.”

“Couch?” Dad!? I’m only…seven...years older than her? I’m not sure. “And I’m thirty-fucking-two, brat.”

“You’re fucking ancient. Is that gray I see in your beard?” She moves behind a half partition that divides her bedroom from the rest of the small studio. “And yes, couch. As you are so observant, you no doubt noticed that there’s only one bed.”

I did notice; I was just hoping another would magically appear. One of those numbers that unfolds from the wall, maybe. I eye the couch, which is about a foot too short for my frame.

“Fuck.”

Tallulah’s apartment is too fucking small. I shift for what feels like the thousandth time on her couch, trying to keep from rolling off onto the floor. My feet hang off the end, and I can’t help but remember when I was a kid and used to be afraid of some nebulous something hiding under the bed.

You never let your feet hang over the edge.

I’m not afraid of monsters anymore, but the couch is still too fucking small. Everything is too small… I feel like I’m coming out of my own skin.

One thing is certain: we are not staying here any length of time. We’ll either move into Brodie’s house, or I’ll take her, kicking and screaming if I have to, back to Philly.

More minutes tick by, and it’s obvious I’m not going to get any sleep. I’ll do a stroll around the perimeter and make sure all is well, then maybe…I don’t know. Make some hot fucking milk or something. I sit up and pull my boots on, then stand and grab my gun from the coffee table, making sure the safety is engaged before I tuck it into my jeans.

Safety first.

Tallulah’s key rests on the counter that divides the kitchen from the rest of the space. I pick it up and let myself out, locking the door carefully behind me before tucking the key in my pocket. Outside, the night is chilly but not as quiet as I imagined it would be here in the country. It’s alive with a different sort of music from Philly…the wind rattling through dry leaves, the distant bark of a dog, an answering yip from a coyote or fox.

I listen to it all, orienting myself, and then begin to walk around the apartment. Motion lights blink on as I round each corner, making me give a mental nod to Brodie. He didn’t waste time making sure the place was secure, even from an international flight. On the wall facing the back of the property, a window is boarded over—the one Thurston attempted to break through the other night, no doubt. I’ll see about getting that properly fixed tomorrow.

Satisfied that everything is safe, I retrace my steps and let myself back in, bending to untie and toe off my boots after I’ve closed and locked the door behind me. I’ve barely straightened when the air displaces with a rush of movement, and I fling my hand up instinctively to catch a wooden bat in mid-swing.

“Damnit, Tallulah—”

“Bran?”

I wrench the bat away and toss it to the side, then grab her and haul her over my shoulder. She beats at my back with her fists and kicks out with her legs, but the blows are no more annoying than a mosquito buzzing around. “See how easy that was? Never use a weapon you don’t have complete control over. I could take you right out of here, and then where would you be?”

“Put me down, you…jackass…brute…!” Voice breathless, Tallulah rears up in an effort to gain leverage, but it’s impossible with my forearm banded around her thighs.

I slap her ass hard with the flat of my hand. “Pipe down.”

She shrieks and redoubles her efforts, and I carry her to her bed and toss her down. She bounces once and starts to sit, pushing the hair out of her face. “That was completely uncalled for—”

I don’t want to hear it. I follow her down, pinning her onto the mattress with ridiculous, frightening ease. Tallulah bucks against me once and then goes still, her hands clenching on the shirt covering my chest. “Or they could do this right here,” I say, trying to sound stern. My voice comes out husky, though, filled with something I don’t want to identify.

My body is reacting, though I try to sternly will it into obedience.

“Get off me.”

“Do you understand the point I’m trying to make?”

Her cheeks are flushed with twin spots of red, and she’s breathing hard. Her gaze fixes on my chin. “I said get off.”

Lifting myself off of her a scant inch or two, I let my gaze travel down her body, deliberately infusing it with predatory intent. “They could do this right here—” In a swift movement, I grab and shackle her wrists with one hand above her head, and then I trail the back of the other down the side of her torso, brushing the side of her breast softly and ending at the hem of her T-shirt, tangled around her waist.

I pause for a beat, lifting my eyes to Tallulah’s. “They could do this…” With excruciating slowness, I lift the hem of her shirt, allowing my knuckles to graze the hollow of her flat belly and the delicate structure of her ribcage. Her eyes widen, her lips part, and suddenly, it’s not anger I’m reading in her expression.

It’s arousal.

I swallow hard, my hand wrapping around and my fingers flexing into the curve of her torso. The lust I’d been trying to hold at bay slams into me with the force of a locomotive, hard and punishing.

Too far! Danger, Will Robinson!

“You’re a bully,” Tallulah whispers, a frown creasing her brow. Within my grip, the pulse in her wrist beats a frantic rhythm.

Without another word, I lever myself off her and move to the couch. “We’re moving somewhere with more space tomorrow,” I say when I’m in control of myself, the words flat and brooking no protest.

That can’t happen again. She’s off-limits, the Boss’s baby cousin. I don’t even know how it happened, how the chronic irritation she inspires turned so swiftly to desire.

All I know is that she’s forbidden fruit, and if I value my life, I’ll do as Kael said and keep my hands to myself.