Wicked Burn (Realm Enforcers #3)(44)

“Protect Simone. She can never know,” Viv whispered. “God help me, the world can never know.” With those last words, Vivienne succumbed to the illness and became quiet.

Simone felt her mother’s pulse, gratified it was slow but steady. Her mind flared with possibilities, and her breath quickened. Evil? What in the world had Viv been hiding for so many years?

It was time to find out.





Nick finished carting in the manila files pertaining to Simone’s trial, more than happy to be staying at Viv’s secondary location. Simone had emerged from meeting with her mother pale and distracted, and she’d gone to shower in the guest bedroom after making an odd and frantic call to Bear, who hadn’t answered.

The Guards stationed around the house were placed well, and Nick had called in favors from a couple of friends who were also standing watch. Nobody was getting through him to harm either woman, so now he could concentrate on the trial and determining who wanted the Nine brought down so badly. The plan had taken decades to put into motion, so it could be anybody.

For now, his woman had brooded long enough, and it was past supper time. She needed to eat to regain her strength.

He left the files in the spacious kitchen and wandered through the bedroom, stopping at hearing a splash from the guest bathroom. A nudge to the bathroom door opened it enough to see Simone up to her neck in bubbles, her eyes closed.

Worry pinched her mouth, and her cheeks weren’t nearly pink enough for someone enjoying a heated bath. While she might not wish to share her concerns with him, he could at the very least take her out of her head for a moment.

The fact that she hadn’t heard him enter when she should be on full alert also concerned him. They’d work on that issue next.

He crossed into the room, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Her eyelids opened halfway. “What are you doing?”

He held her gaze and dropped his shirt to the ground, reaching for his belt buckle.

Awareness filled her eyes. There it was. Protest came next.

Ah. The woman was feeling vulnerable, was she? He knew her, and he knew her well. The second she turned vulnerable, she shut everyone out. Or at least she tried to do so. It wasn’t easy with family, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be easy with him.

Not any longer.

“Nick, I’m not in the mood.” Her voice came out woodenly and so forcibly calm it made him grit his teeth.

“I am.” He shucked his pants.

“Too bad.” She shut her eyes again.

Not the response he wanted to see. Not at all. “Well then. There are a couple of different ways this could happen.”

“Just a couple?” Sarcasm laced her tone.

Good. Sarcasm was a start. “Yes.”

She opened her eyes again, those dark orbs starting to glimmer a little with emotion. Curiosity or irritation, he couldn’t tell. “Go away.”

“I’m done doing that.”

“Excuse me?”

“I went away for a century, and now I’m done doing that. I truly don’t like repeating myself, Simone.” He allowed his own frustration to echo in his tone.

“Then go talk to your damn self in the other room.” She slid farther down into the rose-scented bubbles.

Oh, he needed to be gentle when all he wanted was to plaster her ass with his handprint. But the lesson she need to learn, at least this time, was that she couldn’t push him away. Not again. “What upset you so when you spoke with your mother?”

“Nothing.”

“You sound like a spoiled teenager. Stop pouting and tell me the truth.” He was rapidly losing his hold on both his good intentions and his temper.

“My life is none of your business.” Her breath blew bubbles away.

A hurt, surprising in its sharpness, bladed through his chest. “Do you really mean that?”

She didn’t answer.

Damn it all to hell. If she really didn’t want him, he’d leave. But she not only wanted him, she needed him, and that was the f*cking problem. Simone Brightston, because of the odd way she was raised, wouldn’t allow herself to need anybody. It was a good damn thing he was such an expert in strategy, now, wasn’t it? “You are the biggest brat I’ve ever met,” he said slowly.

She gasped and sat up. “You just called me a brat?”

“Yes. You’re not even at bitch level at the moment, Simone. You’re a whiny, pouty, sarcastic brat.”

Fire lit her eyes. Finally. She glanced around, somewhat frantically, for anything to throw.

“Only brats throw things.” He reached for the waist of his boxers.

“You take those off, and I’ll burn your cock right from your body.”

He paused. She wasn’t kidding. “You create one ounce of a flame, and I’ll be in your head forcing you to orgasm before you can throw.” He dropped the cotton to the ground.

She stood then, splashing water. Bubbles slid down her fit body in a scene so erotic he’d remember the picture forever. Too bad she was furious.

Fire crackled on her hands.

He lunged, wrapping an arm around her waist and tossing her to the carpet, landing square on top of her.

She gaped at him, looking up, her body a slippery mass against his. “What in the world is wrong with you?”

“You.” He grasped her arms and pulled them above her head. His surprise move had snuffed her fire for now. “From day one, you are my only damn weakness, and nowadays I have more worries than I can count.” Maybe if he admitted his, she’d do the same.