Incendiary (47 page)

Unable to hold back, I come in a hot stream, her hands still imprisoned and my heart irrevocably enraptured.

Five days have gone by since Sloane beat Kiln to a pulp and I regained enough confidence to initiate lovemaking. As he confronted me about Kiln and, later, I watched him with Bryn, I remembered the mutual attraction that first brought us together. Not only is he my husband and friend, but my lover, too. I trusted him with my heart, I could trust him with my desire and not worry that if I went to him for sex, he’d see every little flaw in my post-pregnancy body. Sloane is still Sloane and I’m still me. Our passion for each other hasn’t abated.

My shooting had spooked him, though, and my issues with sex before then had thrown him off-kilter. Sloane was accustomed to easy sex from whoever. He needed me to go to him and he needed to feel desired and wanted. He needed to feel like
my
man. All it took was a first move and I knew Sloane would take over.

Our lovemaking worked out well, but he’s still so pissed he doesn’t want Kiln in the same house as me, despite Jaeger’s pleas and Rand’s demands that Sloane allow Kiln back on his team. His ‘or else’ doesn’t faze Sloane at all. We’re seven days away from
Eureka
aka the release of Rand’s drunken confession to Steffie’s death.

Grandma calls out of the blue and informs me of her last minute plans to visit me. She sounds horrible, not at all like the woman I know.

Sloane leaves early in the morning for rehearsals. Grandma misses him by about five minutes. I decide not to ruin his day with the news of her impending arrival. Abby and I tear through the house to clean up while Bryn amuses herself in her swing. I take breaks to feed and change her. At one in the afternoon, Abby walks into the den where I’m stretched out on the sofa, almost too tired to lift my head. I’ve been working since seven this morning.

This is a big fucking house.

“Georgie,” Abby calls.

“What?” I mumble, my cheek against the soft cushion of the sofa.

“Helen wants me to pick her up from the airport.”

My eyes fly open. “
What?
” Is Grandma planning to have Abby killed and her body hidden along the way to the house? “No way!”

She wiggles her phone beneath my nose and I grab it, sitting up with a sigh. Sure enough Grandma has texted Abby. “She wants you to bring Bryn?” I ask in confusion, pressing the screen to check the sender, verifying that it is, in fact, my grandmother’s phone number.

Abby has been acting strangely for weeks, but it seems to have worsened since my shooting. When I ask her about it, she always brushes it off and claims as much as she loves me, working is a new experience for her.

“What should I do?” she presses now.

“Let me call my grandmother.”

Of course, Grandma doesn’t pick up.

As I dial a third time, a message comes through to me.

Grandma:
I only want to spend time with my great-granddaughter. I promise you I’m not taking her away.

As I wrestle with the shock that Grandma is texting, I realize the thought of anyone taking Bryn away from me hadn’t crossed my mind. Grandma’s lost in her grief too, and it’s allowing her to do things she’d once deemed unmannerly. Namely, text messaging instead of phone calls. It pains me to admit part of
my
change of heart about Bryn is also because my mom is gone. She was the one who would’ve been happiest with Bryn taken from me. Familiar sorrow and hurt hits me, the same I’ve experienced whenever I think of Mom. Mom’s death aside, Sloane would never allow any of Grandma’s diabolical plans.

Me:
Why Abby?

Grandma:
I need to discuss a private matter with her.

Me:
I think she’ll be there, but Bryn won’t. I don’t have time to get to the airport and still cook the evening meal.

Okay,
try
to cook, not that she needs full disclosure. My suspicions over Grandma’s sudden desire to have Bryn and Abby to herself destroy any chance that I’ll sleep and catch my second wind.

My phone beeps again.

Grandma:
I requested Bryn and Abby, Georgiana. Not you.

Um, right.

Grandma:
Please, dear. I just need this bonding time with the little one, as I discuss what I must with Abigail.

Me:
Fine
. My fingers fly over the letters and I press
send
before I change my mind.

For the next three hours, I vacillate between keeping Bryn with me and allowing her to go. To divert my worry, I call Zelda and ask her to walk me through my very ambitious menu.

“Thanks, Zelda,” I say as I place the stuffed flounder in the oven. My red potatoes are quartered and boiled, waiting to be sautéed with the garlic and asparagus, as Zelda instructed and the shrimp salad is ready to be scooped onto the avocados. “I hope I did it right.”

“I’m sure you did, Georgie. Call me if you need any more instructions. Don’t forget to put lemon juice over the avocados if you peel them any time soon.”

“I remember.”

“You’ll do just fine for your first dinner party.”

She always has faith in me. Smiling as I hang up, I glimpse the clock and frown.

By the time Abby is ready to leave, I’ve swung to allowing Bryn to go, as long as the remaining security detail accompany her. I don’t want to antagonize my grandmother. Sloane will jump in and then Rand. Then, major bullshit will start. I have a full security detail. It’s easier to send them with Bryn and Abby than to keep my daughter home and start another battle in the war already raging in our families.

Because there won’t be room in one SUV for Grandma, Abby, Bryn in her car seat, and five bodyguards, they strap Bryn into the vehicle with Abby and Jason, while the other men go in the second.

The quietness of the house is totally creepy and my imagination runs wild. The place is secluded with foliage surrounding it and a trail that leads to a cliff. Perfect spot for a killer to chop me to pieces and throw away my body parts.

Nice, Georgie.

Heaving in a breath, I count to three, pull in air through my nose, until I calm myself, repeating in my head that this is a perfectly safe place. No time like the present to experience being alone in a house for the first time in my life.

Oh my God. For real?

Yeah, Georgie. For real.

Even when I was locked in that room and even when Grandma kept me secluded, I always knew at least two or three staff members were in residence. The guys didn’t hire any staff and since I arrived I didn’t think to, although Sloane wouldn’t have refused me.

This is fucking insane.

Grumpy now that I’ve realized I’m conditioned to not being alone, I’m determined to overcome this fear. Ignoring the creepiness, I clean up the huge mess I’ve made in the kitchen. Halfway through, the doorbell rings and I scowl, irritated at the interruption.

When I look through the door viewer, I cry out in surprise. Crowell stands there, the breeze blowing through his hair. It’s imperative to get rid of him like five minutes ago, but I swing open the door and hug him, genuinely happy to see him.

“Hey, George,” he greets me, kissing my forehead and walking into the house. He’s handsome but in no way comparable to Sloane.

“What are you doing here?” I gush, almost hugging him again. His life is in jeopardy with the cameras everywhere.

“I was in the neighborhood,” he teases with a snicker.

“Silly!” Rocking back on my heels, I poke him and giggle. “Who gave you my address to this house? You know the one where I live with Sloane. He’s going to gut you for coming here.”

Face darkening, Crowell stomps around me toward the den and sits on the sofa. “Fuck him. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Sighing, I sink down near him, keeping the distance of the middle cushion between us. I need to jump into the shower and wash the sweat of cleaning and cooking away. “We are and we’ll always be. But Sloane’s my husband and I love him. I have to respect his wishes.”

Crowell’s face falls and I fold my arms so I won’t offer comfort out of habit. He taught me to make him feel good whenever I was in his company and he was sad. He lays his head back on the sofa. Memories rush back to me at his heavy-lidded contemplation. It embarrasses me now to think of the way I sucked his dick and the reasons for it. There’s more to me than cocksucking in exchange for a high. Crowell helped me through a dark time and I’ll be forever grateful, but Sloane and I share an unbreakable bond, our friendship so much deeper than what Crowell ever offered me.

“I’m sorry, George,” he whispers, scooting next to me and caressing my cheek. “I’ve just missed you.” He heaves in a breath. “God, I love you,” he whispers and indicates the rise in his pants. “I can’t even look at you without getting a hard dick.”

“You’ve got to leave.” I never thought I’d be in a position where I’d have to put out the man I once considered my only friend, but I won’t allow him to disrespect my husband. Sexual talk is
very
disrespectful.

Crowell’s blue eyes harden and unease slides into me. The day he hit me comes to mind.

“We’re friends,” I hurry on. “Our sexual relationship is over. You’re a very good man.”

Glaring at me, he gets to his feet.

My heart rate accelerates and I lower my lashes, giving him the submission he expects.

He’s not high. I know him well enough to be certain of that. When he’d so violently shoved and slapped me, he’d snorted a lot of coke, popped speed, and guzzled alcohol. I had so much drugs in my system, I didn’t feel the pain of his hit until later.

“I have…Grandma is expected,” I tell him, standing so I won’t be at such a disadvantage. “I need to finish cleaning the kitchen.”

“Look at me.”

His quiet menace makes me instantly obey. He raises his hand and I lift mine to shield my face.

He takes another step toward me and I back up again, trembling at his balled fists.

“I forgave you for hitting me the way you did. You still make me nervous when you look at me with that anger, so stop. Okay?”

“Why did you let me in if you’re afraid of me?”

“I was happy to see you. I didn’t even consider what had happened between us.” My responses appease him and he shoves his hands in his pockets, further away but still too close to me.

“The security cameras feed into our phones. Someone from the detail will see it and tell on you.” Maybe Sloane himself. If he has his alerts on, all he has to do is accept it and look at his screen to see what’s happening via the camera feed. On the other hand, he assumes my detail is here.

Crowell’s eyes narrow. “I’m a grown fucking man. There’s no
‘telling on me.’
This is a free fucking country. I can go where the fuck I want to.”

“But this is private property,” I counter.

“Oh, baby, if you only knew.”

He smirks at me and looks around the room as if he owns it. He lifts a brow and my heart sinks. Nausea invades me. “Yours, right?”

Triumph lights his eyes and he nods. “Rand and I developed a friendship. When the band headed here, he suggested to Jaeger a rental. Here it is. His way of keeping tabs on his hothead of a son. He hoped to get a little action with him between the sheets with some slut. Ammunition to keep him in line.” His mouth twists. “Nothing. Not one fucking slut, until the biggest one of all arrived.” Grabbing me, he hits me, stunning me enough that he has easy leverage to spit on me, push me into the wall, and spit in my face again.

“Disgusting fuckhead,” I snarl, feinting right when he lunges left and wiping away the spit on my cheek and forehead with the back of my hand. My feet slap against the kitchen as I head toward the alarm system. Not knowing who it’ll summon and not caring, I press the call button at the bottom. Crowell charges me, allowing me no time to see if I’ll get a response.