In the Shadows (The Club, #10) (2 page)

"I'll take kitchen then. I know how much you love working the counter," Lisa teased.

Vivian quickly ran Lisa through the day's list and headed out front. In the darkness of the morning, a surge of possessive pride welled up. She loved her bakery and all the hard work it stood for. The street lamps outside threw glittering light over all the glass, from the pane windows to the counter that displayed the baked goods she cooked every day. She hummed to herself and took down chairs from the tables, appreciating the way the rich red cushions offset the stainless steel and wood tables she'd had custom built by a friend.

She rechecked the coffee bar and headed behind the counter. With Lisa's help, they filled the case to brimming with a wide variety of delicious treats, most of them local favorites. She got the coffee brewing, filling the carafes as it finished, and glanced at the clock. About time to open. The regulars would be showing up any time.

Like clockwork, Mr. Di Pasqua waited near the door at 5:45. He smiled at her when she unlocked the front door for him and held it open. The tapping of his cane on the tiles was a familiar sound that continued to reminder her all was right with the world.

"The usual, Mr. Di Pasqua?"

"Please."

Vivian smiled as he hobbled his way toward his usual table. Every day, the same routine. A cup of coffee, black. A cornetto, filled with a light custard. A napkin and a smile.

Mr. Di Pasqua had refused to move into an assisted living home when his wife passed away; he wanted to live out the rest of his days in the neighborhood they'd made a life in. Vivian loved the romance of that choice. Maybe someday she'd find her own true love and, if she was lucky, he'd be as devoted as her favorite customer.

The old man handed over his money when she brought him the coffee and simple white plate that held his breakfast. Like every morning, he leaned in and took a deep whiff of the pastry, sighing in contentment. "Just like my nonni's."

Yes, there was safety in routine, Vivian told herself as she began to serve the steady stream of customers. She gave each of these people some of that stability she'd always loved so much growing up. The familiar tart burst of blueberries in a fresh muffin, the buttery sweetness of shortbread, the scent of coffee and fresh bread wafting outside onto the street every time the door opened or closed.
Those
were things her customers could count on.

Just like you're beginning to count on seeing those letters every morning
, a quiet part of her whispered.

She ignored it. Later, once Natalie was here, she'd finally be able to go back into her tiny broom closet of an office and read the damn thing. Only then would she know if she'd need to make another trip downtown to the police station or not. Until that moment though, there was no point getting distracted by it. There was too much work to do and too many people counting on her to let her creepy admirer ruin her day.

"C
ome on, man," John said, his voice loud from the phone's speaker. "What do you mean you can't come?"

"I'm sorry," Zeke apologized as he got out of his Charger and locked it, hefting his duffel more comfortably over his shoulder. "But I've got shit to take care of and then I'm back at work."

"Look, Harding, I'm serious about this one. She's incredible. I want you to meet her."

Zeke grinned and headed toward the building the Suits used as their base of operations. He was working a swing shift tonight, heading in now so he could leave early in the morning and catch a few hours of sleep before driving out to meet his dad and mom. He would willingly kill a man if he could get out of that cheery family reunion and go hang out with his former brother-in-arms John Walsh, but Preston had already approved the shift swap. There was no way out.

John must have sensed the coming argument. “We’ve been together for months now and you still haven’t had a single day off to meet her. She’s starting to think you don’t exist.”

Zeke laughed. "Look, I promise I'll meet the girl. We'll go out to dinner, make a night of it."

John sighed deeply, but there wasn't any true irritation in it. "Fine," he grumbled.

"Talk to you later, brother."

The jingle of keys hitting the pavement drew his attention. He shouldn't have looked. Every visceral, possessive, horny-as-fuck, alpha instinct rose with a vengeance. The sweet curve of her ass made his groin tighten. He fought down the groan that rose unbidden. Fecking hell, it had been far too long since he'd thrust into a woman's welcoming heat, feeling her pussy tighten around him. Standing here ogling a perfect—or at least, perfect assed—stranger was proof of that.

As if she could feel his eyes on her, the woman straightened, keys dangling from her fingers, and glanced over her shoulder.

There was no goddamn way.

It was her. The woman who owned Divine Twins Bakery. She'd been torturing him for months. They always seemed to cross paths and it was wearing him down. She arrived at work when he was leaving. The first time he'd seen her a few months ago even that wide expanse of pavement between sidewalks hadn't been enough distance.

Like the scents wafting from her bakery, she was something special. Adorably short, with curves in all the right places, pale skin, and long dark hair, she was a walking temptation. It had been okay when she'd keep her head down, only trying to catch glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye. At least then he'd been able to pretend too. Then, two months ago, after a really shitty night, he'd been stupid enough to actually look at her. To appreciate the delicate, gauzy scarf she'd wrapped around her neck that day, and the way she'd pulled her hair up. He'd looked and she'd been ballsy enough to wave.

From that moment, it was all over.

Now he couldn't
not
acknowledge her presence. He couldn't ignore her and pretend he wasn't interested to see exactly what her body would look like spread out on the sheets of his bed. What she'd sound like as he fucked her until she saw stars and screamed his name to the rafters.

Tonight they'd swapped roles. She was heading home for the night and he was heading to work. The street lamps had just come on, so it wasn't like he could see her face any better than normal. For some reason, he wished he could see it, that she'd finally get a good look at him. He wanted her to remember him.

She was paler than the last time he’d seen her, but skin color could easily look different in the dusky light of nightfall. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, tight, and she clutched an envelope in one hand. That was kind of weird, especially since her purse was on her shoulder and she could have easily tucked the letter into it. Instead, she held it by the corner, as if she were loath to touch it. Maybe it was a bill or final notice of some kind?

Why did he care? He didn't even know her name.

She gave a tentative finger wiggle and he returned it with his customary nod. It was odd to watch her cast her eyes downward and hurry off. Usually they both walked slowly, trying to sneak peeks when they could before the moment was over.

Whatever. He mentally shook himself, trying to shed the distracting thoughts that ricocheted around his skull. A quick thumb scan, a punched in security code, and the door into the Suits' base opened.

Like always, he was the earliest there. The other guys were never late, but Zeke preferred to avoid the usual locker room chatter. He changed quickly, storing his civvies and duffel bag in his locker, and tried hard to forget the quick glimpse he'd caught of his back. His normal routine was planned to help him avoid mirrors, but tonight he hadn't quite stepped far enough to the side to miss one.

Stupid bakery woman's fault. Such a frigging distraction.

His Sigs were comfortable weights at his side. He checked his harnesses one final time, making sure no straps were twisted, and smoothed his shirt and vest. After he swung on his jacket, he checked for telltale signs of his concealed carry. Content he met his own high standards of professionalism, he clocked in and headed down the underground hallway that connected the staff quarters to The Club proper.

One quick shift and then home again, home again. Hoo-fucking-ray.

***

V
ivian was beat. It had taken her forever to get home last night thanks to a botched fondant on a retirement cake. At least she'd been able to fix it and finally leave Divine Twins. By then though, it was much later than usual and she'd had the unnerving suspicion that someone was watching her. The discovery of another envelope stuck in the door confirmed her worst suspicion and had sent that now-familiar frisson down her spine, leaving her cold and shaking. She'd grabbed it from the door, only to fumble her keys and drop them. When she'd finally looked up, she'd seen him.

Shadow Man. Her strange guardian angel who always seemed to be leaving work in one of the ancient, beautifully designed buildings across the street whenever she was showing up to her bakery. When he was out, no strangers hung around. She never felt nervous around him. If anything, it was like he was protecting her under the umbrella of his own fuck-off attitude.

The guy stuck to the solitude and anonymity the antique wrought-iron street lamps afforded during the still-dark hours of the morning. He was the only man who could send an electric shiver over her skin with just a flick of his eyes. It wouldn't have mattered if there were ten streets between them, the base carnality that seeped from his skin would still set her on fire. She refused to let him see how much he affected her, so she'd waved like always and hurried off.

It was stupid to admit she'd spent most of the night scissoring the sheets of her bed while dreams of his face between her legs, his tongue teasing her clit, his breath hot against her thighs, kept her from her rest. All the sleeplessness of an erotic one-night stand, but none of the release.

So far, this morning hadn’t been much better. Throw in Yvette's continued illness, Lisa's running late due to a missed school bus, and Vivian was barely holding together her sanity. Then the coffee had run out and she'd finally had a break and for some weird reason there wasn't a letter waiting for her upon her arrival...

"Excuse me–?"

Vivian jerked at the question, scattering coffee grounds across the counter. Perfect.
Breathe
, she reminded herself.
Don’t let the stress get to you. There are customers to help.
A sneaky part of her added,
Customers with sexy Irish accents.

“Sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The rough, deep voice tugged low in her belly. She ignored the mess and looked over her shoulder with a cheery, albeit fake, grin in place. "Not a problem," she promised. “How can I help y-?" Her voice trailed off when she met the blue eyes of the man standing near the cash register.

Speak of the devil and he shall be summoned. Shadow Man.

She’d never seen him clearly before. She’d simply known him by his silent confidence and intimidating size. She’d spent months wondering what he actually looked like, what the blackness of the shadows hid from her. Now she knew.

Her mouth dried at the sight of him. His dark blond hair was on the verge of a pompadour, a bastardization of a military buzz cut and modern style. A tight black t-shirt under a worn black leather jacket showed a chiseled physique, one cut from heavy, functional muscle. Soft, worn, pale jeans hung from his hips, leading down to a pair of worn black shitkickers. He wasn’t beautiful. His jaw was too square, nose too straight, lips too strong, and shoulders far, far too broad to fit that word.

No, definitely not beautiful. Powerful. Primeval. A man who was probably only a step more advanced than ancient warriors who were as likely to kill as to claim a prize.

His eyes searched her face, their intensity sending a lance of heat through her. Just a look left her wet and shifting awkwardly behind the counter. She hadn’t reacted this strongly to a man in...well, in forever. And in this close of proximity, she was a goner for sure.

A pale eyebrow raised and the corner of his mouth quirked, as if he knew what inappropriate thoughts were running through her head.

“Sorry,” she croaked. “How can I help you?”

“One of my mates said you have soda bread for sale.”

Thank God. An excuse to refocus on her work instead of him. “It’s a good thing you got here early,” she said, moving toward that section of the display case. “I usually sell out in the mornings, especially at the beginning of the week. How many do you want?”

“Just one.”

One? So...no one to share it with?
“Are you sure? They’re pretty good.”

His leather jacket stretched over his back as he bent to look in the case. She crouched from her side, watching him through the clean glass. His eyes were slightly narrowed, focused on the carefully crafted individual loaves dotted with either raisins or currants. His jaw tightened, lips flattening, and her pulse fluttered. Surely a man that good looking would have someone to share with.

She couldn’t resist finding out. “I bet your girlfriend would appreciate you bringing her breakfast.”

That got a reaction. Their gazes met through the case and his smirk would have set her panties on fire if they hadn’t already been soaked.

“Subtle,” he said. The sarcasm lacing the word was sharp, but his next words softened the blow. “There’s no girlfriend in the picture.”

“Oh.”
Great, Vivian, because that phrase totally hides how freakishly nosy you are.
“Then how about a second loaf for later? One of each?”

He chuckled, the sound little more than a rumble in his chest, and shook his head. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope.” She ignored the spark of pleasure that came from having his attention focused on her and quickly bagged two of the freshest loaves. “Want a coffee to go with that?”

“It looks like you’re out.”

She waved her hand. “I was just getting the next batch on when you spoke up. Won’t take more than a few minutes.”

She was positive he’d turn her down. Everything about him screamed that he wasn’t the kind of man who sat around waiting for things to happen. So she was surprised when he shrugged and reached toward the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet.