Devil You Know (Lost Boys Book 1)(44)

Again I adopted the no worries attitude and tried to enjoy the beauty around us. We left the picnic basket near a tree. I had even brought a blanket. I didn't think for a minute that Damian would sit on the blanket under a tree sharing a meal with me, but I planned on being comfortable.

"Anton mentioned you ran a team of ex-soldiers, a security firm in the private sector. How did that come about?"

I hadn't expected him to answer and was pleasantly surprised when he did. "After I resigned my commission I needed a livelihood. I've got the gym and that helps but not enough to build a life on. The only things I'm good at are fighting, fixing cars and running ops. The military has been a part of my life since I was eighteen years old and like a lot of guys, I felt displaced when my career was over. There's money to be made in the private sector for men with our skill sets and it helps with adapting to life outside of the military."

I didn't want to think about the ops he ran, I had convinced myself he was out of danger when he left the military, but that wasn't the case and it was scary to think about. His claim of being only good at a few things was bullshit, but telling him that would be a waste of time.

"What about you? I knew art was your passion, but what made you decide to focus on graphic design?"

"I'm not limited in my medium or the scope. I can work marketing campaigns, book covers, technical drawings for architects and I get to choose the work and the client."

"Your work is beautiful."

I turned to find him watching me. "You've seen my work?"

I wouldn't say he was embarrassed, but he was definitely off-balance when he confessed, "I own every book you've worked on."

Love washed over me. "You do? How did you know?"

A little grin tugged at his mouth. "Cam. I haven't read them, but I own them."

His clarification made me laugh because I couldn't see him reading romance novels.

"You used to doodle all the time, sketched me and Cam on scraps of paper, your house, a slice cake you were about to eat. Your life as seen through your eyes and hand, do you not doodle anymore?"

"I haven't. Not in a long time."

"Your work is very artistic and probably challenging, but your personal sketches, the ones that reflect you and your life, I think that's a show people would line up to see."

What a thing to say. I was moved to the point of speechlessness and he used the silence to steer us back to our picnic.

He ate his sandwich while standing. His attention focused on our surroundings. His words from earlier were still swirling around in my head.

Our meal was quiet and yet perfect, the silence not frustrating but comforting. When he suggested we leave a little while later, I didn't argue with him and walked silently next to him as we made our way back to the car. I thought about a showing of my own art. I forgot that I used to sketch my family. They were usually goofy caricatures but I had loved doing it. After Dad died I stopped doodling. I loved my work, but I wasn't passionate about my work and Damian picked up on that without me even having to say. We pulled into the driveway and I turned to him.

"Maybe tomorrow we could go into town for a sketchbook and pencils."

Love looked back at me. "Absolutely."





The house was quiet, the sun had yet to rise, but I was awake. I headed to the bathroom. I loved having a bathroom in my room, but I didn't love that Damian had one in his room because that meant I was not treated to the sight of him taking a shower. The memory of him showering at the motel had been burned into my brain and I could recall it with astounding accuracy, and had, several times late at night, as I made myself come.

Moving quietly down the hall, I was surprised to find the kitchen empty. I was sure Damian was up, he was the one to wake the damn rooster. As I prepared the coffee, I wondered how he found this place. Was there a www.safehouse.com that people in the business could search when in a pinch and needed a place to flee? That was a stupid thought because they wouldn't really be safe houses if there was a listing of them. Silliness aside, the cottage was picture perfect, charming and quaint and so not the kind of place I would expect Damian Tate to secure. Missy had mentioned the previous owner had died. Was it possible she was the woman he had lost? Were we even now living in the house he had shared with her? My stomach roiled at the idea, though I wasn't sure if it was because of heartbreak or jealousy over a dead woman.   





 

I moved to the sink to fill the carafe with water, looked outside and saw Damian. I thought the sight of him preparing for the shower was hot. He was all sweaty-I was guessing from a run. He wore running pants and sneakers. His bare back, and that tattoo I wanted to study up close, was facing me. I didn't know when he had done it, but there was a pole between two trees and he was doing pull ups so every muscle that I could see flexed. The man was strong. I had firsthand knowledge of this from the scene in that alley, but seeing all that power as his muscles bunched and corded was seriously sexy.

I needed to make a pie, needed to keep myself distracted because what I wanted to do was walk outside and climb that man like a tree. I got the coffee on and then started pulling what I'd need for the pie from the pantry and refrigerator.

I was in the middle of making the crust when he entered from the back door. My greeting was a little too bright due to lust because while I prepared the crust I was thinking about squeezing his buns, rubbing my naked body against his, riding his cock until we both passed out from the pleasure.

"What are you making?"

"Pumpkin pie. Two actually since the crust recipe makes two crusts and pumpkin pie only needs one." I was rambling. "Did you go for a run?"

He walked to the coffee. "Yeah."

"Is it as nice a morning as it looks?"

"Yes."

"Do you take the same route every morning?"

"No."

I wanted to pull my hair out. I was growing tired of the one word answers, particularly since he had slipped a few times while here and forgot to be a cyborg. "No one is breaking through the door, I'm not going to throw myself at you. You can talk to me and not fear you will morph into a lust monster."

"Lust monster?"

"You remind me of the Hulk with your belief that there is a trigger that turns you from all disciplined to reckless in a heartbeat."

"There is a trigger. You."

My body throbbed. "Are you feeling reckless now?"

That earned me a hot glance from over his shoulder. And it was a really nice shoulder, bare, wide and it so beautifully blended into the muscles of his biceps and triceps. I yanked my eyes from his exquisite arms to find his were on me.

"I understand what is motivating you, but it has been difficult with the wall you've put up to keep me out. Maybe if we could define what I do that is considered a triggerable offense, we could spend time together without you shifting into a horny caveman. Though I would like to say I am all for you turning into a horny caveman. And by that look, I'm guessing me saying that is a trigger."

"Fucking hell."

"I'll take that as a yes. Okay, well I can't believe watching a movie with me would trigger your inner beast."

"You curled up against me, your hands on me, your breath teasing the skin at my neck. Big fucking trigger."

They were all the reasons I really liked watching movies with him. Okay so movie watching was out. "What about me joining you for a run? Not that I'm thrilled with that plan because I don't believe in running as a rule, feel it should only be done when being chased. But if it gets me time with you, I would consider it."

"You dressed in a sports bra and shorts. Trigger."

"Baking?"

He eyed the pumpkin mixture I was whisking. "I want to dribble whatever the fuck that shit is on your breasts, down your stomach to your pussy and take my time licking it off."

I stopped whisking, needed to brace myself on the counter because I just had a mini orgasm at the thought.

He then added, "Smelling your arousal is a definite fucking trigger."

"Then you should leave the room because I'm so hot right now I'm going to combust."

And yet he stayed where he was, across the kitchen leaning against the counter sipping his coffee like he didn't have a care in the world.

"How do you do that? Look so calm."

"Years of military training."

"Talking has to be safe. What harm is there in talking? What are your thoughts on the expression lipstick on a pig? I find it insulting to pigs, but it doesn't really make sense because pigs are adorable. Now if it was say, lipstick on a cockroach I get that, but the visual is a nasty one not to mention who the hell would want to be that close to a cockroach to put lipstick on it?"

His mug was halfway to his mouth when he answered. "I don't have a thought on lipstick on a pig, however lipstick on your lips and those lips around my cock. That's another trigger."

"Everything is a trigger."

"No shit. Why do you think I've been avoiding you?"   





 

"I get it now. But I'm going to throw it out there. When horny Damian wants to come out and play, you know where to find me."

He left the kitchen on that note, but not before he called from over his shoulder. "Trigger."



After our conversation that morning on triggers, I needed to get out of the house because I was definitely feeling a little hot under the collar. I left a note for Damian, grabbed the bike from the garage and headed to the nursery we had passed the other day when we went into town. The place was huge compared to what I was used to in the city. I was wishing I'd brought the car. Strolling around the tables outside, the premade pots were beautiful-aster and millet, mums and ornamental cabbage. Fall was definitely in the air, freshly cut cornstalks were tied in bundles and resting against the wall. There were tables and tables of pumpkins of all sizes, shapes and colors and a table of nothing but Indian corn. It was while I moved through the army of scarecrows that someone approached me. She was in her sixties, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and had the biggest smile on her face.