Page 7

Chapter seven

House Guests

Kylie

O ver the next two days, my new security team and I settled into an uneasy routine. With all the cameras they installed, I felt like I had a thousand eyes on me. It was for my safety, and I knew that, but it still creeped me out a little. After everything I endured with Carlos, having my every move watched left me uneasy. Don’t get me wrong, I was thrilled they were here protecting me. But it was different having the guys here.

I liked having them in the house. It added an air of security and made me feel safer than I had for some time.

Not that sleeping was any easier, even with one of the guys at my door each night.

Nights were the worst too. It’s where I let my defenses down. And it was in my nightmares that my husband always found me.

It didn’t matter that he was dead and buried. Each night he resurrected, turning my dreams into nightmares. Abuse did that to a person. It broke you down until you’re a shell of your former self. Until you look in the mirror and don’t recognize the reflection staring back at you.

Five months ago, when the police appeared on my doorstep with news that they had discovered Carlos’s body riddled with gunshot wounds, I had laughed before sobbing uncontrollably. The officers thought I was mourning his demise when in reality, my tears had been relief that he was gone, that I would never have to prepare myself when he walked into a room for a potential beating.

It never mattered how good I was. Somehow, I had always been deficient in his eyes.

And I was fucking glad that bastard had met such an auspicious end. I had spent two weeks drinking champagne and celebrating my ass off. Because his demise was no more than he deserved.

But my celebration was short-lived.

Because the moment Luka Santos, head of the Santos international crime organization, appeared on my doorstep demanding I turn over the location of the diamonds Carlos stole, all my joy at believing I had escaped had evaporated faster than a drop of water in the Sahara. It didn’t matter that the guy looked like a Calvin Klein underwear model. If I knew where that bastard husband of mine had hidden the damn things, I would have happily given them to him.

But I didn’t.

Not that Luka Santos believed me when I explained that Carlos never informed me of his business dealings, because he hadn’t at all.

Since then, Luka has issued numerous threats to my life and body. Either I turn over the diamonds or he would take the profit loss out on me. He hadn’t been shy about where he thought I would shine—in his bed.

The sick fuck figured he could fuck the diamonds’ location out of me before he killed me. But he didn’t seem to understand I didn’t care about the diamonds. I wanted nothing to do with them. I honestly had no idea where my husband made off with the damn things.

But Luka Santos was not a trusting man, with good reason when you’re head of a criminal organization. Hence the continuous stream of threats lobbed my way.

With as much money as Carlos had made, albeit illegally, I didn’t have to worry about money ever again. Carlos had left it all to me. All of it.

I now owned multiple properties and had access to all his bank accounts, which were beyond lucrative. So much so that through the inheritance, I had half a billion dollars in cash and assets. I could go anywhere. Leave all of this behind if I wanted. But I knew if I left without settling accounts with Luka Santos, I would always be looking over my shoulder. He had too much power, too many men in his employ aching to make a name for themselves. If Santos issued the edict that he wanted my head on a pike, one of his hired guns would see that it was done and collect their winnings.

After everything, after all the pain and humiliation I suffered, I wanted peace. But I wouldn’t have that as long as Luka Santos and his organization were gunning for me.

And it was why I was cooking my new house guests’ dinner.

I checked on the lasagna baking in the oven. Now that I had live-in bodyguards, I wanted to make sure they were fed properly. For breakfast and lunch, they were on their own for the most part unless I decided to bake muffins or pastries of some kind. There were also cold cuts, salad fixings, and a multitude of foodstuffs they could eat for lunches.

But for dinner, I had decided I would cook for them. Dinner was at six every night. If they wanted to eat at that time, they could, or they could fend for themselves later. I left that decision up to each of the men to determine for themselves.

After setting the table, I inserted the garlic bread in the oven to bake. The unmistakable sound of male footsteps approaching sent shivers cascading down my spine. I didn’t know what it was about these four men, but I’d been having fantasies about all of them. I’d masturbated every night thinking about them and was experiencing the best orgasms ever with those four in starring roles. Because with each one, I imagined they were watching me. And I had never considered myself an exhibitionist until recently.

“Whatever you’re making smells amazing, honey.” I glanced over my shoulder and spied Chase in gray military-style cargo pants and a white tee shirt that stretched tightly over his muscled shoulders and pecs and then was loose over his abdomen.

I had never been attracted to a blond before. Although his hair was more of a dirty blond with sun-kissed overtones. But he had this cocky swagger in his stride that really ignited my engines. Like he knew he was big, bad, and could take on any foe and he’d do it with his patented devil-may-care lopsided grin.

I found it—and him—deeply sexy.

“Make sure you wash your hands before sitting at the table. Drinks are in the fridge. Unless you want some wine—it’s open on the counter.” I nodded toward the counter, donning oven mitts to take the lasagna out.

“Yes, ma’am.” Chase winked, being his flirtatious, engaging self.

Axel appeared next. The strong, silent Goliath had barely spoken to me, even though he was my shadow and always there. I felt his intense eyes on me constantly. I wondered what would make his expression change. And I had begun brainstorming things I could do to shake him up, perhaps get him to smile. There was something about his overpowering, panty-melting stare that made me want to start stripping the moment his gaze landed on me.

It was the darndest thing. I’d never experienced a desire of this magnitude. It left me achy and needy without an outlet for it.

I hefted the lasagna from the oven. The aromas of basil, garlic, and melted cheese filled the kitchen. And Axel was there, beside me, protecting me. “Careful. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

He couldn’t know how much his concern meant after years of Carlos’s indifference toward my pain and discomfort. Axel’s presence, his care, even though I was paying them, warmed the far reaches of my soul, and I smiled. “Not to worry, big guy. I’ve got this. Help yourself to a drink.”

I settled the lasagna on a trivet on the kitchen island next to the salad. The timer chimed, informing me that the garlic bread was done. I withdrew the bread. Then transferred it onto a cutting board. It was hot work, lightly touching the bread enough to keep it stable enough to slice up without burning my fingers.

Both Mateo and Gideon strolled into the kitchen like bloodhounds sniffing the air. Gideon was probably the hottest man I had ever encountered. With a single glance at me, I wanted to kneel at his feet and let him do all manner of naughty things to me—the dirtier, the better. But he was difficult to read. He kept his expression impassive anytime he glanced my way.

“Dinner’s ready. Help yourselves.” I nodded toward the meal, pouring Malbec into a wine glass for myself.

“This looks amazing,” Mateo stated, his gaze on the meal, practically licking his lips. He had this sensual, heavy-lidded look whenever he glanced my way. Like he imagined me without my clothes. And I didn’t mind. In fact, it turned me on. It made me want to strip down and strut around in front of him. My sex throbbed at the thought, and I pressed my thighs together to contain the ache.

“We can fend for ourselves, Mrs. Vega. While it’s appreciated, you really don’t have to go to the trouble of cooking dinner for us,” Gideon informed me, even as he served himself a large heaping of lasagna. He had reverted to calling me Mrs. Vega instead of by my first name. Like he wanted to remain as impersonal as possible and used formality as a barrier.

But then I would catch him staring with such potent hunger my knees would tremble.

Once they were all seated, I made my plate and joined them at the table. None of them were drinking alcohol and had opted for iced tea or water. “Do you guys not drink?”

“Not when we’re on the job,” Gideon answered around a bite, whittling our relationship down to just that—a job.

Even though I knew it cerebrally, it didn’t make it any easier to hear when I’d been fantasizing about them.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Chased groaned as he bit into some garlic bread. “This is so good.”

Pleasure spread through me at the compliment. “Before I met Carlos, I was attending culinary school and working as a waitress part-time. I’ve always loved cooking. It settles me.”

“I second Chase’s comments. This is excellent. How are you with Mexican?” Mateo asked with an inquisitive glance.

“Well, I have fajitas on the menu for tomorrow night, so you can tell me how I am with Mexican dishes.”

“If it’s even half as good as the lasagna, I might have to propose,” Mateo teased.

I flushed at his words. I had no intention of getting married again. At least not for a long damn time and not without a prenup, given I was a wealthy widow. But the sentiment behind his words made me feel good. And I hadn’t had a lot of that in my lifetime. So, for now, I was going to bask in the compliments.

Axel rose from his seat with an empty plate. Headed over to the kitchen island and added a second helping, the biggest compliment a cook could receive. On his way back to the table, he said, “It’s good.”

Coming from him, it was high praise indeed. I shot Gideon a blasé look. “You can cook dinner for yourself if you would like. But I enjoy cooking and haven’t had other people to cook for in a while. It’s not like I have much else to do around here other than worry. Cooking keeps my mind off things, which I need right now.”

“Very well. I will concede that point.”

I knew I’d achieved a win. But then, lasagna tended to make men my slave. It’s why I made it. Well, slaves of every man except my deceased husband. I hope that fucker was burning in hell as we speak.

“Good. I made dessert too. So, you might want to save some room for it.”

Four heads turned in my direction with varying degrees of surprise. Mateo and Chase were delighted. Axel appeared stunned. And Gideon looked suspicious. I fought back a smile. Gideon didn’t know it yet, but I would win him over. “Let me just grab it out of the fridge.”

“What did you make for dessert?” Chase asked, eyeing me with interest blazing in his baby blues.

“Tiramisu.”

Mateo and Chase groaned almost in unison. And my lady bits quivered. The four alphas were turning me into a total hornball. Or perhaps I already was one, and they just woke my libido up after being in a coma for years.

Much of my life had been like that over the last four years. I had put so much of myself on hold because of Carlos. Anything of mine, whether it was a pastime or a pleasure for me, he tainted with his anger and controlling, vindictive ways.

Carrying my dishes to the counter, I set the plate next to the sink and the wineglass by the bottle of Malbec. I didn’t want dessert. I wanted more wine.

I pulled the tiramisu from the fridge and got out the dessert plates. “Would you all like a slice?”

“Like you have to ask.” Chase winked, the big flirt.

I cut four generous pieces and carried each one over to the table. While they were enjoying the cake, I started cleaning up dinner. Putting what was left of the lasagna and salad into Tupperware containers, I wrapped the leftover bread in aluminum foil. With my arms full, I turned and almost ran into the solid wall of Axel’s chest.

“Oh, excuse me. I didn’t hear you come up behind me.” For such a big man, he was stealthy.

“Careful, don’t want you to hurt yourself. You cook like an angel, by the way.” He set his plates on the counter before striding away without a backward glance.

It was the most he had said to me. And I didn’t know why, but it made me smile. The way the big guy had looked at me just now, like he wished I was on the menu instead, made everything inside me go buttery and hot. My nipples beaded, and my pussy pulsed. I could only think that my vibrator was getting a workout tonight. Again.

Because these four alphas were turning me inside out. And they weren’t even trying.

What would I do if one of them made a pass at me?

Likely climb them like a tree and enjoy the damn ride. I snorted. Leave it to me to act like a tramp.