Page 25

Chapter

Twenty-Three

GRACE

I knew something was up the second he told me, “Shoes. Don’t ask questions.”

No gun. No emergency. Just that familiar curve at the corner of his mouth that wasn’t quite a smile—but in Voodoo-speak, might as well have been a damn neon sign.

He led me downstairs without a word, stopping in front of one of the empty units—one of the ones Rachel said sat vacant while the university was on break. When he pushed the door open and stepped aside like some kind of dark fairytale prince, I arched a brow.

“Am I walking into a trap?”

“If it is,” he said, voice low and lazy, “it comes with wine, real food, and if you want to be tied to a chair—well, I’m not here to kink shame.”

Laughter burst out of me before I could stop it. “Good to know.”

I stepped inside.

The air was warm, laced with garlic, oregano, and something sweet beneath the spice.

The apartment was stripped down to nothing—except for a small table in the center of the room.

Two chairs, one already pulled out. Plates.

Actual silverware. A candle that looked like it had been stolen from a stash someone actually cared about.

There were takeout containers from a little Italian place around the corner.

“Takeout?” I asked, voice catching halfway through.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, expression unguarded in that way he only ever got when it was just the two of us.

“It’s dinner,” he said simply. “With me. You’re allowed to have that.”

“Oh, am I?” I tilted my head, playing along because he’d opened the door—and because I couldn’t help myself. “Hence the takeout? Even with Lunchbox upstairs just begging to cook for someone?”

“Only tonight,” he said, closing the door with a soft click . “And if it’s my date, I’m the one taking you to dinner. Staying in just happens to be safer than going out.”

He circled the table and pulled out the chair for me like he did it all the time, like it wasn’t wildly intimate.

“I’m so underdressed for this,” I muttered, gesturing to my hoodie, yoga pants, and the loose topknot barely holding my hair together. No makeup. Chipped nail polish. And yet—my heart thudded hard enough I swore he could hear it.

“You’re perfect,” he said, and it wasn’t a throwaway line. It landed low in my chest—slow, solid, and startling. Not playful. Not casual. Just...true.

Something in him eased when he said it, like a blade finally sliding back into its sheath.

He moved to the other side of the table and sank into the chair across from me, gaze locked on mine, steady and quiet and sure.

It was ridiculous. It was dangerous.

And it made my heart ache in a way bullets never could.

After he poured the wine, he raised a glass to me. “What should we drink to?”

I pretended to think, swirling the deep red in my glass.

“To not being kidnapped tonight feels a little on the nose.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

A grin tugged at my mouth before I gave in. “All right. How about... to surprisingly thoughtful date nights in abandoned apartments with devastatingly charming lieutenants ?”

His brow lifted a fraction higher.

“Devastatingly charming?”

“I said what I said.” I shrugged, taking a small sip of wine like I hadn’t just handed him a loaded compliment.

“Hmm. Then only one lieutenant, singular, not plural. There’s only one of me.”

My heart hitched. Just for a second. “There is definitely only one of you.” I clinked my glass against his, letting the electricity of the moment hum between us.

He leaned back slightly, eyes still on mine, that faint not-smile tugging at his mouth.

“You keep saying things that make me want to kiss you.”

I arched a brow. “And yet, here we are. Drinking wine. Fully clothed. Civilized.”

“For now,” he said, and took a long sip. “But you did start it.”

I laughed, a low, surprised sound I barely recognized as mine.

“ Did I? I think you’re the one who lured me into your evil lair with pasta and mood lighting.”

He tilted his glass toward me. “It worked, didn’t it?”

I matched his gaze, unblinking. “It did.”

And it hit me right then—not just the warmth in my chest or the buzz of the wine, but him . The quiet way he watched me. The careful distance that suddenly didn’t feel like distance at all.

He dished out the pasta from one of the boxes then added the garlic bread to the side. “Eat up. You need energy for tonight.”

I took the bite, eyes narrowing playfully. “I see and what menace do you have planned for me?”

“Careful. Compliments like that might get you tied to a chair.”

“Oh, is that your kind of magic trick?”

He smirked. “Maybe. But I have better ones.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn deck of cards. “Pick one. Any one.”

I rolled my eyes, but played along, pulling a card and holding it tight.

He fanned the cards like a pro, then with a quick flick, flipped mine face up on the table. “The Queen of Hearts,” he said with mock solemnity. “Fitting.”

I blinked, amused. “Are you trying to flatter me or just scare me?”

“Both,” he said with a grin. Then, for good measure, he snapped his fingers and made a napkin vanish in a puff of smoke.

I clapped softly, eyes shining with delight. “Okay, I admit it. That was impressive.”

He leaned forward, voice dropping just a notch. “Wait till you see the grand finale.”

My breath caught as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, fingers lingering a moment too long.

The room seemed to shrink, the candle flickering shadows dancing over his face.

“Grace,” he murmured, eyes dark and serious now, “I’m not just playing games.”

I swallowed hard, heart hammering as the space between us closed.

And then—just as I thought the moment would shatter—he smiled softly.

“Relax. I’m not rushing anything.”

My lips twitched into a grin. “Not sure if I should be happy about that or not.” Because he’d barely touched me and yet I was so wildly aware of him.

He laughed quietly, that rare genuine sound, before finally lowering his hand to rest over mine.

The next hour drifted by in a pleasant haze. We talked about everything and nothing. Voodoo liked old-school blues and modern synth. The playlist on his phone swung from Muddy Waters to Glass Animals.

I would have called it chaotic, but he had music for mission prep to winding down to another really moody acoustic one that was just downright relaxing. Apparently, he preferred vinyl to MP3s, but the playlists were easier for travel. I could respect that.

“So, you’re a nature nerd and a coffee snob,” I said, testing how that sounded after his last story.

“These are not mutually exclusive, in fact, I’d argue that because I know edible plants, how to track, and have even been known to beat GPS before—that I have every skill I need to recognize good coffee.”

Grinning at the very idea, I raised my wine glass. “That’s—you know, I’m surprised you don’t just roast your own coffee beans.”

“Who says I don’t?” The dare was right there in his voice. No way was I going to take that bet.

“Pictures,” I said, toasting him with the wine glass before I took another drink, “or it didn’t happen.”

The spaghetti was absurdly good, the red sauce rich and just the right side of spicy, and the garlic bread? Downright sinful. I was so full I’d resorted to nibbling like a raccoon hoarding scraps. But still—I didn’t want the night to end. Not yet.

I leaned back, glass in hand, watching him from across the candlelit table. “If you weren’t doing this—you know, the chaos, the missions, the world-saving—what would you be doing instead?”

He didn’t even pause.

“Small café. Vinyl playing. No Wi-Fi. Just good coffee, better music, and real conversations.”

The answer hit me sideways—simple, specific, honest. Like he’d carried it with him for years.

I blinked, then smiled, slow and wide. “That’s... unexpectedly wholesome.” It also sounded dangerously perfect.

He tilted his head, that rare grin tugging at his mouth.

“Scary, huh?”

“Absolutely terrifying.” I set my wine down. “You might have to let me hang around. Supervise the pastries. Guard the espresso machine.”

“I’d even let you sit in my lap,” he said, with a gallant little bow of his head that would’ve seemed ridiculous—if it weren’t for the heat behind his eyes.

I laughed, heart thudding a little too hard. “What a generous proprietor.”

“Only for my favorite customer.”

And just like that, the air between us shifted—lighter, sweeter, but laced with something deeper. After downing the last of the wine in my glass, I rose and circled the table. He tracked me as I closed the distance and pulled the napkin from his lap as I took a seat.

“You are out of wine,” he murmured as I hooked my arm around his neck.

“I am,” I admitted, but set the glass on the table. “But I didn’t come over here to get more wine.”

“No?” He dropped the napkin onto the table next to his empty plate. Then he drew a light finger down the curve of my cheek to my jaw. “What did you need then, Firecracker?”

“You.”

“Is that so?” His voice dipped like he’d rolled it in thick chocolate and added a decadent richness to it. He was… comfort wrapped in passion and safety made heady with desire. The competing feelings were hard to put into words.

“Absolutely so…” Then because I wanted no misunderstandings, I added, “I was with Lunchbox last night…”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “I know. We all know.” Heat scalded my face and he grinned. A genuine, brilliant, grin. “You with my brothers is never going to be a problem for me.”

My heart did this little rebound from my ribs. Need and relief twisted me up. “You’re sure?” I didn’t need to test him, but I wanted to reassure myself.

“Always,” he murmured then pressed his lips lightly to mine.

“If that changes,” I said, tasting the wine and the sauce on his lips. More, I tasted him and the flash fire of hunger that went through me had nothing to do with food. “Tell me?”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he promised, peeling the hoodie off me so smoothly, I marveled at the fact he’d unzipped it without me noticing.

“Thank you,” I whispered the words, savoring his nearness. “As for dates, ten out of ten, I’d totally recommend.”

He chuckled, running his hands up and down my arms. “Planning to give me a five star rating?”

“Maybe.” I made a show of thinking about it. “Wine? Excellent selection. Meal? Hot and tasty. Ambience? Delightful.”

“But?” Amusement had him smiling as he slid his fingers under my shirt, I didn’t even protest as he tugged it upward.

“ But ,” I added some extra emphasis to the word just for him and because it just seemed to make him happier. “What about dessert? Do I have options?”

“Now I’m intrigued, what options are you looking for, Firecracker?” He tugged my shirt upward and I raised my arms to let it go up and off. The bra I wore was demi cup and I’d mostly put it on to keep my nipples from poking through the shirt.

Course, nothing could save them from the heat stroking over me from his eyes. He ran his nose against my throat, a caress from just behind my ear to where my breasts pushed up from the bra.

Shivers raced over my skin. “Hmm… dark chocolate fondant, especially the one that comes with the raspberry coulis.”

He nuzzled a kiss to the top of one breast and his beard tickled me. “Hmm-hmm.”

“Vanilla bean crème br?lée,” I gasped out the words as he sucked my nipple right through the cup of the bra and his fingers slid beneath the waist of my yoga pants. “Panna cotta maybe… oh fuck.”

He lifted his head and my bra whisked away leaving cool air to tease me. “Is that all?”

Temptation, if it were a person, was Voodoo. I licked my lips as I went to work unbuttoning his shirt. If we were getting naked, it was important that both of us were. “Sometimes there’s a fruit tart…” I watched him from beneath my lashes. “And I can be tart.”

The corners of his mouth twitched into a slow, knowing smile. “Then I know exactly what I’m having.”

In one swift motion, he rose and swept me up, carrying me away from the table and across the room. The bedroom awaited, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight. Dozens of flames flickered —just enough to spark romance, not risk a fire—casting golden shadows that danced along the walls.

Rose petals were scattered across the bed—lush, red, impossibly perfect. When had he even found the time to get roses?

“Voodoo…” I breathed his name, my voice barely more than a whisper as I took in the room, awash in warmth and flickering candlelight.

“You like?” His voice held a note of hesitation, just enough to pull my gaze from the surroundings and back to him. Was he… nervous?

The thought only made my heart ache sweeter. I cupped his face gently, fingers brushing over the strong lines of his jaw.

“I love it,” I murmured. “I love you.”

His eyes darkened, heat flaring in their depths. “We'll talk about your dessert after I’ve had mine…”

A slow, wicked smile curved his lips.

“I promise—you’re going to love it.”

Not a doubt existed within me. He stripped me out of the rest of my clothes so efficiently, he left me breathless. The rose petals were like silk against my skin after he set me in place then rose.

I tugged my hair loose and shook it out as he stripped off the rest of his clothes with the same kind of efficiency as he had mine. He was a beautiful man. They all were, each in their own way and I wanted to memorize every inch of them.

“What are you thinking?” He was already crawling onto the bed, his heavy erection dragging along my thigh and leaving a little path of pre-cum.

“That I want you.” I managed to push the words out before he stole my soul with a kiss.

“You’re going to have me,” he promised. “Everything, Firecracker. You’re going to have everything.”

He didn’t need words after that. He told me he cared with every stroke of his finger. Made promises with his tongue as he ripped orgasm after orgasm. When he raised his soaked face to grin at me, there was such a wild energy in the air.

“I was right,” he murmured and I blinked.

“About?”

He slid up along me, settling into the cradle of my thighs and with his hand around his cock, he thrust into me in this slow, perfect slide. I arched to meet him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

“I love my dessert,” he whispered. “And I want more.”

His next thrust pushed all the air out of me.

The one after that began to rock the bed.

When it knocked against the wall, I laughed.

Humor filled his eyes as he wrapped his hands against the top of my head, shielding it.

Then he really pounded me, the bed, my thoughts, and pretty much everything else right into that wall.

I might have screamed. I might have just shouted out his name. Honestly, I lost track of how many times he made me come. When I roused enough to catch my breath, he offered me water and then my options for dessert.

Hopefully, we’d survive round two.