Twenty minutes later, we arrive at Aunt Grace’s. I unlock the door and swing it wide. “Aunt Grace?” I shout.
When I look over at Leo, he's posed like a member of the SWAT team, wielding his gun. Panicked, I pushed a hand hard against his chest. “Are you crazy? This isn’t a D’Angelo emergency. It’s a regular person emergency.”
He scans the room suspiciously. “You don’t know that for sure.”
I dart him a glare. “You shouldn’t even be here. She said just me.” As usual, he ignores me. “At least put your gun away.”
“In a minute.” He moves in front of me as he makes his way through the room. I follow, shouting louder. “Aunt Grace?”
“Over here,” Aunt Grace responds from the kitchen.
I rush for the kitchen, but Leo holds me back. “Stay here. I’ll call you when it’s clear.”
“But—”
“I mean it, Ivy. Stay. Here.” My stern protector gives me no choice. I nod in agreement. He heads in first.
“Argh,” Leo hollers. “What the—”
That’s close enough to an all-clear for me. I race into the room. My feet slosh, wet and cold. I nearly fall into Leo.
Water is everywhere. Aunt Grace is tucked under the sink, squished into the small space. She looks up at us, a wrench in one hand and a hammer in the other. Beneath a steady drip of water, Aunt Grace frowns. “I told you to come alone,” she scolds.
“As if you could keep me from this.” Leo smirks. In an inch of water, he takes a knee beside her and shuts off the valve. Amused, he smiles and assesses the situation. “Let me guess. You’re stuck.”
“Is a frog’s ass watertight?” Aunt Grace snaps bristly. “I’m not laying here for my health. Of course, I’m stuck.”
Her cell is lying on her belly. Leo picks it up and hands it to me. “Thank God you had your phone.”
“I needed it for the flashlight.”
Leo promptly removes the tools from her hands, eying the hammer. “How about I make you a deal. You stick to baking, and I do the repairs.”
“With pleasure,” she says.
I try helping, but Clark Kent has it covered. Leo eases Grace out of the cramped space gently before lifting her up. It’s as if he’s carrying a fawn. By the smile on my aunt’s face, she’s loving it.
“So, you and Ivy just happened to be together?” my dripping wet Aunt Grace asks as Leo sets her on her feet.
“Yes,” he says, his smile curling up. “We keep bumping into each other.”
“It’s called stalking,” I remind him under my breath.
He leans to my ear. “Guilty,” he whispers.
He removes his blazer and rolls up his sleeves. It takes all of three seconds before he’s in full military mode. “You,” he points to my soaking wet aunt, “get into some dry clothes.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” My aunt salutes smartly and does a cute about-face.
“You,” he points to me, “get some hot tea started. Just, um, be careful filling the pot.” He winks before sliding beneath the sink to repair the lines. “Why the hell did she have a hammer?” he mumbles under his breath.
Aunt Grace returns in her trademark tracksuit. This one is a deep shade of royal blue that seems remarkably sedate for her inner J-Lo. Her hair is dried and freshly curled, and her coral lipstick is in full swing.
“So, Leo…” Aunt Grace moves to preheat the oven. “Are you seeing anyone special?” Her eyes light up. I roll mine and laugh.
“Off and on,” he says without missing a beat. His smile is positively devilish.
Aunt Grace pulls out her cookbook, closes her eyes, and thumbs to a page. She opens her eyes and announces, “Double chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies.”
“My favorite,” Leo agrees from under the sink.
There’s a bright orange bottle on the table that looks empty. I pick it up and give it a shake. Damnit. I forgot the doctor upped her dose. I should’ve been here yesterday.
“I need to grab something at the store,” I say, making an excuse to head out.
Leo slides out from beneath the sink and pops a suspicious brow. “What are you getting?”
“Girl stuff,” I lie.
The Lyft lets me out in front of the pharmacy. Heavy drops of rain have me rushing in, and the dark clouds make me wish I’d brought my own car—the one my umbrella is in.
But what if something happened to Aunt Grace while I was out? Leo would need it in case of an emergency. True, he could always use her Cadillac, but she can never find the keys when she needs them, and I swear the battery is sketchy at best.
Three people wait in the pharmacy line, which means the chances of me slipping out before the torrential downpour are slim to none.
The line is processed quicker than I expect, and I step up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up meds for—”
“Grace Everly,” the pharmacist says, remembering me from last time. I smile graciously as he hands me the little white bag. “There you go.”
“How much?” I ask with my wallet in hand.
“Nothing. It’s all prepaid.”
I double-check the name on the bag. Name and address are correct, but I don’t want them calling Aunt Grace later. “I think there’s been a mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” Leo says, suddenly beside me. He takes the bag from my hand and pockets it. “Thanks, Phil.”
“Anytime, Z.,” the pharmacist replies. The pharmacist knows his name?
“Leo, uh—”
Before I can ask my question, he motions me to look behind us. The small line for the pharmacy has grown. We step aside to let the next customer move up.
Leo has an umbrella ready as we make our way to the street. “How do you know the pharmacist? And why are Aunt Grace’s meds suddenly free?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“I need to know now. Are they trying to own me?”
“Who?” he asks.
“The D’Angelos.” He says nothing, so I spell it out. “All of a sudden, you know my aunt’s address by heart, you and Phil, the pharmacist, are on a first-name basis, and her ultra-expensive meds are suddenly on the house. Everyone knows that once you’re owned by the D’Angelos, they never let go.”
“Lower your voice,” he warns.
Lightning and a clap of thunder brings on heavier rain. I raise my voice above more rumbles of thunder. “You don’t understand. The D’Angelos don’t need to buy my allegiance—”
He sweeps me into the alleyway and up against the wall. “For fuck’s sake, Ivy. You want to skywrite it?”
“I need to talk to Smoke.”
I try to move, but he doesn’t let me. “No, you don’t. Smoke knows nothing about this.”
His body is too hot, his stare too intense. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I paid for the meds. And everything else.”
“But what about the dress? And the shoes? And a custom fitting by an internationally renowned designer?”
“I paid for all of it. Every last cent including all the money Roberto owed.”
I press a hand to his chest. His heart pounds hard against my palm. “I don’t know what to say. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I had to do something. You were about to show up at Erede al Trono in a burlap sack and pay for Grace’s meds by selling fetish pictures and blood.”
My heart swells. “Why would you do this for me?”
He leans down and kisses me deep and hard and freer than he ever has, and God, I swear I feel it all the way to my toes. “I’ve tried fighting this, Ivy. I can’t. I have to be the man in your life.”
“You do?” I sigh into his mouth.
“Trust me to take care of you.”
His command spears straight to my heart. I trust him. I do. I trust that he won’t hurt me, toy with me, tear me apart, or abandon me. My feelings for him are stronger than I’ve ever felt for anyone, but it’s more than trust.
I love him.
The drizzle transforms, hammering down as I shiver into him. He fists my hair and runs tender kisses along my neck and face. “Trust that I’m the only man who knows how to give you what you need.”
He keeps the umbrella trained over our heads as his lips graze my temple. His finger finds its way beneath my dress and between my legs, drifting across my panties. We’re in an alley. Anyone can see. “Leo?” My eyes question his. “This isn’t slow.”
His erection is pressed hard against me. “You’re about to get slow.”
I suck in a breath as his fingertips brush my thigh. I look around nervously.
“Trust me.” He kisses me. “When the weather’s bad, people scatter. There are no windows on either building in this alley.” His thumb dusts my sex.
I should stop this. Stop him.
His teeth drag along my ear. “This is me giving you slow.”
God, is he ever. I moan as his thumb rubs tantalizing circles along my clit.
His growl is low and enticing. “Spread your legs.”
I do.
He tugs my panties to the side, giving himself full access. His finger traces a line between my ass cheeks, across my folds, and up to my clit.
My head falls back. I shut my eyes, trembling as I say the only thing I can. “Yes.”
His finger slides in as the rain pounds around us. I let every gasp, every moan, every loud, raw, erotic sound free. He pumps me deep and hard, and, true to his word, agonizingly slow.
He forces a second finger in, each thrust shattering my inhibitions. My doubts.
“Look at me.” My eyes flutter open and lock with his. “Is this slow enough for you?”
His kiss crashes on my lips, and I whimper into his mouth.
“Come for me,” he demands. I grip his shoulders and hold on for dear life as I ride his hand—torturously slow—to oblivion.