Page 21 of Of Desire And Deception

“It’s very… organized,” she settled on, her eyes darting between her basket stuffed with things and mine.

You don’t have to fix it; I told myself. They’re just fucking groceries, and they aren’t going to your home.

The anxious thoughts settled in time for me to see Wynn shake her head and toy with a chocolate bar in her basket.

“That time of the month?” I asked, only realizing it had been the wrong thing to say when she made a choked sound in her throat.

Her glare made me hot. “Women can eat chocolate when they aren’t on their periods. Shocking, I know.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Really?” She fisted her free hand and planted it on her hip. “So you didn’t just assume I was eating chocolate and wearing sweats because of my hormones?”

“Not the sweats,” I corrected her needlessly. “My sisters like chocolate when they’re PMSing.”

“Sometimes I don’t understand you, boss man.” Wynn ran a hand down her face.

“Cosimo,” I blurted. “We aren’t at work, and I don’t intend to treat you like an employee.”

“No, just a stereotype,” she shot back. “Cosimo.”

That wasn’t how I wanted her to say my name. I wanted her to moan it. Scream it. Beg.

“We’ll work on that,” I muttered, mostly to myself. Wynn rolled her eyes at me. It sparked something, and that spark turned into a flame when my hand shot out, grasping her chin firmly. I snarled, “The only time your eyes will roll at me is if you’re fucking falling apart under me. Understand?”

Bad move, Cosimo. Wynn’s lips parted in a startled gasp, but the black of her pupils swallowed that gorgeous blue. She nodded slightly, the only movement she could make with my fingers biting into her flesh. That was more like it.

“Good.” My hand dropped from her face, leaving her standing there, mouth agape. I knew at that moment one day I would pull that tongue out and hold her there while I covered it in my come and make her show it to me before swallowing it all down. Poor, unsuspecting Wynn. She was already mine. “Have a good day, goldilocks.”

Others hadn’t noticed, but Wynn couldn’t conceal her inexperience from me. I sat in my booth at Deception, watching her frantically take orders and make drinks. She’d been working for me just over a week, and her poker face was adequate, but not as good as my powers of observation. The tell was in the little things.

The corner of her mouth twitched when somebody ordered a drink she didn’t know how to make. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly when she made something she was uncertain about. The look of triumph on her face when she inevitably nailed it was unmistakable. An experienced bartender would never think a Manhattan was something to celebrate silently.

The cold tabletop pressed against my fingertips as I drummed out a rhythm, silently working through the music in my head. I was restless, tired of feeling so on edge, but it was too early to walk the streets by the docks in search of members of the River Raiders. Watching Wynn was how I’d decided to kill time until the real fun began.

A crash and a shriek made my head snap up in time to see Wynn clutch her hand and whimper. I knew the sound of breaking glass and could deduce the rest. Before I could think my actions through, I was out of my seat, heedless of the customers, as I nearly sprinted across the floor to the bar. Zach was already at Wynn’s side, but I pushed him away and took his place.

Her palm was bloody, and I bristled, caught in a war of my own sensibilities. I felt the overwhelming urge to protect her, to destroy whatever had caused her harm. But the sight of crimson flowing from her flesh… fuck. Blood rushed south, making it difficult to think reasonably. “What happened?”

The corners of Wynn’s mouth pinched in pain. “I miscalculated and tapped the glass on the edge of the counter. It broke in my hand.”

“You’re okay,” I reassured her, reaching for a clean bar cloth and pressing it to her palm. She hissed at the pressure, but I needed to staunch the blood flow to see the damage. The bar patrons were starting to stare, and Zach stood there with his mouth hanging open. I wrapped an arm around Wynn’s waist and ushered her from behind the bar. “Come on, let’s go to my office.”

“You don’t have to do this,” she protested as I shoved the door open, and the fluorescent hall lights blinded me. The heavy beat of the dancer’s song faded as it closed behind us.

“I’m going to take care of you,” I growled, pulling her into my office and gently pushing her down onto the couch. I placed her free hand where mine was applying pressure to the cloth over her cut. “Hold this.”

I left her to retrieve a first aid bag, returning and unpacking what I’d need.

“Is this a field medic kit?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. Strange that a bartender would recognize the contents bag. “How did you know that?”

“My dad was in the military,” she answered, looking away as I removed the bar cloth and examined the slash across her palm. It wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, but it was still bleeding pretty good. My fingers itched to touch her warm life’s essence, to drag them through the precious ruby pool in her palm, smear it up her arm, across my lips. I wanted to taste her on my tongue. Feel her on my cock.

That wouldn’t be right.

“Medic?” I wondered aloud, tearing an alcohol wipe open to distract my wayward thoughts.

---