House Of Payne: Scout (12 page)

“That’s something you learn how to do when you’re shuffled from foster to foster—make wherever you are into your home as quickly as possible. Claim your space in order to feel safe inside of it, even if that safety’s just a stupid illusion. Does that make sense?”

His expression softened. “I think so.”

“All that’s left of Frank that you’ll see around here are some boxes I need to ship off to either the industry museum here, or maybe one in Quebec, if they have one. I’m just not sure what else I should do with them, because he didn’t leave any specific instructions in his will—just that he knew I’d take care of it. Hey,” she said, perking up, “maybe you’ve heard of Frank? He was a big wheel where you come from—brought a lot of business into Quebec’s economy, as well as Chicago’s.”

“Quebec is a large city, Scout. And at the risk of giving you yet another headache, I am also more on the artsy side, like Payne. I can assure you that I never met this man of industry.”

Immediately she felt like an idiot. “Right. I guess that’d be like you expecting me to know, say, Michael Jordan. Payne does, but I don’t, other than to just nod hello.”

That made him smile, though to her distress it didn’t reach his eyes. “Exactly.”

“Frank was an easy guy to talk to. I remember I found myself telling him my life story, and that I’d made the decision not to be ashamed of where I came from,” she went on, trying to get through that blank layer of ice she could see glazing him over, an ever-thickening barrier that kept the world out. She could sympathize, since she had her own ways of self-protecting. But he needed to know he didn’t have to protect himself from her. “He told me it was the healthiest decision I could ever make for myself, and he was proud of me for reaching it. Good or bad, everything I’ve gone through, every struggle I’ve survived, it’s made me into who I am today. I know how strong I am, because I know all the things I’ve had to endure. Maybe you’re like that too. You wouldn’t be who you are now if you hadn’t gone through so much when you were growing up.”

“Who I am now.” A corner of his mouth curled, but it wasn’t a smile by any stretch of the imagination. “I have no idea who that is.”

“I do.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him for many reasons—to comfort and be comforted, to distract him and to make him smile. But mostly because he felt so damn good against her, she couldn’t help herself. “You’re what I’ve named you—Trouble. My favorite kind to get into.”

“I like that we have that in common.” At last the ice began to thaw, and the arm around her waist tightened. “I excel at that kind of trouble.”

“I know you do, which reminds me…I owe you after that unforgettable ride you gave me on the Ferris wheel.”

That did it. A sudden blazing-hot grin flashed like wildfire across his face. “I like how fair-minded you are.”

“I try.” She arched, so her breasts were flattened against the wall of his chest, before she reached around to guide his hand down to cup a butt cheek. “I just need to know one thing.”

“What?”

“Do you think you’re big enough to ride this ride?”

“That mouth of yours.” Desire smoldered in the gaze that slid over her face, and it was a beautiful thing to see. “How about you find out for yourself just how big I am?”

She thought he’d never ask.

Before she could do anything more than smile in anticipation, the haunting chorus of “Green Bird” from
Cowboy Bebop
sounded from the purse.

“Sass,” she identified when he shot her a bewildered look. “If I don’t answer now, she’ll be over here in half an hour. And since I’d really like to be very busy with you half an hour from now, I don’t want any interruptions.”

“Answer the phone,” he decided at once.

She was still chuckling when she put her phone to her ear a few seconds later. “Hey, I can’t talk right now.”

“Seriously?” Sass’s voice crackled with incredulity. “It’s been freaking
hours
, Scout. Your date with Mr. Ivar Yummilicious can’t possibly still be going on.”

“It is.”

“Shit, he must have the stamina of the Energizer bunny.”

“We haven’t gotten to that part yet.” She glanced over when she saw he was wandering down the hall away from the living area. “Trouble, the bathroom’s the first door on your right, if you need it. My bedroom’s the last door at the end of the hallway, and you can also use the master bath if you want to.”

“Stop the romance, pointing out bathrooms like that,” came her former foster sister’s laughter-filled voice. “No wonder you haven’t gotten down to business yet, with moves like that.”

“We’re about to get down to business, so if you have anything to say, say it now while I’m still relatively coherent.” She lowered her voice while Ivar made his way toward her bedroom door, glancing through other open doorways as he went. “I’ve got high hopes of being unable to communicate until midday tomorrow.”

“I guess you won’t be up for brunch with the Panuzzi sibs, then? Rude Rudy finally made it back home.”

Mama Coco and Papa Bolo’s youngest, career military man “Rude” Rudolfo Panuzzi often lived up to his name, and wasn’t someone Scout was thrilled to see at any time, much less now. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to give that a skip. Enjoy yourselves without me.”

“I’m sure we won’t have as much fun as you. And if we do, that’d be a crying shame.”

As Scout laughed and hung up, she couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Twelve

Ivar’s heart thudded like it was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. As he stood in the open doorway of Scout’s bedroom, he struggled to find calm by slowly pulling in air scented with her beloved flowers.

It didn’t work. Calm didn’t come.

Goddamn it.

God
damn
it.

For a few miraculous hours, he’d been so fucking
happy
. Happy because he’d made the decision to let everything go. All of it. The godawful hell he’d grown up with. The determination to prove he wasn’t some monstrous spawn. The crock of shit that Marcel Dubois had unloaded about Scout. He’d decided he wouldn’t care about his past or hers, or who Frank Bournival was to either of them. He’d finally severed those growth-stunting mental chains that had been twisted around him since his time on earth began, chains that had been choking the life out of him for decades.

At last, he’d chosen to be
free
.

They’d been the greatest hours of his life.

Bournival…wanted Payne to be his son.

An invisible dagger stabbed through the center of his chest while the words echoed through him with their ripples of poison. With a grimace he rubbed at the disturbance, but it didn’t erase the pain. It was ridiculous to have any reaction to that innocent statement, he tried to reason in hopes of making the ache go away. After all, he’d never even met Frank Bournival. Wanting to have an innovative person like the creator of House Of Payne as a son would have been the desire of any man coming to the end of his life.

Then again, Frank Bournival hadn’t even tried to contact
him
. So maybe Bournival hadn’t wanted a son. Or at least a son like him.

No. He’d wanted a son like Payne. Wanted a daughter like Scout.

But not a son like him.

But Dubois hadn’t come right out and said Frank Bournival was his biological father, he reminded himself. He’d just said that he suspected Scout had taken his rightful inheritance away from him, an inheritance “worthy of a father to his son.” With a statement like that, naturally he’d assumed that Bournival could be his biological father.

But then, he’d also said Scout was a gold-digger, which was flat-out bullshit. She didn’t have a mercenary bone in her body.

Dubois must have lied.

But why? What did he have to gain? And why had Dubois come to him in the first place?

I need to know. No matter the cost, I need to know who I am.

The happy hours he’d spent with Scout evaporated, and the harder he tried to hold onto them, the faster they slipped away. Like an alcoholic who couldn’t resist the one thing that hurt him the most, he couldn’t let go of the irrational hope that he could prove he wasn’t the spawn of evil.

Weak. He was so fucking
weak
.

“Hey.”

Scout’s voice shot through his internal darkness like a shaft of sunlight, and only then did he realize he’d come to lean against the open doorjamb, head bent. Defeated. Worthless.

Exactly what he’d been made to be.

A warm hand landed on his arm. “You okay? Oh, my God, wait. Did my cooking make you sick?”

It’s my life that’s made me sick. I thought you could be my cure.

“Ivar, you’re freaking me out. Are you sick?”

“No.” At last he loosened his hold, stifling the urge to crush her into his body until they were inextricably meshed together. Instead he bent his head to rest his face against hers, and savored how she brushed her lips against him wherever she could. “You are so natural in the way you give,
ma
fleur.
You share so much of yourself in every touch.”

“Is that a complaint?”

“Never. Selfish bastard that I am, I cannot get enough of it. Or you.”

“Glad to hear it. Because when I decide to go for something, I go all in.” She smoothed a hand over his hair, a sweet gesture designed to comfort. Like magic, it drained the tension out of him and healed hurts hidden deep inside. “It took me a while to figure out if you were worth the risk, thanks to what my instincts were telling me about you. I only hope you won’t hold it against me for making you wait.”

His face tightened. He was
exactly
what her instincts had told her he was—pure trouble. That knowledge twisted him up inside until he wanted to hit something. Preferably himself. “I will never allow you to regret taking a risk on me.”

“Regret? That could never happen.”

His smile was so bitter it hurt. “You cannot know that.”

“Sounds like I need to convince you.” She arched back just enough to give herself room to capture his mouth with hers.

His body responded while his brain went offline. He’d started out this mission to find answers, and by damn he wouldn’t stop until he had them. But he wouldn’t find him through Scout. Things might be a little tangled when it came to her, but he could only celebrate that his search had brought her to him. His need for her had become as all-consuming as his need to prove he was the son of a good man, and not the spawn of a monster.

No. That wasn’t right.

His need for her had become even greater than that. It was everything

And as he kissed her, that need grew.

Scout could feel the urgency boiling inside Ivar, a strange desperation that didn’t fit the moment. She let him push through it, more than happy to be an outlet for whatever was driving him, because she knew what it was like. If she could be a balm for whatever wound they’d opened up, she was more than happy to do it.

Demons. They all had them. By far, sex was the healthiest, most life-affirming way of dealing with them.

Not to mention the most fun.

They didn’t speak as they moved deeper into the night-washed room, their only light filtering in from the open door and the uncovered floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the city below. With no building of equal height obstructing her view, she’d never had the need to cover those windows, so she felt perfectly comfortable with helping him lift her sweater dress up and over her head.

“God, I love this.” He ran a finger along the top of the navy-colored lacy garter belt at her waist, making her shiver. Then he dived his hands under it as well as the matching panties, and peeled it off her along with the thigh-highs. “Tell me you wore this for me.”

“Of course I did.” And after hearing the hungry demand threading through his voice, she was glad she did.

“Good.” A low rumble of what sounded like triumph growled from him as he bent with the task of unveiling her. “Very good.”

“Does this mean you appreciate the effort?”

“Oh, I more than appreciate it.” He took advantage of his new position and ran his lips over the curve of her belly, and she jumped when she felt the wet glide of his tongue along her skin below her navel. “I would stare at you all night if I could. But the sight of you is making me so damned hard I think I might break if I cannot get inside you.”

The ragged hunger in his tone sent a tremor of excitement through her. “I’ve wanted you inside me from the moment I saw you.”

The confession seemed to freeze him in place, and her heart somersaulted in an uncertain panic of sharing too much, too soon. She shouldn’t have said anything. She should have just kept her stupid mouth—

Then he rose from his semi-crouched position to sear her with eyes burning with need.

“Undress me, Scout. Now.”

Another shudder rocked her at the command, but it didn’t stop her from doing exactly what he wanted. Her excitement ballooned as he was revealed to her. The brawny sweep of his shoulders. The smooth, muscle-padded wall of his chest. The long, tapering torso and washboard abs that had made him so famous. The elegant and sinewy columns of his legs. The thick, demanding thrust of his…

Oh, my.

Now there was something she’d never seen pictures of in his former supermodel days. What a shame for the rest of the world.

What a boon for her.

While she was busy unwrapping her present, Ivar kept himself entertained by removing her bra, the last bit of her clothing, and filling his hands with her breasts. He kneaded them in a way that made her arch, his thumbs abrading the nipples until she almost lost track of what she was doing. An achy lust throbbed at the juncture of her thighs, so sweet and wet it overwhelmed her until she was capable of communicating only one thought.

“Condoms.” Her shallow breath fell in sync with the caresses of his thumbs while he bent and buried his face in her cleavage. “Condoms. Nightstand.”

He was a smart guy. He could figure out the rest from there.

A low growl was the only indication he gave that he’d heard her, apparently far more intent on running his tongue along the deep cleft between her breasts before his mouth and teeth closed gently on soft, sensitized flesh. He sucked her in, hard enough for her to feel the faint sting of a hickey being born, before he relocated and repeated the process. Ever so slowly his mouth edged closer to a nipple that was now so primed for his attention, it was as though her whole being was focused on that one area.

Almost there. Almost…

As if he knew the anticipation was killing her, he flicked the taut bud with his tongue. A broken whimper escaped her while her fingers fisted in his hair. That seemed to be what he’d been waiting for. His mouth at last claimed her, the hard suction of it bringing a fevered rush of blood forward. It felt so good, so sensually addictive, that she couldn’t stop herself from moaning as a powerful surge of slick heat bloomed in her hidden cleft.

She’d never thought it was possible to orgasm just from something like nipple play alone, and she still didn’t. But with his talented mouth, she was now officially a lot less certain than she was ten minutes ago.

“What a dream you are. You are how a woman should be.” Each syllable broke over her skin, inspiring a wave of goose bumps as he began to make his way to the other breast. “Soft. Lush.
Real
. You are a banquet for my mouth and hands, a goddess whose body was built for pleasure. I could spend the rest of my life worshiping you, and it would be a life well spent.”

“Ivar.” Her throat tightened while his words wrapped around her heart. “You don’t have to seduce me. I’m seduced.”

“How can that be? I have not yet begun to try.”

Her eyes widened.

“But I will,” he promised. “Starting now.”

Oh, God help her.

She was only vaguely aware of him moving her backward as he ministered to her other breast. Her muscles were shaking so much she could do nothing more than half-fall onto the bed when the mattress’s edge hit the backs of her legs. She sank backward onto it, wanting to bring him with her, but he pulled away to retrieve the condom box before settling himself over her.

“I will keep this close by tonight.” His accent had deepened, the breath panting out of him as his mouth stretched into a hungry smile. “There will be no sleeping for either of us,
ma
trésor
. There will only be fucking, and fucking, and even more fucking, and if you lose consciousness it will be due only to pleasure or exhaustion, or a perfect mixture of both. This is my goal.”

“Goals are good.” Her entire nervous system seemed to blow a circuit at his declaration. Or maybe it was the silky-hot length of his cock that brushed her inner thigh that did it. Whatever it was, it took most of her concentration just to form a handful of words. “But I’m not sold on the idea of a sex marathon. I prefer quality over quantity.”

“You think this is an either-or choice? No. You get both. Each time. Every time.” The sound of the box being opened and a packet taken out made her heart pound. “When the sun rises, you might not be able to walk, but you will know, beyond all doubt, that it was worth it.”

The vow swept over her like invisible fire. Its burn was spectacular. “If I can’t walk, that means I have to stay in bed. There really is no downside to this, is there?”

“None at all.”

He spread her knees wider and pushed them up before settling between them. His mouth was everywhere—her lips, her neck, her breasts, and each kiss caressed her with a swirl of tongue. His hands were also determined to touch everywhere, with one cupping the underside of a breast as if he couldn’t make himself relinquish possession of it, while the other slid down her side to her belly. Then further, to where she was at her hottest.

“
God
.” His voice was rough with excitement as he slid along her channel, and when he circled her clit her body jolted in involuntary response. “I love how wet you get for me. You love it too, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Her hips began to undulate in a rhythm she couldn’t help. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want me inside you.”

“I want you inside me.” The last strangled word on a jagged gasp as he pushed against the sensitive point, then with that same pressure stroked her faster and faster. “Ivar… oh God,
Ivar.”

“You make my name sound beautiful.” His mouth was against hers while down below he stroked her relentlessly. “Say my name when you come, Scout.
Scream
it.”