#but also not because alpine is a sweet girl who can’t fight

[gucciwins]

Hate or Love

Harry and Y/N are stuck between two emotions, love and hate.

Word count: 5424

A/N: enemies to lovers, and yes there is a bit of smut. 

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"What does the note from Harry say this time?"

Y/N doesn't have to turn around to know it's Dani who could not hold back her laughter. She turns her head to give her a stern look, ignoring the smile on her face. She turns her attention back to the folded sheet of paper addressed to Miss Cupcake. 

Y/N sighs. Her name is definitely not Miss Cupcake. Her neighbors know how to push her buttons. Hard. 

Asshole.

The door to her bakery swings wide open, and Sailor makes herself known. "Book club, ladies!" She yells. "I don't want to be late." Sailor stops right in front of them. Her eyes flicker to Dani's then Y/N's last to the note in Y/N's hands. A smile takes over her face.

"Stop. You both are too happy about these notes. It's ridiculous. May I remind you he's rude and very uptight." She slams the note down on the table. 

Dani gets up and makes sure to push her chair in to keep it nice and clean because she knows that's how Y/N likes the bakery. 

Dani and Sailor are wearing matching grins, and when together, they become a lot to handle. Dani is always the sweeter one, but not at this moment, she can melt the glare being sent to them both. Hand on her growing pregnancy belly and the other offered to Y/N. "Come on, let's see it." 

Y/N knows not to fight her and hands it right over. She knows that she loses all fights to her when she's cute and very pregnant. "Take it. It’s not even important."

"Sure, hun."

Sailor practically skips over to Dani as they huddle together to read the paper. Dani laughs before clearing her throat, obnoxiously. 

"Miss Cupcake-" She sends an amused look over to Y/N, and she rolls her eyes waiting for her to continue. "As I've mentioned in previous notes, I don't think your cat knows where it's home is. May you please get this under control, or I'll be forced to take action to fix this situation of ours. H" 

"That wasn't so bad. It's sweet." Y/N rolls her eyes, knowing it's hopeless. 

"Y/N, you should definitely go on a date with him. He's got a nice sense of humor. You agree right, Sail? If I didn't have Marco, I'd want a chance with him." 

Pregnancy makes Dani crazy. 

"Nope. You are both out of your mind." 

Dani waves the note as if the answer is right in front of her. "It's obvious he's only doing this to get you to talk to him. He wants to rile you up, which is obviously working."

"You can't really believe that. He hates me. And Alpine, obviously. He's the biggest sweetheart, he always comes home for a cuddle. I don't understand why he keeps going over there, I give him his favorite snacks, let him take over my pillows." Y/N sighs. 

Sailor taps her finger on her chin before pointing at Y/N. "He doesn't hate you."

She shakes her head in denial. "No, he does. He has from the moment he moved in."

Dani disagrees. "You almost hit him with a hockey stick when you first met him."

"Nope, you can't judge me for that. He started moving at four am. It was still dark, I got scared. My first thought, just like everyone else's, would be that someone broke in." She shakes her head at her friends. 

Sailor nods in agreement. "I think I would have hit him before he was able to get a word out. I understand your reaction."

Dani snorts at her. "Fair enough. I still think that you just got off on the wrong foot. He doesn't actually mind Alpine, but he does send you the notes because he can never use his balcony." She stops for a second before pointing her finger very close to your eye. "You're also partaken in the game."

"Me?" Y/N says in disbelief. "I'm an angel." 

"Yes, you. You're just going to ignore the catnip incident." Dani smirks

Heat rushes to Y/N's cheeks rather quickly. "Once. I did it once, and I was half sober." 

"Half sober?" Dani raises her eyebrows. 

"I don't get drunk, so yes, half sober." 

"I'm sure it was like two times, you called me after each time." 

Sailor throws Y/N a big grin. "Two times. You threw catnip on his balcony two times."

She shrugs. "Maybe I did, or maybe I didn't."

Sailor walks over and throws her arm over Y/N's shoulder, laughing. "Naughty, girl. You're bad, probably learned from me." 

The room fills with laughter at her comment, they calm down a moment after. Her face is still hot from her secret admission. 

Sailor's phone rings, and quickly after checking the screen, she nods as if answering the text. "As much as I want to know more, Abigail texted me. The girls are waiting for our arrival." 

Y/N lets out a slow breath of air. "Lead the way."

Dani leads the way, she looks back at Y/N over her shoulder. "Can't wait. Hot neighbor, here we come."

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

The first Thursday of the month. One of his favorite days, just like the third Thursday each month. It brings Harry lots of joy seeing his neighbor after each note. The color on her cheeks, stomping into the store as soon as she walks into the store. It's satisfying and sexy as hell.

Harry enjoys her sass and her beauty; their fun little game has allowed him to accept his new routine. He didn't expect to run a book/coffee shop. But he could never say no to his grandmother when she announced she was ready to retire. After losing his grandfather, she hasn't been the same. Gemma and Harry try their best to support her. He runs the shop, and Gemma visits as much as she can with her kids. He's lucky his mum runs the book store allowing him to focus on the rest. 

His grandmother never mentioned the book club of ladies that came included with the store. It's only two days a month, but it's nice. He enjoys having them there. Dot, Abigail, Margie, Sailor, Dani, and Y/N are the core of the group and a few others that attend sporadically. 

Y/N, his neighbor with her business next door and her apartment above and right next door, is Harry's favorite. She brings the delicious treats, everyone, raves about that she shares even though he knows it pains her. Bless her good manners. She's also a stunning woman. The most beautiful person he has ever seen. A true masterpiece. 

Harry walks over to the group, he stands directly behind where Y/N is sitting. "Good evening to you all." 

Harry knows all the other ladies have picked up on their flirty game. They caught on pretty quickly, everyone but her. Y/N's great, but how can someone so cute have no clue that he’s interested. Harry knows there has to be something there because she steals glances at him. 

"Would you all like your usual?" Harry's gaze moves across the group, catching everyone's collective yes's. "I'll get right on it." 

Harry walks out a big grin on his face. He's quick to finish their orders and bring them out. He heads back for the last two when he stops from entering the back room when he hears Y/N voicing her thoughts. 

"It seems unrealistic. No man will sweep you off your feet then kiss you breathless. Even less press you against a wall and kiss you until you forget your own name. The men we read about are fictional and hard to find if there are any left." 

Harry would love to kiss her, give her all the pleasure possible. He'd give it to her whenever she asked. 

The women are nodding along to her. Dani spots him standing there, and Harry has the sudden urge to go back to the station. She has a hard gaze set on him, and he feels like it's trouble waiting to happen. 

She smirks, her eyes not straying from Harry's "Oh, I believe there are men still out there. Don't you, Harry?"

Shit. 

Just as quickly, all eyes turn to me, and he plasters a grin on his face as he sets down the drinks for Dani and Sailor. He is quick to gather his thoughts, knowing they are waiting on him. "Yes, those men are out there. No one is perfect, but they are passionate and kind. The right partner brings out the best in you, all bets are off all is fair game for them both. Think it makes a relationship stronger and definitely spices up the bedroom."

Y/N mutters something under her breath that sounds like, "Okay, sure."

Harry is quick to look her way and catches her gaze. "Sorry, I missed that Y/N."

"What?" She questions back as her blush deepens, not breaking the stare. 

"You don't think that man is out there. You don't think a man can be passionate?" Harry wants her to see it in him. 

She shakes her head, causing loose hairs to fall out of her messy bun framing her face. He wants to reach out and brush it back. "No, they exist. I do believe they are out there. It's just incredibly rare, and most likely already taken. 

Harry nods, agreeing with her, as do. the ladies around her. "Could be that you aren't looking in the right places. Maybe," Harry pauses, looking her right in the eyes. "you aren't open to finding someone like that. or you're just picking the wrong ones." 

She leans back, and a look of hurt passing through her eyes, and Harry feels terrible. He didn't want to come across as an asshole, but that is precisely what happened. Hae's doing it all wrong. Harry hears the small chime of the door opening and takes that as his cue to leave. "Excuse me, ladies. Sorry to interrupt." 

Harry is happy to leave, unsure if he stayed there any longer he'd do something stupid like actually kiss Y/N. 

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Y/N is whisking the batter for cupcakes when her thoughts drift back to Harry. 

Maybe you aren't open to finding someone. 

Three days since the book club and his voice is stuck in her head on a loop, it drives her crazy. He hurt her, but maybe he's right. 

Or you're picking the wrong ones.

He doesn't know her, how can he be right. Y/N is going to drive herself crazy thinking about this. Maybe every guy she's met has been perfect, and she's the one who ruins it. Perhaps, she's meant to never be loved. She sets down the bowl and whisk and sighs. Love might not even be for her. 

"Looks like lots of fun being in here." 

Y/N jumps and turns around quickly to wipe her face of the tear that slipped down her face. That male voice is unfamiliar in her back room. Her heart continues to pound as her eyes meet bright green ones. 

She sees his eyes shift to her outfit before landing on her eyes. She knows they're puffy and red because she got little to no sleep last night. Harry's got a shining smile, and she currently doesn't want to deal with his remarks no matter how right or wrong. 

He looks good in a loose white t-shirt and mustard flared pants that compliment his thighs well. Y/N stops staring when she reaches his eyes once more and sees the smirk on his face with a hint of concern. Y/N can't believe she's attracted to Harry, hell she might like him. She looks behind Harry and sees the piping bags waiting to be filled with pink frosting. She'd like to lick it off Harry. Y/N takes a step back to shake his thoughts out of her head. 

"Did you need something, or was ruining my day the only thing you had on the agenda?"

"Harsh." His hand flies to his chest in mock. That feeling is quick to disappear, and it's replaced by what looks like concern or even worry. "I heard a noise when I came back from a small delivery thought I'd check it out. These close back doors come in handy."

"Well, all is good here. Your presence is not needed." Y/N shoots him a fake smile, hoping it'll get him out of here. She feels guilty, she might have been a little mean. She was never known to be mean, but she doesn't know what it is about him. 

There's so much to say to Harry, but she knows he won't even hear it. Harry probably doesn't even realize how the words stayed with me, especially after saying it in front of the other ladies. He's judged me just like everyone else has, and for once, they might be right.

Maybe the men she chose did suck. She hated having high expectations, but it's what her mother taught her to do. Allow yourself only the best love and not to stop until she finds it. Until now, she's still looking. Maybe, she should stop.

Harry takes a step inside, he's four steps away. He looks too good, and what she wants to do is say he was right about her. That she wants him to show her what she's been missing all along. Then he'll grab her by the waist, sit her on the table and kiss her senseless. 

Too bad, life isn't a romance novel. 

She turns back around, going back to whisking. "Your grandma's cupcakes will be ready soon. Brandon is going to box them up, take them over, and save you the trip. 

"Did I do something?" She hears him take a few more steps, meaning he's right behind her. "I can tell you're upset. I can help." 

Y/N grips the table, trying to keep her calm. "You just made me realize that I was the problem in all my past relationships. That I'm the problem, all those past guys were never good to me. That it's my fault I was—" She cuts herself off before sharing more than she intended. “It doesn't matter, I see your point."

She can't see Harry's reaction, but she knows he's shocked. She's waiting for him to say something.

"That wasn't what I meant when I said that," Harry says slowly as if she'd turn around to hit him. 

"Tell me what you meant then." She meant to say it softly, but it came out harsh. 

"Y/N, there is someone here for a cake and want to have a consult with you." A worker of hers peeks through the door. 

"I'll be right there, Tamara. Please have them wait for me in the consulting room." Y/N shoots her a smile, and she leaves. 

Y/N heads to the sink to wash her hands and then leaves through the door Tamara left through. All without another glance or word to Harry. 

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It's nightfall, and Harry feels awful. If Harry didn't know why he was feeling so bad, he'd think he would have a heart attack. The way she broke down on him. Harry hurt her, he didn't mean to, but he did. He's the biggest idiot. Instead of having her fall in love, he made her hate him. 

Harry had just turned off the lights and headed to his room when he heard a knock on his door. He turns the hallway light on before heading to the door.

Y/N and Harry share the main door to get access to the apartments meaning someone has to buzz to get in, but since it's a knock. Harry knows it's her. He's never been more thankful to see her beautiful face. 

There she stands in all her beauty. Her hair is a mess atop her head, makeup-free face, and a pair of short cupcake pajamas. Very fitting for his nickname for her. Her stunning eyes stare into him, sparking and ready to attack. 

She lifts her hand to point the finger at him.

"I'm angry with you." 

Harry nods. "Okay."

"You started this downfall I fell in. I can't stop thinking about all the dating and pleasure. I don't like it, and I don't need it, you got it?" 

Her cheeks go red before her next words. 

"It's not my fault. I haven't been able to find a good guy. It's also not my fault; they didn't treat me well." 

"Okay."

"I know my worth, and you and your words aren't going to mess that up. I'll keep my standards high, and I'll keep respecting myself." 

"Okay." 

"Harry, you're driving me crazy. Stop saying okay."

"Ok—" He's cut off by her finger landing on my lips. Her touch sends chills down his body, and he honestly craves more. Harry wants to take that finger in his mouth, lick it, and suck it as he wants to do the rest of her body. 

A gasp leaves her mouth, and Harry swears must be having the same thoughts as him. It's sexy, and Harry only has so much self-control. Harry wants to take a step forward, wrap his hands around her hips to pull her close to finally feel his skin against hers. Six months, he's been waiting six months for the very moment he could make her his. 

She's quick to move her finger away. She doesn't know what to say, and for a moment, neither does Harry. Her eyes meet Harry's finally, and he sees the desire burning in her. He steps close, giving her a chance to stop him or tell him, no, but that small nod is all he needs. 

Y/N is in his arms, and her mouth is on his. They attack each other like they're starving. 

Harry wants her. He wants her forever. 

All his life was leading up to this very moment. She's letting him in, and he couldn't be more grateful. 

Wine and chocolate Harry tastes that on her tongue. 

Intoxicating 

She moans into his mouth and presses closer, his hands begin to wonder as do hers. Her fingers tightening in his hair. She's driving Harry crazy, igniting a fire deep inside him. His hands grab her ass tightly, needing her close. 

Y/N breaks the kiss, her breathing harsh and warm in my face. "More...Harry, I want... more." 

That's all Harry needs to drag her into his apartment, shutting the door. He presses her against the cool wood, all thoughts the only focus is bringing her the pleasure she deserves. She bites his lip, and Harry lets out a low moan. She gasps when she feels how hard he is against her, wrapping a leg around his hips to get them even closer. 

Harry groans, he bends a little to grab her other leg. "Hold on, baby."

She holds on tightly, her hands around my neck. Harry tries his best not to lose control, he doesn’t want to come in his pants. He would never recover from the embarrassment.

Y/N arches her back, and she exposes her beautiful throat to Harry. He doesn't think twice before attacking. Biting, sucking, licking. He gives it all to her. Her moans and whimpers allow him to keep going knowing that she is enjoying it. Harry has never been this hard in his life, he wants this forever. 

Harry feels her breast and looks down to see her nipples straining against her top's thin fabric. He tugs on one through the material, and Y/N writhes against me, rubbing herself desperately against him. Harry's just as desperate feeling the friction. 

Harry shifts her weight in his arms to move one of his hands between their bodies, finding her sensitive spot. He wants to see her come, he craves it. 

Harry returns his lips back to hers simultaneously, his fingers slip between her shorts and find the right spot. Harry's the one holding her, but Y/N's the one in control controlling our kiss and moving against his hand that is against her wet silk panties. 

Harry swallows every moan and whispers she lets out, it's all for him. She lets a loud moan against his lips then breathes out his name. Harry knows he's ruined forever after watching her come. 

Harry knew how amazing she was from the moment she almost hit him with a hockey stick while wearing her sunflower pajamas. He didn't expect her to change his entire life. 

He helps her come down her high as they both try to catch their breaths. As he set her down, he didn't pull away, keeping his hands on her waist and lips close by. Harry feels on fire, having her so close still. Harry brushes away the hair framed around her face, and he cups her cheeks, he's making sure he has her full attention. "Let's make one thing clear. Every single man you dated was an idiot. Any man and I mean any, would be lucky to have you." 

Y/N swallows. "Okay." 

He nods, "Okay?"

She nods her head up and down. "Okay, yes." 

Harry slips his hand in hers and brings it to his lips to kiss her soft hands. "Let's get some sleep." 

Harry leads the way with a smile on his face. As soon as they enter the room, he scoops in his arms and drops her gently in the bed, he climbs in the act. Once they are both comfortable, he drops the covers over them.

Harry hugs her tight. He's never been happier than he is right now with her in his arms. 

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

"Can you repeat that?" Sailor's and Julia's voice blasts from the phone speaker. Y/N's thankful they aren't there to witness her embarrassment. Her face feels on fire. 

"Uhh...I left. I walked right out." 

Silence fills the air of the apartment. 

Dani sighs. She knows it is Dani because she's dramatic and likes to really drag it out. As much as they tease her, they love her, and she loves them. 

 "Explain, please." 

Y/N takes a sip of her chamomile tea that always helps her relax, but that's not the case this time. "Well, you know what happened last night. I woke up a little freaked out in his arms. Not that it was bad, it was amazing. I panicked."

"Continue," Dani urges her on. 

“I gave him a wave and walked out." Y/N knows that's embarrassing and doesn't want to see Harry. 

Dani is the first to laugh then Sailor follows suit. 

Y/N lets out a little laugh because it was funny, not her proudest moment. 

"Harry seems like an understanding person. Talk to him." Sailor suggested, all while still laughing. "Please stop embarrassing yourself."

The doorbell rings before she gets a chance to answer. "I've got to go. My pizza has arrived. Thanks for listening." 

The girls say their goodbyes and hang up. Y/N stands to go check the intercom but is only greeted by silence, she slips her shoes on to go check downstairs. Instead, she opens the door, Harry stands in front of it with her pizza in hand. The smile he gives her is one she hasn't seen before, but she'll be craving to see more. His dimples in full display, his eyes crinkle in a way she's never noticed before. She likes it—a lot.

"Hi." She glances down, and she's suddenly reminded of the clothes she threw on after her shower. Not her cutest top and shorts. Definitely, nothing impressive. 

Her nerves lessen when she catches his eyes roaming her body. She sees the lust in his eyes, the desire growing as he reaches her face. She wants to kiss him, but that's not the smartest move. "Is that my pizza?" She points to the box in his hands.

He nods and lets out a small laugh, "Yeah. I saw the delivery guy and thought I might convince you to share it with me." 

"Oh." 

"What do you say?" 

"Well, what do you have to offer? I'm not keen on sharing my pizza." She raises an eyebrow at him. The playful banter is back, but now the butterflies in her stomach are in full attack. 

Harry moves the pizza box to his side, allowing him to step forward. 

"Because—" He captures her lips with his. "I know," his lips brush along her jaw, "how to repay you." He sucks gently on her neck, a shiver running through her body. 

She knows exactly what he's referring to, and she's more than happy to accept. He pulls back and has a smirk on his face remembering the effect he has on her. Y/N bites her lip, allowing Harry to think she's thinking it over when his hand connects with her butt in response. He then squeezes, having her lean forward and fall against his chest. 

"I want all of you." She feels his chest rising faster, having her so close. "Please, no more running, Miss Cupcake." 

Y/N takes a breath to try her best to get herself under control, but she can't because all she smells is him. He smells like home. The smell of coffee and sugar mixing perfectly together. 

"Sorry, Harry. Last night was really amazing, but it just got to be too much in the morning. I mean, you know I've never done any of that." She pauses for a moment, mind-spinning because they do know a lot about each other. Life kept pushing them together. "And…I wasn't sure if it was a one-time thing or—"

His lips are on hers, his tongue urgently demanding entry, all words completely gone. A thud is heard, and the next second Y/N is in his arms, and she never wants to leave. His hands are in her hair, she moans the only noise filling the quiet apartment. 

Y/N pulls him closer by his shirt. She feels Harry flex as her skin touches him. Alpine lets out a cry from the chair he's sleeping on, pulling them out of the moment. 

Harry clears his throat, and she knows he's as messed up as her. She's trying her best to get her thoughts in order. "Would you like to come in?" 

Harry's eyes go wide, shining bright. "You're willing to share your pizza with me?"

"On the condition that you behave." Y/N laughs at his shock expression as if he could not be on his best behavior for her. 

Harry picks up the pizza box from when he dropped it. "Not fair, especially when you tempt me looking like that." 

"This turns you on." Y/N is surprised, closing the door as Harry makes his way to her couch. 

"Oh, baby. You're stunning. You make me lose my mind every time." 

She's blushing. Harry really likes her, she didn't expect that confession. She had gone most of her life not liking her body or looks, but over time she's come to love who she is. It was not easy, and there are still bad days, but having Harry tell her this makes her feel special. 

"Harry, have you liked me the entire time?" 

Harry's grin is sheepish. He holds his hand out, and she grabs it without a second thought. "Yes. God, yes, how could I not. I watched you go on a date with those idiots, giving you the time you needed to figure out what was right in front of you." He kisses her knuckles before he raises his head, allowing her to see his smirk. "Enjoying our game."

"Harry" It's all she manages to get out. 

"Don't gotta say anything. I'm all in." He tugs on her hand, having her land on his lap. "Don't think I'm ever letting you go again."

Y/N loves the sound of that. She doesn't know why Harry thinks all of this about her, but she's all in. 

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Eight Months

"Honey?" 

Harry can't help the grin that takes over his face when he hears Y/N call him that. It'll never get old. 

"Yes, what do you need?" He's wrapping the towel around his waist, coming out of the bathroom. 

"Bedroom, please." 

She is quick to look over her shoulder as Harry walks in. He sees her eyes lingering on his butterfly tattoo, her favorite he's come to learn. Harry loves it when she looks at him, he sees all the love she has for him.

Y/N is holding something, and as he steps closer, he is quick to recognize it. He cracks a smile. He doesn't bother keeping in his laughter. 

"I did not remember that was there." 

"Harry, please tell me why you have catnip hidden behind a Spice Girls ‘SpiceWorld’ hoodie?" She lowers the catnip and slowly closes the distance between them. 

He clears his throat, running a hand through his hair. "All I wanted was sweet Alpine to be my friend." 

She shakes her head. "You're telling me that you put catnip on your balcony so he'd come over?"

Harry nods. Of course, he did; it was his most excellent idea. "Yes." 

"So did I." She whispers. 

Harry's eyes go wide. "You did?" He pulls her against him, causing her to let out a small shriek. "Do you have to be so perfect and crazy?"

"Just for you, Honey." She leans in close, breaths mixing together. "Two big reasons you love me." 

Harry nods. "Two of the million reasons." 

He reaches for her shirt and slips it off relatively easy. "Will you let me show you other reasons with my mouth, and my tongue and. . ." He cuts off as he grinds into her. His hands gently cupping her breasts. He drops his head and licks a path down her throat.

A sexy moan leaves her lips. "This is going to be quick, you in these black leggings always drive me crazy." He kisses your neck, and he guides you to the bed. 

Harry slides his hand down her leggings, and just as he was suspecting she's soaking wet. She's ready for him. He's quick to take them off, making sure there's no tear before letting his towel drop. 

Harry sinks in one swift move, making them moan in unison. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good." 

His thrusts are fast and hard, never slowing down. Harry can tell she's close when she begins to fist the bed. He leans down close, missing the feel of her lips against his. "Come for me, baby." He goes a few more, not slowing down, he feels her walls tightening.

"Harry!" She moans, just as her high hits. Harry is quick to follow, her expressions always helping him find his release. 

Harry falls against the bed pulling Y/N to lay on top of him. He wants her close, he always does. 

"I love you." He locks eyes with her wanting to see them sparkle.

The sweet smile she gives Harry is his favorite. "I love you."

Harry sits up against the headboard bringing Y/N closer to his chest. He begins to look around his almost empty room. The idea to turn their apartments into one was brilliant, but it has been a lot of work. Harry isn't fond of getting rid of items in his closet, which is why Y/N was there earlier.

"Are you happy, Harry?" Y/N asks as she traces a sparrow on his chest. It's soothing. 

He brings his hand down to her cheek, and he lifts her face gently to have her look at him. "Never been happier." She leans in to kiss him but doesn't allow him to deepen in. "Are you?" 

"Very." She kisses his dimples and settles back on his chest, continuing with what she was doing. 

At this moment, Harry knows he's never been happier, and they has a lifetime of happiness waiting for them.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Thank you for reading. I love you

Please come by and talk to me about what you thought of Hate or Love 

[bbbarneswrites]

Lovers In The Night

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Having secret late night encounters with a person who tried to murder you isn’t a smart choice, Bucky knows. Doesn’t he?  Genre: Romance/fluff Rating: T Warnings: Swearings, sexy times 4,807 words

Notes: Hello! I’m finally delivering a full fic on the assassin!reader headcanons I posted a while back. It didn’t come out as I wanted but I finally wrote it! I made a Pinterest board and a Spotify playlist based on these two so if you guys want I can post it later. AT LAST, her gala dress is a Spring 1994 Versace wore by Helena Christensen (that my fashion lover ass really needed to bring out). Hope you enjoy it! Happy reading. <3

It’s way past midnight when Bucky finally steps into the threshold of his Brooklyn apartment, a subconscious relieved sigh escaping from his lips. 

Freaking peace, at last. 

Following his daily routine after a day of work back at the Tower, he drops the set of keys into the bowl beside his door, toes off the black, heavy combat boots, and hungs up his leather jacket to the hallway wall before typing away the keycode to disable Stark’s high-end security system before it goes off. The place completely dark by now, save for the slits of light coming from his poorly illuminated street. 

He does a quick sweep through his living room just to indulge his long-date habits.

Everything looks the same, pretty much just like he left back in the morning—except for one little thing. 

Bucky Barnes most definitely doesn’t own a pair of Brian Atwood leather heels. 

Though he sure as hell knows someone who owns, even if she most definitely shouldn’t be around enough for him to know that. And so, he can’t help but grin at the sight. 

With silent footsteps towards his bedroom, Bucky takes his time in stretching his back, muscles aching over a day of heavy training with new recruits and joints popping way too uncomfortably for an enhanced body like his. He takes his hair out of its ponytail and slips off the sweaty Avengers’ navy hoodie. He walks all the way down and tells himself that there is no ulterior motive to this. 

No way. 

The spicy smell of red wine welcomes him but Bucky isn’t quite interested in that, though he admits a drink or two seems like a good idea after a tiring day. 

What holds his attention, however, is the girl lying on his bed with his cat. 

“Oh. Would you look at that, Al? Daddy’s home!” She beams, sitting on her knees on the large bed. Alpine’s little face cuddled to her own, a sly smile curls up her lips. “Say hi to daddy, Alpine!” 

Huffing out a quiet laugh, Bucky shakes his head in disbelief. 

Right there is the girl who actively tried to murder him months ago under someone else’s name. In his home, looking nothing but cozy and comfortable in a little black dress, bare feet and red lips, glass of wine resting on the bedside table. 

Life has a funny way of mocking him. 

“Now, that’s a sweet sight to come home to, huh?” Bucky snorts. There’s no hesitance as he takes his usual spot on the bed beside her, groaning tiredly once sat down after a heavy training day. “Are you pouring me a glass of that wine or what?” 

Watching her reach out for the bottle with attentive eyes, Bucky can’t help but smirk at the pout forming on her lips. 

“There’s no food in your fridge, you know. Nada.” She says, a frown between her perfectly lined eyebrows as she hands over the half filled wine glass to him. “The least you can do right now is order me some food. That’s no way to treat a guest, Bucky Barnes.” 

Drinking down the expensive wine that his unexpected visitor nicked from the bar’s cupboard, Bucky takes his time on watching her from up close, barely fighting a full smile at the sight. 

Having lost count on how many times he’s caught her lurking around his windows for Alpine, and realizing how different this is from the one time she welcomed him home with a kick to his guts, Bucky doesn’t really mind having her over. Funny enough, she looks like she belongs there. With her feet up in the air and belly down to the mattress, she’s got her chin resting on a hand, elbow propped up with mischievous eyes staring right back at him. 

Red lips, a very likely stolen designer dress and smooth skin all over—a girl who fully knows that she’s got him, his attention and whatever else she might want for the night. 

Not that Bucky is ready to give in that information so easily now. 

“Yeah, because you’re a regular guest here, baby girl.” Bucky huffs out a laugh, gulping down the last sips of his wine under her (and Alpine’s) eyes. “What are you doin’ here, anyway? No rich white men for you to exterminate tonight?” 

“That’s actually sweet of you. I am a regular guest here.” She grins. And with a mindless shrug, there’s her fingertips reaching out to wipe clean the corners of his lips. “And no, no white men tonight. Except for you, actually, but I’ve already had my shot with you and it didn’t work, remember?” 

Wine glass back to the bedside table, Alpine now nuzzled softly against his feet, Bucky finally lets himself sink into the bed. 

It’s been just a few hours and his sheets already smell like her. 

“Might be an amnesiac assassin but sure as hell can’t forget you, doll.” He chuckles, finally closing his eyes with a tired sigh escaping from his lips. “I’d appreciate not having to defend myself from any murder attempts today, though. I’m beat.” 

Silence falls for a brief moment. She hums. And Bucky immediately knows that she’s up to something. 

“Poor daddy. Right, Alpine?” She drawls, laughter in her voice as she lifts up to sit on her knees again. Though his eyes are closed, Bucky anticipates the nudge to his left arm by her movements. “Turn around, Bucky.” 

His eyes shot open, a grin now curling up his lips as she stares expectedly at him. 

“What?” 

She scoffs. Alpine gets up from his spot by his legs to jump over her thighs. 

“Just turn around—no questions.” 

With a pretend suspicious glance at her, Bucky starts to move.

“Don’t pull your shit on me.” 

A glare. 

“I will if you don’t shut up.” 

Complying to her wish with a huff, Bucky finally turns his body around. With his stomach now down to the bed, he lets himself relax once again. Usually, he’d be way more hesitant to do this, baring himself out to someone to a point where all his scars and marks are out in the open. 

But at the same time, it’s her. 

Given who she is and the lines of her job, he figures it can’t be that bad, right? She’s seen and definitely has done way way worse, if the damage she left him with four months ago is something to go by. So when her hands make their way to his back, fingers brushing and just lightly pressing over his shoulder blades in a soft motion, Bucky shuts down any sort of worry to enjoy his girl’s touches. 

“How was work today? Beat up any recruits?” She asks, smirking amused over the low but pained groans occasionally escaping from his lips. “Had another one-off with Tony Stark? Love that guy, by the way.” 

“You keep sayin’ that. Way to hurt a man’s ego, doll.” Bucky scoffs. When she laughs, he holds back a smile of his own. “Yeah, got to beat up some recruits today. Good day.” 

“You’re mean.” She mumbles. Hands stopping just over her shoulders, a little sigh coming from her lips and a second little nudge to his arm, there’s her second wish. “Turn around.” 

There’s no resistance or silly jokes as Bucky turns to his back again. No words shared as she throws a leg over him, straddling his hips with an ease that can only belong to an fellow assassin. And as Bucky’s fingertips make its way over her exposed thighs, he can’t help but feel glad for the prettiest view after a hard day. 

But then—her lips are meeting his own and he swears it’s heaven. 

By the time she pulls away, breathless with smudged lips, his hands are way past the hem of her dress and tiny bruises are forming a line from the top of his chest to the base of his neck, matching deviously to the pink-ish beard burns littering her collarbones. 

Coming back to reality again, his next words pull out a laugh from her. 

“I can work with that.”

Evening of a normal Wednesday night and the fancy rooftop ballroom is crowded all over with every rich, pompous, snobby person of Manhattan thanks to the one and only, Tony Stark. 

Usually, the Avengers aren’t required to do this kind of thing. 

It’s too much of a risk, they aren’t exactly the most welcoming and normal bunch and there’s always a high chance that someone will snap at a member of the team for a past misgiving over all the world threatening situations handled in the past. Bucky would know. He’s had his fair share of people snapping at him for his past, something that he couldn’t care less about by now, much to their dismay. 

That doesn’t mean he’s jumping at every opportunity to show his mug at Stark’s galas. From the expensive suits he has to wear, going to the tasteless weird drinks and all the way to the small portions of food, Bucky’d rather just be home with Alpine. 

Today is different. 

There’s no plausible explanation to understand how he knows she’s there from the very moment he steps into the room. 

Maybe it’s soldier intuition, given her eyes follow his every movement. Maybe it’s just familiarity because he knows that walk, he knows that body better than anyone. 

And knowing who she is, Bucky most definitely shouldn’t be surprised by her presence in a room filled with superheroes and enhanced individuals that could easily find out everything about her and what she does for a living. He’s also very well aware that he should probably tell someone but this is probably the most fun he’ll ever have in an event like this. 

Walking over to her table, where she’s graciously sitting like she really belongs to the seat, Bucky almost fails to hold back a smirk. 

The card in front of her champagne glass says her name for the night. 

Ms. Helena Christensen. 

A silent request for dance and glare from her table companions later, the dancefloor is theirs. Hand in hand to each other, a slow song leading the moves. 

“You look lovely in velvet. Boyfriend material.” She teases, lips pursed over holding back a laugh. An unimpressed look later, a giggle finally escapes from her lips. “Where’s it from? Hugo Boss or Tom Ford? Bet all designers fought over to dress your pretty face.” 

“Funny today, aren’t we?” Bucky huffs. Despite his jab, there’s no malice to his face when he shrugs smugly. “Does it matter what I’m wearing? I mean, look at you. If you were hoping to fly under the radar, you’re failing beautifully, baby doll.” 

Eyes brimming mischief locked to his own for a whole night, Bucky knows that’s not the case. 

“Maybe that was my intention, have you thought about that?” She smiles sweetly, her hand on his shoulder now sliding up to cup his neck. “How else you’d find me in a room full of snobby New Yorkers?” 

“Are you kiddin’ me? I’d find you anywhere.” He scoffs, a knowing smile pulling on his lips when she glares at him. “You look beautiful.” 

It’s true. Under the crystal chandeliers of the ballroom, any guess can easily say that black is her color. The dress fits her body just right, double straps leading to a deep neckline, pieces of soft fabric held back together by gold, shiny pins over her ribs. And with his hands gently trailing down her back throughout the song, Bucky can feel slivers of her warm skin burning his fingertips. 

It feels like the nicest kind of torture—if such a thing is even possible. 

“I know.” She says, eyes rolling in a way that shows her playfulness. Then, leaning just a tiny bit closer to him, her lips are almost brushing his own. “You don’t look so bad too, Mr. Barnes. Shame I can’t mess up this hair later.” 

Feeling his chest flare over her words, Bucky feels lingering eyes upon them. It’s a mix with curiosity, envy and distaste, though neither he or his partner are too worried about those in the moment. And okay, he knows that the team will pester him with undying questions after, but he’s had his fair share of lies to cover up his tracks. So he’s good. She’s good. 

The song changes. And as the upbeat rhythm takes the room, Bucky frowns. 

“How come you’re here, Ms. Christensen?” He asks quietly, eyes locked to her own as their slow pace continue. “I’ll bet ya one of Stark’s cars that Helena Christensen doesn’t look like this.” 

“Oh, you know me. Heard that a fancy shindig would be happening.” She shrugs, a little grin forming on her lips, voice light as she feigns nonchalance. “It felt like a good opportunity to work out a socialite’s vintage dress for a night.” 

Bucky squints. 

“That’s all?” 

An innocent smile. 

“That’s all, Bucky.” 

Before his mind can even think of a proper comeback, the feel of her soft lips surprises him. 

Her body is pressed against his, arms thrown over his shoulders and with his hands squeezing her hips just enough to make her smile against his mouth, Bucky doesn’t want to think of a proper comeback. And then there’s this brief second when she slowly slides her hands through his chest, kisses moving to the shy of his jaw, he spots an unusual commotion behind them. 

The music stops altogether, so worried murmurs and gasps take over. A white-headed man falls to the floor. A rush of people towards his table, the team included, so just like that Bucky is being dragged away from her by Sam. 

It just happens to be her table, as well.

It isn’t until hours later that they get the full report once back at the Stark Tower. Businessman Richard Miller dead within fifteen minutes due digoxin toxicity. 

And oh, Bucky’s bike is stolen in the same night.

The common factor between Bucky Barnes and Mr. Miller? 

Ms. Helena Christensen.

Boisterous electronic music blasts through the speakers of the nightclub, blinding colorful lights filling the room as Bucky sits in the VIP area of the place.

Out of all his missions as an Avenger, this is definitely the worst one.

With a light headache forming on the back of his skull, Bucky unwaveringly stares the crowded dancefloor, blue eyes right where his target of the night is chatting up with a short haired redhead woman. This kind of thing isn’t his expertise anymore, he’s a sniper for all intents and purposes, so he can’t help but scowl like Clint’s five year-old while watching the young man charm his way into a pair of pretty legs with some ego filled words.

For anyone else but him—and maybe Steve, the whole thing doesn’t seem so bad. It’s an easy mission, right in their backyard, that just happen to offer some fun as well, given the privileged seats, free drinks, food and music that could possibly land them another kind of night out.

But much to Bucky Barnes dismay, all of the benefits are useless to him.

So now there he goes, taking over a mess that is supposed to be Daredevil’s in the first place, bored to death just to grab intel over a trafficking case.  

A relieved sigh almost escapes from Bucky’s lips as he watches his target wave to one of his bodyguards. He knows what’s up next. A brief pep talk, bodyguard escorts his night date to a more private location, bodyguard keeps the door and then leads the date out when everything’s called and done for. It won’t be too fun to interrupt their activities but it sure as hell will be easier, since ignorance to your surroundings is a dangerous bliss.

Knowing every single bit of the club’s blueprint by heart, Bucky knows exactly where to go.

A little too predictable, actually. Rich young boys with gift businesses and cliché offices to charm girls, but once again, it makes everything easier and he’s not one to complain. 

Minutes later, down the familiar hallway he goes.

The plan is running smoothly until Bucky spots the bodyguard passed out by the door.

Cursing quietly under his breath, gun in hand, he bursts through the door.

A familiar face under crimson red bangs smiles at him.

Bucky frowns.

“What the hell.”

Leaning over the table and typing away on the target’s computer with no care in the world, she barely bats an eye to the gun pointed point blank to her forehead.

“Bucky! What a surprise!” She beams exaggeratedly, holding back a grin over the astonishment on his face, fingers briefly hovering over the keyboard. “I was wondering how long you’d take to come in.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky huffs. Holstering his gun again with slow steps towards her, adrenaline flares in his chest with her mere sight. “You here to kill this guy?”

With a huff and an amused glance his way, she doesn’t seem to care too much about any possible risks they might be facing with their little impromptu mid-mission affair.

“He definitely deserves it but I’m not killing him tonight.” She shrugs, a little grin curling on her lips as she stops typing, standing up tall again. “A little birdie told me that an Avenger would be scooping some intel in this club, thought I could offer some help.”

Pausing for a brief moment to finally take in the scene before him, Bucky can’t help but laugh.

It’s absurd, really.

Under the dim lights of the office, the redhead seems to know her way around. A flash-drive connected to the computer, the target is blissfully unaware of his visitors, completely passed out in a leather couch by the wall. And despite the poisonous syringes peeking out of her designer bag, she seems to be at her best form. A black dress that matches his own shirt, leather boots that makes her look taller, collarbones on display over the low neckline.

Bucky doesn’t resist walking over to wrap a gentle arm around her waist, pulling her body closer just enough so his lips are pressing a light kiss to her cheek.

“Hi.”

Though barely sparing a proper glance to his face, Bucky definitely spots her pursed lips holding back a grin.

“Everything you need will be here.” She pulls the drive from the computer in a quick move, pressing her chest to his own to shove the device in the backpocket of his pants. “All the deals and some evidence that can help build a case. He’s got a container with enhanced girls coming in next Friday, by the way, so watch out for that.”

She pats his bottom. Bucky hums.

And with just a few inches separating their faces, tiny details are finally noticed.

A darker shade to her eyes, well applied make-up to the perfect spots and a short cut bright red wig covering her hair are just enough to fly under clueless eyes. But not his. Seventy years of experience and training, Bucky knows better than to fall for something this simple.

“Can’t believe it was you all this time.” He huffs a laugh, vibranium fingers reaching for the fake strands of red hair framing her cheeks. “How the hell did I not recognize you?”

“You’re so cute.” She hums, face leaning into his palm as his fingertips brush over her jaw, offering a plain glare that almost makes him snicker. “You only recognize me when I want you to recognize me, Bucky.”

A smirk growing on his lips, Bucky nods towards the couch.

“What did you do to him?”

“Black Henbane.” She says. An oblivious stare from Bucky gets a playful roll of her eyes. “He’s sedated.”

“Is that what you used on the Miller guy?” He asks, hands sliding down to squeeze her hips with a smile. “By the way, good job on stealing my Harley. She’s named after you so I hope she’s being taken care of.”

As she closes her arms around his neck, fingertips playing under the collar of his shirt, the moment doesn’t feel like a mission at all. And yeah, it might really something to worry about because Bucky doesn’t slip like this very often. Yet—he’s walking through all the red lights, decades old skills becoming momentarily useless, almost forgetting the ulterior motive to the boring nightclub visit with a single look from his redheaded girl friend.

There’s not enough words to express how thankful Bucky is over Sam staying back in the van outside instead of joining him.

“Richard got Foxgloves. They’re my favorite.” She shrugs lightly, face closing into a playful scowl upon her little smirk. “And I’m not a monster, okay? I’m taking care of your Harley just fine. I can ride her better, by the way.”

He chuckles.

“Bet you can.”

A tug to her waist, Bucky searches for her lips.

That’s all it takes for the redhead to step back from his hold, a nonchalant smile drawing her mouth as she turns back to the computer again. There isn’t an anxious bone in her body while she erases traces of her presence in the room, closing files and open tabs, deleting search histories, to then finally turning off the machine.

It’s a pretty sight to watch.

Off goes the short wig that gets folded and somehow shoved into her small bag. Eyes clearer without faux lenses. Careful fingertips over cheekbones wiping away a layer of make-up.  

When Bucky is least expecting, his dazed eyes still taking in the small but rather significant change to his girl, her hands are cupping his bearded jaw and her lips are pressing his own in a full, way too intense kiss that makes his chest burn eager.

When she pulls away, pressing a last but soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, Bucky knows he might be in for a good night.

“Let’s go home, yeah?”

Late night to a random Saturday, the Avengers’ compound gym is nearly empty save from a few imsoniac souls that make Bucky some company. 

Despite knowing this isn’t his best night, there’s little care to it. 

After fighting half of the team to be left behind from a private karaoke night at a random bar exclusively rented for them, Bucky doesn’t really mind having some time to himself. Training out of his own will to purely to keep up with his shape does wonders to his mind and ego, and in a night where he’s likely to either be home with his cat or simply downing drinks that barely makes him wince, he’d rather be working out his stamina instead. 

In another perspective, she can be easily added as a third reason for his absence. 

Under complete radio silence, Bucky can’t help but let his eyes wander around his surroundings every once in a while, always looking for a familiar frame in every mission assigned, every place visited, every room stepped. 

At this point, even a random girl in the gym looks like her.

It’s turning into a subconscious behavior, to wonder where she might be, the things she might be doing, who’s keeping her company if there’s really someone. It’s easy enough to make him riled up that point, so working out it is. 

With a few minutes into midnight, Bucky is dropping the worn bandages into his bag, quickly throwing it over shoulder before making his way to the locker room. Silent steps over the muffled pop music coming from outside, dirty clothes left in a hasty mess on the bench outside his stall, he lets himself relax under the warm water. 

Until it suddenly snaps open. 

The soldier’s insticts take over instantly so Bucky acts before he can even think. 

Twisting his body in a quick move, the vibranium arm expertly shoves his intruder against the wall, pinning them to the cold tiles by a hand around their throat. Just then—a familiar voice breaks out the tense reverie. 

“Ouch.” She mutters, scrunching her eyes in pain for a brief moment before a smile spreads over her lips. “That’s what I get for trying to pay an impromptu work visit.” 

Recognition breaking through his tough mindset, Bucky’s hand relaxes as a heavy sigh escapes from his lips. 

“What the fuck, doll. Jesus.” He grumbles, a disgruntled look taking over his features with a frown deepening his eyebrows. Upon his intruder’s casual smile, Bucky sighs heavily. “You want to die under my hands or what?” 

“I’d rather die under you in different circustances, to be honest.” She quips, playfully squeezing his wrist before pulling it away to intertwine their fingers. “Did you notice me working out with you back there?”

“I did. You’re slacking on your punches.” Bucky grins, tugging her to stand underneath the shower. “Why didn’t you call me? It’d be fun to spar with you, y’know. I can go easy.” 

A smirk curling on her lips, she pushes away his hand and takes a short step back from the shower head. Even when Bucky thinks to be already very acquainted to her tricks and schemes, his chest still flares in hot anticipation. Damp hair pushed back with a nonchalant move, her fingers slide down through her neck before grasping the front zipper of a black sports top that matches to a pair of leggings. 

It takes a blink of an eye until the wet fabric is thrown over the glass doors.

“I had other plans.”

Bucky’s eyes flick down.  

“This is your other plans.”

She huffs.

“Obviously.”

Eyes up again.

“Not that I’m complaining but what exactly are you doin’ here, baby girl?” He asks, lips struggling to hold back a smile. “This place is a fortress, how did you get in?”

“I was allowed to.” She beams. Paying little attention to the super soldier’s confused glance, her sudden excitement carries on. “Tony Stark is really easy on the eyes, isn’t he? Very sugar daddy, love him.”

Only barely taking note to her little Stark jab, Bucky instantly feels low-key torn between apprehension and expectancy. Surely, it doesn’t mean that.

Right?

“Yeah, yeah, you say that all the time.” Bucky scoffs, fingers tightening around her hips as he squints in pretend suspicion, clear curiosity laced to his words. “You were allowed to? What did you do?”

An impish smile grows on her lips and with arms loosely wrapping up his neck, his fingertips down to her hips playing with the waistband of her soaked pants, she takes a step closer until Bucky’s frame is just inches towering over her own. 

“Tony went all the way down for little ol’ me.” She hums, eyes falling shut with no care in the world as the warm water engulfs their bodies. “He anonymously hired Foxglove to kill an ass goverment secretary or whatever. I looked him up, he’s dirty.” 

His hands halt. 

“What?” 

Her eyes open. 

“Yeah. But that doesn’t really matter now because he just wanted to talk.” She shrugs, now with a full smirk taking over under Bucky’s stunned silence. “We talked. He proposed to me. And now I’m officially an agent for the Avengers’ back-up team.” 

It only takes a second until Bucky breaks out of his bewilderment. 

With a giggle that sounds like music to his ears, eager hands are wrapping her thighs around his waist. There’s a hint of a smile against his mouth that Bucky takes on with a rousing kiss, warm, slippery skin close together and pressed against the tiles. No worries on who might walk in to the scene, time slows down for their enjoyment between a sigh or two. 

The water is chilly enough to make shivers rise as they break apart. Short, soft kisses to her jaw and neck, content muffled hums that he smiles at. 

Nothing but heavy glances are exchanged as she turns off the shower or as Bucky kneels down to push away the soaked leggings or as towels are wrapped around each others bodies. Guilty smiles when stepping out of the locker room together under curious eyes. 

Walking down the hallway into the compound, Bucky tugs his teammate closer. 

“C’mon, baby doll.” He mumbles, pressing a light kiss to her forehead as his left arm wraps her shoulders against his side. “I’ll show you my room here.” 

His girl grins. 

“You mean my room?”

A loud explosion shakes an empty building in Croatia.

Over the comms unstable channel, barely audible with a loud rustle, Sam Wilson groans.

“Has anyone seen Barnes and Fox?”

A sharp noise pierces through the earbuds and the voices are clearer now.

Zippers closing, muffled laughs and sudden moans. Sam groans louder, his face twisting in disgust amid the team’s joint protests—surprise, reprehension, amusement.

And just then Foxglove’s voice breaks through a second explosion.

“We’re coming!”

[thesassybooskter]

COLLISION POINT by Lora Leigh: Review & Excerpt

Collision Point by Lora Leigh Series: Brute Force #1 Published by St. Martin's Paperbacks Publication Date: February 27th 2018 Genres: Romantic Suspense Pages: 336 Source: Publisher Format: eARC Goodreads Buy Online: Amazon ♥ Barnes & Noble ♥ Kobo ♥ Apple Books

Disclaimer: I voluntarily reviewed a copy of this book. All opinions stated are solely mine.

Riordan “Rory” Malone is a force to be reckoned with. A member of the Brute Force Protection Agency and an operative working with the Elite Ops, Rory is the fiercest of warriors and protectors. Honed from the strong Irish stock of their grandfather and sharpened to a razor’s edge, Malone men live for one single purpose: to protect the women who own them, body and soul. From the moment he saw Amara Resnova, he knew she could be that woman.

But Amara, daughter of an alleged notorious crime lord, is a force in her own right. When she betrays her father, she’s finds herself in the arms of a man who is dangerous for her body and soul.

Can Rory keep Amara safe while protecting his own heart? Can Amara trust Rory not to break hers even as the danger mounts, threatening to take them and their passion to a breaking point?

  Review

I am a huge fan of Ms. Leigh’s Elite Ops and Nauti series and any of her books tangentially related to those series is an automatic read for me, so imagine my pleasure at finding a spin-off in the Brute Force series.

Riordan “Rory” Malone was a young man just coming into his own when he was introduced to us in Wild Card. Fast forward a few years and he has become a honed and skillful warrior, following in his brother’s footsteps. Like all Malone men before him, he has also found the one woman who owns him, body and soul. She comes with a lot of complications, but Rory is willing to fight to the death to protect her.

Amara Resnova is daddy’s little princess even though daddy is allegedly a notorious crime lord. The one time she decides to go her own way, she finds herself in life-threatening danger and the only person who can keep her alive is the one man she can’t have; the one she was willing to break the rules for.

Amara may be a daddy’s girl, but she is also very sweet, thoughtful, and kind. Rory is the perfect foil for her because he is protective and strong enough to make the tough choices needed to secure her well-being. That does not mean she is a pushover because she is ready to go head to head with him when needed.

One thing Ms. Leigh will always give you is lots of passion and suspense and this book is no different. Lots of scorching hot passion and lots of action like her Elite Ops and Nauti series and while loosely connected, every story stands on its own. Every time I finish a new book by this author, I’m sure to go on a binge of my favorites, just like now and I am really looking forward to the rest of this series.

  Excerpt

Chapter One

Six Months Later

She’d been told that West Texas in the spring wasn’t much different from West Texas in the fall, but as Amara Resnova pulled in the driveway of the small house outside Alpin, she felt she had to disagree with that summation.

Stretched out in front of the house with its wraparound porch was a lush green valley fed by a lazily running stream winding through it. Sunlight speared from the cloudless blue sky, bright and warm, spreading its heat in a comforting embrace.

And the charming little house sat just beneath the warming sunlight. Spreading out in front of it was the picturesque valley; behind it, the normal West Texas part-grass, part-scrub, potential-desert landscape that never failed to amaze her.

On a rising knoll stood a lone tree, thickly branched and heavily leafed, shading what appeared to be a small cemetery. Rather than looking desolate and lonely, that little plot of land with its surrounding black iron fence, appeared instead to keep watch over the land below it. As though those buried there kept a gentle eye on those who came after them.

As isolated as the property was, it should have appeared stark. Instead, an air of contentment and peace lay over it. As though the land, the house, the vibrant green of the valley, and the cemetery that overlooked it all, knew all there was about life and love and had locked all those secrets within it to sustain it.

Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself against the fears she hadn’t been able to push behind her even in such a lovely setting, Amara turned off the engine, forced her hands not to shake, and opened the door before stepping into the warmth that filled the valley.

It wasn’t a blazing heat, but rather a gentle wave that filled the air and wafted around her. And in it there was a strange sense of familiarity. A “been there before” feeling that had her heart racing, her mouth drying as she stared around and drew in the sights and whispered sounds of a land as yet untouched by civilized life.

Here, a person could see the stars at night rather than the city lights. The sound of the lonely coyote rather than the rush of traffic. Peace rather than a hectic race.

Here, perhaps, she could find some answers. And maybe there was a chance to find everything she’d lost.

Tugging the hem of her tank, she straightened it over the band of her jeans beneath the light denim jacket she wore as she walked slowly from the car to the stone path that led to the porch. The thick carpet of grass stretched from the valley to surround the house, but she’d noticed as she parked that it became sparser at the back. As though that carpet of green with its lazy stream could only struggle so far to embrace the weathered home.

The dark blue pickup parked at the side of the house attested that someone lived there. And she knew the vehicle belonged to the man those in town called Grandpops Malone.

Riordan Malone Sr. was grandfather to Riordan Malone the younger, she’d been told, when she stopped at the gas station and auto repair garage outside town that bore the name MALONE AND BLAKE—SERVICE AND REPAIR. There, she’d learned Riordan the younger was part owner but currently out at his “grandpops’” place.

Riordan.

That name haunted her dreams, her fantasies. Though the man in those dreams wasn’t an old man. The one who came to her in those nightly images was tall, strong, impossibly sexy.

As Amara forced herself to walk to the porch, she looked around, searching for the face, listening for the voice of a man she knew only in those dreams. The man she’d escaped her father’s protection to go search for.

Was he friend or foe?

Even she couldn’t answer that question, not fully. But for some reason, she couldn’t seem to help the need to learn which he would be.

As her foot lifted to the first step, the front door creaked, causing her to pause, to wait with bated breath as it slowly opened to reveal an aged, gray-haired gentleman she suspected was Riordan Sr., Grandpops.

In his worn loose jeans, well-washed white shirt with sleeves folded neatly back below his elbows, scuffed leather boots, and with that serene expression, the man looked as old and wise as the mountains themselves. And there was no doubt he was just as damn stubborn.

“Well, hello there.” The smile that lifted the corners of his mouth was reflected in his dark blue eyes. “Can I help ya, young lady?”

There was a whisper of a lyrical accent. Irish. Just a whisper though, not the full, male lilt she sometimes heard in memories that never fully revealed themselves.

“I’m looking…” She swallowed nervously. “I’m looking for Riordan Malone.”

His head tilted to the side, his thick graying hair neatly trimmed but giving a hint of the rogue he must have been in his youth.

“I’d say you’re looking for my grandson rather than myself,” he said gently. “He should be along in a bit. His da just called to say he’s done stole that wild pony again and headed this way.” A chuckle filled the air. “Come along up to the porch and sit with me till he arrives. That wild beast always gives a show when he comes barreling through the valley.”

Moving gingerly up the steps to the porch, she followed him to the comfortable-looking cushioned rockers that faced the valley.

“Does he steal ponies often?” She frowned as she sat down, feeling more off balance than she’d felt in her life—which was saying something considering the past six months.

“Just that wild-assed black son of a satan that took a liking to him.” He grinned back at her, his gnarled hands gripping the arms of the rocker loosely. “His da threatens to kill the beast every time Riordan takes it out. He swears it’s gonna kill the boy.”

Boy.

That didn’t sound like the man she was searching for. But, everything she learned assured her this was the one place she was certain to find him.

“Ahh, here he comes now.” Fondness filled the old man’s tone as he motioned to the valley.

He appeared at first as no more than a storm of dust rising beyond the verdant green of the valley.

Amara watched, her heart racing as that trail of dust grew steadily closer.

It was an imposing sight, she had to admit.

A sensual, exhilarating sight.

The horse, black as midnight, neck extended, flying across the deserted landscape, was enough to hold the eye. But the sight of the man, bent low to the horse’s neck, black hair flying back from his face, riding without a saddle, was a bit more than simply imposing.

It was exhilarating.

Imposing and savage and wildly erotic.

Amara could feel her body responding to the sight, weakening, filling with a sensual lassitude she couldn’t combat.

“Be watching this now. That horse loves ta take him on a wild ride he does,” Grandpops said softly.

The horse flew over a gully as though he had wings, before jumping the stream, neck and legs extended as it went airborne for precious seconds. The animal then took a series of fences as though they were nothing, and as she stared, she felt she knew how those women felt from centuries past as they watched a conquering warrior bearing down on them.

When the horse flew over the fence that enclosed the house yard, Amara was certain there was no way it could pull up before slamming headfirst into the porch itself.

With no more than a few yards to spare, the beast came up on his hind legs, a triumphant equine scream filling the air before landing again and prancing about with pure high-spirited joy before finally settling.

And Riordan sat firm on the animal’s back the whole time, holding onto the horse’s mane rather than a bridle, thighs gripping the animal’s heaving sides as he stared at her with blazing, furious blue eyes before turning them on his grandfather.

The younger Riordan dismounted smoothly, the soles of his moccasined feet hitting the ground as he slapped the beast on the rump. It came up on its hind legs once more in another display of savage beauty as it reared up, pawed the air, then shot off back the way it came the second it landed.

Flying like the wind, strong legs launching it over the fence, the gully, then the stream before a trail of dust followed it around the bend of the mountain.

So much beauty, she thought. A display of savage male temper and strength, and no less showed in Riordan’s expression as he propped his hands on his lean waist and glared up at her where she sat next to his grandfather on the porch.

Well-worn denim encased his hips and legs, and the moccasins that covered his feet weren’t fringed or fancy, just well made. A black T-shirt stretched across a broad chest, emphasizing his muscular abs and making her fingers itch to remove it.

Yes, this was him. The savage who invaded her dreams, the fury who slashed at her nightmares. Vivid sapphire eyes, daunting features, proud, imposing. A man who knew his own demons as well as those that inhabited other men. Or women.

She rose slowly to her feet, aware of Riordan’s “grandpops” as he sat comfortably in his rocker, watching in interest.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the words that passed from his lips caused her to flinch; their icy tone caused her heart to sink.

The tender tone, the edge of lust and hunger she’d dreamed of, was nowhere in sight.

His gaze raked over her and there was none of the sensual promise she’s seen in his eyes when he’d invaded her dreams, none of the dominant sensualist who tormented her with his touch in her fantasies.

She hadn’t expected this. This wild fury and enraged demand. He didn’t seem the least bit glad to see her, she had to admit. What made her think he would be? she wondered.

Was she wrong? Did she not know him?

She was certain she had to have known him, certain that somehow, someway, they must have meant something to each other. Could she have been so wrong?

“Riordan!” Grandpops’ surprised tone had a grimace contorting Riordan’s face.

Evidently the grandfather thought little of the grandson’s language.

“Grandpops, perhaps you should go back to Grant’s.” He turned to his grandfather, his voice firm. “Noah, Sabella, and the babies will be there in a bit.”

Grandpops continued to glower at him.

“I’m certain I can handle whatever language he wants to use, Mr. Malone,” she assured the older man. “I’m not exactly a stranger to it these days.”

Her father cursed more often, brooded more often, and Amara knew the situation she’d found herself in was weighing on him. If she didn’t do something, didn’t fix things, then she was terrified of what may happen. Of what her father would do to fix things himself.

“But can his grandmother?” The old man sounded disappointed rather than angry. “Remember whose home your using that language in, boy.”

Rising from his chair, Grandpops moved to the steps stiffly and made his way down, casting his grandson yet another warning glare.

“Drive carefully, Grandpops. No more racing with those Brickford boys,” Riordan stated as his grandfather passed by.

And Amara could have sworn she saw a gleeful grin tease at the older man’s lips. But he merely grunted as he passed.

A few moments later the truck started, and they watched Grandpops ease around the circular drive and onto the road that led to the small valley.

The silence that stretched between them was heavy—with his anger and her uncertainty.

As the truck took the curve around the rising hill, she turned back to Riordan and tucked her hands into the pockets of her light jacket, her fingers curling into fists.

She’d faked the last six months with friends and most of her family. Taking cues from her father and his assistant Nikolai, she’d smiled and faked her way through every damn meeting and gathering she’d been forced to attend until she slipped silently from her father’s estate the week before and, in essence, ran away from home.

Not that he was letting her run without giving chase. He and his men weren’t far behind her and she knew it. They’d almost caught up with her the night before, outside Houston. If she didn’t do something, if she didn’t find a way to eliminate the threat shadowing her, then her poppa could do something she may not be able to live with. And it was that decision that sent her running to Alpine and the man who shadowed her dreams.

She was here now. She’d found the man she’d gone searching for, and she knew the days of lying and pretending to be who she’d been six months before were over.

She lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and stared up at him in determination.

“Whatever I did to you, I’m sorry,” she told him, miserably aware that if she’d offended him in the past, angered him, then there was the possibility it couldn’t be fixed with an apology. She hadn’t been the nicest person she could have been in the past.

His eyes narrowed on her before once again moving to sweep over the landscape. There was a tension that surrounded him, a steady watchfulness she’d noticed her father and Ilya always carried as well. That prepared and ready-for-action thing strong men always seemed to carry with them.

“Go home, Amara,” he told her when those brilliant eyes turned back to her. “Go back to daddy. This is no place for you.”

He knew her. He was angry, but for a second, she swore she saw something more in that flash of heat in his expression.

“No. Riordan, please.” He couldn’t make her leave. Not yet, not until he knew what was coming, because what was coming didn’t affect just her. She could sense it, her dreams assured her of it.

Turning, Riordan dismissed her just that easily and strode up the steps to the porch, leaving her to stand alone as the storm door slammed behind his retreating back.

Alone.

Strange, but this feeling of “alone” didn’t seem nearly as unfamiliar as it should have.

Inhaling deeply, she followed him rather than doing as ordered. Not that she often did as she was ordered. That was probably how she found herself where she was now. Opening the door quietly, she stepped into the house, her gaze taking in the homey atmosphere of the large living area.

A comfortable leather couch, recliner, and matching chairs were grouped around a cold fireplace. The mantle held a variety of family pictures that she would have loved to have time to check out. The wood floor was smooth, aged with a sheen of time and caring.

There were more family pictures in frames on the wall, many appeared old and passed down through the years, the frames lovingly polished, the photos a bit faded from time.

As she stepped into the room, Riordan watched her silently, leaning against the wide doorframe into the kitchen, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he simply stared at her, his expression still and remote.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, that rumble of his deep voice sending a stroke of sensation up her spine.

What was she doing here?

Trying to survive, to live.

“I need your help.” She had to force herself to say the words, and still they came out as barely more than a whisper. “Please, Riordan. I need your help.”

* * *

Six months.

For six bloody months this damn woman had tormented his dreams while asleep and his thoughts while awake. He’d given his life for her on a dark, blood-filled night, then again on an operating table, only to be told she never wanted to see him again when he’d been released. And now, two months after he’d returned to Texas, here she was.

Son of a bitch. Just when he thought he could get through a night without being tormented by her, she just showed up out of the blue. And it was all he could do not to touch her, to jerk her to him and show her exactly what she was dealing with in coming to him.

But, she’d been his weakness from the moment he’d met her, hadn’t she? From the second his gaze touched hers, she’d been the one woman he couldn’t get out his head. And God knew he’d fought it.

Tiny and delicate, she made a man want to wrap her in cotton and hide her away from the world. Resilient, stubborn, and independent, she made a man realize fast that she wouldn’t allow him to do so.

Her once-long, straight silky black hair was shorter now, courtesy of her abductors. At first jagged and close to her scalp, it had grown a good six inches or so and feathered around her delicate face becomingly. Piercing gray-blue eyes stared back at him, somberly.

Frightened.

Riordan straightened from the doorframe, his eyes narrowing on her. That was fear in her eyes, along with the uncertainty and the heat he always saw there.

“You need my help?” he couldn’t help the mockery that tinged his voice simply because it flooded every corner of his mind. “Strange, two months ago you never wanted to see my damn lying ass again. What changed?”

What had changed? For a moment, that question had her pausing.

God, if only she could tell him. She was damned if she knew herself what had changed. All she knew was that now, six months after she’d awakened, she was unable to remember what had happened or who had abducted her or what they had wanted. The nightmares had grown worse, the sense of imminent danger and panic that fueled them had become overwhelming. In each one, this man stood with his hand outstretched, his voice whispering to her, urging her to find him. To come to him.

She swallowed tightly, uncertain what to say, how to explain. She didn’t trust him, not by any means. But she didn’t trust anyone now. She didn’t know who to trust.

“I’m sorry.” But she was damned if she could remember telling him he wasn’t wanted.

No doubt she’d had a good reason. Savagely hewn, rough and sexy, and a cowboy to boot. No doubt he had a wandering eye and hands that had no idea how to be faithful. The one type of man she despised. But personal fidelity and the ability to protect weren’t always intimately acquainted, she’d since learned. The man who cheated on his wife and walked away from his children could also be the very man willing to give his life for that same woman, or those children.

Men had never made sense to her, even from an early age. But she didn’t need him to make sense to her, she needed him to fulfill the promise he made in her dreams and help her figure out who was determined to see her dead and why she was so certain it was someone she knew and loved.

“You’re sorry?” he snorted, flashing her a look filled with disgust. “Fine, go home and be sorry there. I don’t have time for it here.”

The panic was beginning to build inside her chest. It thundered through her veins and raced to her heart. If he made her leave, if he threw her out and forced her to run again, she was going to die, and she knew it.

“You promised you’d help me,” she snapped, her tone more demanding than she would like despite her uncertainty and the fact that the words tore from her almost involuntarily. “You swore it. You can’t renege now.”

Had he really promised, or had she just dreamed it? Was the memory of that dark little hole and the pain that filled her just another nightmare? Had he really been there, swearing he’d always save her, or had she just imagined it?

“Did I now?” Softly voiced, the question held that bit of Irish sexy, lyrical sound that she often heard in those fantasy dreams filled with pleasure rather than pain. “And when did that happen?”

She shook her head. Memory or nightmare?

“You swore you’d always be there if I needed you.” She fought to believe it was memory. “All I had to do was reach out to you. Well, dammit, I’m reaching out. Do you want me to beg too?”

She could see his hand outstretched, his expression somber, demanding. He wouldn’t come to her, she had to go to him.

Riordan felt as though his world had narrowed, that nothing existed but this moment, this woman, and the dreams that had haunted him. Dreams of her cries, her pleas that he come to her. And no matter how desperately he tried to reach her, she was always but a touch away. No matter how often he’d urged her to take his hand, to come to him, just reach out to him, she never did.

The dreams had become so insistent over the months, he’d actually contacted his former security team members who still worked for her father to check up on her.

All was well, he’d been told. Princess Resnova was still the princess, and the czar still protected her like the cherished daughter she would always be. And still, he dreamed, reached out to her, and urged her to take his hand.

I’ll always be here for you. Just reach out to me.

He hadn’t told her that, he’d whispered those words in a dream.

And son of a bitch if that wasn’t enough to make a man force himself not to shake in his boots.

“Why?” he demanded. “Why the hell do you need me when your father has over fifty protection agents, and every damn one of them is on call in case they’re needed to protect you? What the fuck do you need with me?”

Damn her. She’d waited six months to come to him. She’d let him lie in a hospital out of the country, half alive for weeks, and hadn’t once called or reached out him. Why the hell was she short circuiting his brain now?

“I need you to help me,” she whispered again. “I need someone I can trust with my life, Riordan, before I die because I don’t know anymore who’s a friend and who’s the enemy. But you might know. I need someone I can trust to watch my back while I figure out who the hell is trying to kill me and why.”

Kill her?

According to every source he had in her father’s organization, she was safe. The men at the farmhouse where they’d found her were all killed. The bodyguard they’d identified as being behind the abduction and her beating was dead as well.

“Your father’s men can protect you.” God help him. If he even tried, he’d get them both killed—because he wouldn’t be able to stay out of her bed.

She was shaking her head even as he spoke. “I don’t trust them. I don’t trust anyone.” Desperation filled her expression now. “You don’t understand, Riordan. All I have are these crazy dreams of you. Every nightmare I have you’re at my back, protecting me. That’s all I have because I don’t remember what happened before my abduction or the abduction itself. I’ve lost a year of my life and I don’t know why and I damn sure can’t force those memories back,” she cried out, fury filling her tone. “All I have are the nightmares and dreams, and the only person I can see, the only person I can trust in them is you. And by God, I want to know why.”

She faced him, fists clenched, anger flushing her face, but that was heat in her eyes. It wasn’t just nightmares she had, it wasn’t simply dreams.

It was this bond he could sense between them even as she stared back at him, furious, frightened.

And he’d waited long enough.

Taking the steps that separated them, he jerked her into his arms, his lips stilling her cries, his arms tightening around her, holding her to him.

Her lips parted in shock, and he took full advantage of it. He tasted her. Lips and tongue possessed her kiss, and he let his senses grow drunk on her.

Because somehow, someway, she’d shared not just her dreams with him, but those incredibly erotic fantasies that filled his head as well.

And now, he wanted a taste of all that passion, that feminine hunger and need he hadn’t nearly had enough of before her abduction.

Then they could discuss the rest.

Copyright © 2018 by Lora Leigh in Collision Point and reprinted with permission from St. Martin’s Paperbacks.

  About Lora Leigh

#1 New York Times bestseller, LORA LEIGH is the author of the Navy SEALS, the Breeds, the Elite Ops, the Callahans, the Bound Hearts, and the Nauti series.

Lora Leigh dreams in bright, vivid images of the characters’ intent on taking over her writing life, and fights a constant battle to put them on the hard drive of her computer before they can disappear as fast as they appeared.

Lora’s family and her writing life coexist, if not in harmony, in relative peace with each other. Surrounded by a menagerie of pets, friends, and a son who keeps her quick wit engaged, Lora finds her life filled with joys, aided by her fans whose hearts remind her daily why she writes.

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  COLLISION POINT by Lora Leigh: Review & Excerpt was originally published on The Sassy Bookster