Owned (Rockstar Romance) (Lost in Oblivion Book 5) (6 page)

His smile was all she needed to exist in this world. “Not as much as I love you.”

S
urviving
a potential plane crash with blue balls was not the way Nick wanted to start his Christmas vacation.

Especially since he was supposed to be on his A-game for speaking to Fred Ronson, Lila’s father. And Laverne too, probably. The tradition said to ask the father for permission, but damn, that seemed old-fashioned. Lila was a modern woman. Both her parents should be told in advance.

If she’s so modern, why are you asking them at all?

“It’s a ritual for a reason,” he said, striking a match and holding it up to his purloined cigarette. He only had three left in his dented pack, since he was supposed to have quit months ago. Mostly, he had. Only on days like this was he allowed to slip.

Near death and near marriage gave a man good cause to light up.

They’d survived their bumpy flight and touched down at a small, rarely used air-pad for the terminally rich ninety minutes from their original destination. After a cab ride to the rental car place, they’d made the rest of the trip via Chevy Suburban, the last large vehicle left at that particular lot. Lila had made noises about alternate arrangements, but he really didn’t give a fuck. If it had a steering wheel and a gas pedal, good enough.

Now he was in the kitchen at Happy Acres, a cig clamped between his teeth and the back door wedged open so the smoke didn’t hover in the room. Lila and her parents were out getting the main room ready for that night’s Christmas open house, whatever the heck that meant. Happy Acres was an orchard and store that was open all the time from late summer right through the holidays. How much more open could they get?

How much more panic babbling could he do in his head?

They’d left him to keep an eye on the pies. Him. Like he knew how to do anything other than throwing a couple steaks on the barbecue grill he’d insisted they buy for Lila’s high-class patio back in LA. She hadn’t been terribly enthused until he’d shown her what he could do with tongs and charcoal.

Otherwise, he was pretty much not meant for stepping foot into a kitchen. But this was supposed to be easy. Just wait until the little ding from the timer and then take out the steaming hot pies to stack on the stand on the counter.

Even he could handle that.

He had to admit they smelled incredible. Laverne had made noises about doing a full range of them, from peach-apple to blueberry-apple to cherry-rhubarb-apple. As a purist, his preference was plain old apple-apple, but that one wasn’t done yet. The only one that had come out so far was the peach-apple.

Another ding and Nick bit down on his cigarette as he grabbed the oversized oven mitts. He had to listen closely, because the second he heard approaching footsteps, his cig was going in the sink. He’d have to discreetly pry it out before anyone noticed, but it was his best option other than booking it out the back door.

He pulled open the oven door and stepped back, nearly bowled over by the orgasm-worthy plethora of scents. He groaned. His dick was still hard from earlier. He did not need to be getting aroused at some hot pie action.

A scuffle behind him made him start to turn, only to have the oven door clang shut. Gritting his teeth over his now mangled cigarette, he pried open the door again and withdrew the pie on top with the nicely browned crust. This oven was huge. He could practically take a nap inside it, for fuck’s sake. He carted the lattice-topped pie—a term he only knew because of Laverne’s explanation the last time they’d visited—to the counter to set it with the other pie. Except the cooling shelf that had held the peach-apple pie was empty.

Freaking
empty
.

He glanced around, frowning. The back door was still open, but not wide enough that someone could’ve come in to steal a pie without him noticing. He
had
heard a scuffling noise behind him, but who would sneak in to steal a pie and hightail it back out in the middle of a damn snowstorm?

Not that snowstorms were terribly rare in this part of New York. They seemed to have them six months out of the year, or roughly sixty percent of the time he and Lila came to visit Fred and Laverne. Still, it seemed like an awful lot of effort to go through to snag some baked goods.

Leaning forward over the sink, he gripped the hot pie in his hands and peered out the window. Snow, snow and more snow. Pine trees draped in white. Fences looped with Christmas lights. Mangy dog eating out of a shiny dish.

He frowned at the glint of silver in the snow. Didn’t it just figure? He tried to do his duty before he satisfied his growling stomach and he got scooped by a damn mutt.

His frown grew. Then again, maybe it was just a coincidence. Lola, Lila’s dog and the family pet, was around somewhere. Perhaps this dog was a friend of hers and that silver was its dish. Any good detective worth their salt knew you had to catch the perp in the act.

Well, he was no frigging Nancy Drew, but he’d give it his best shot.

Creeping back to the counter, he set down the pie. He turned toward the stove, pretending to be occupied with his cigarette and watching the timer. The same slight scuffle sounded behind him and he spun just in time to see the bedraggled dog oh so carefully prying the pie off the shelf, as painstakingly as he might pick up an injured dove. His eyes slid toward Nick, pie still between his jaws, and he scrambled backward, paws slipping on the snow he’d tracked in. But he still made it out the door before Nick could do more than lurch forward and grab a handful of his sodden golden fur.

Racing forward, he slipped in the same damp tracks and faceplanted on the floor, only a miracle saving his face from making painful contact with the lit end of his cigarette.

Goddammit.

Nick spit out the cig and without thinking, ground it out on the planked wooden floor. The inside door to the kitchen swung open, and Nick tried to get up, only to lose his footing again on the same damp spot. Of course he was still clutching the cigarette.

Which Lila’s father had just seen him extinguish on their nice kitchen floor.

Goodbye, marriage. Goodbye new father-in-law. Goodbye ever relieving the hard-on from hell.

“Need a hand there, son?”

Nick shut his eyes at Fred’s booming voice. He was just humoring him. He probably wanted him dead.

And he hadn’t even heard yet that his pies were in the belly of a mongrel dog.

“I’m good, thanks.” Nick tucked the cigarette into his palm, trying not to react at the still hot tip scorching his skin. He’d probably have a hole. One he deserved, but nonetheless.

Somehow he made it to his feet and brushed the hand not holding the burning embers over the knees of his jeans. He’d planned to talk to Lila’s parents as soon as possible, but he didn’t think right now was the best time. Besides, he needed to track down the damn mutt who had ruined his life.

“I’ve gotta go outside to—” What? He couldn’t admit that the dog had stolen the pies. What kind of dumbass couldn’t keep an eye on an inanimate object for five minutes? “Take a piss,” he finished as Fred raised his eyebrows.

At this point, his mouth was on autopilot, and that was never a good thing. He needed to get his ass out of the kitchen and away from where it could do any more damage.

Maybe he’d just go live in the forest with the mutt.

He spun away and toed the doorstop away from the cracked-open back door. Blessedly cold air wafted over his scalding face. He was probably blushing bright red.

“Wait, you don’t have your gloves,” Lila called out.

That was his girl. Always so delicate. What dude needed gloves to piss? Not that he was really going to pee. Though the more he thought about it, maybe he should. Might be the only action his sore dick saw for the rest of this vacation.

Waving her off, he slipped outside and let the door slap shut behind him. He lifted his face and let the relentless snow cool down his scorched skin. Then he scanned the snow-covered property for the dog, shielding his eyes against the barrage of flakes. It looked like another inch had come down just while he was being robbed of his baked goods.

The freaking mongrel was nowhere in sight.

Nick frowned. His night—and oh, maybe his life—was going right down the flusher.

* * *

S
taring at the back door
, Lila relived everything she’d just told her parents. Away from Nick’s earshot, of course.

So I might be rushing into things but a near plane crash does that to a girl. I want to be with Nick.

You are with Nick, dear. Aren’t you?

I mean, with with.

You mean sexually? Don’t fib to your mama. I know that lock’s been turned a long time ago. I recognize a satisfied key when I see one, and that boy’s definitely satisfied with you.

Cue flush. But she’d forged on.

No, I mean like forever. We’re already living together.

Can’t say I’m surprised.

More forging on.
I don’t know if he’s ready for more. For a while, I wasn’t sure I was either. You know, after Martin—

We know, and we support you in everything.

Her mother had hugged her then, and it hadn’t seemed like such a hard, scary choice to take a step forward with Nick. If he even wanted to take that step with her. Not when she had her parents—well, at least her mother, her father wasn’t so sure yet—behind her.

Really
behind her, judging from their choice of bedroom assignments. Whoa. Her mother certainly didn’t let snow pile up under her feet.

Then there had been Nick’s watching of the pies, which hadn’t gone particularly well. And his cigarette dousing on the floor. Oh, and mustn’t forget his charming piss comment before he fled out the back door, though they had many suitable working toilets on the premises.

That is the man you want to marry and procreate with?

Um, yes, I think so. Probably.

She wouldn’t let his momentarily inappropriate behavior—hello, this was Nick, he was basically a walking billboard for inappropriateness—reduce her desire to take things to the next level. Or at least discuss it openly like mature adults. No more waiting and wondering and pretending she wasn’t having the thoughts she was having.

If he wasn’t in the same place yet, no problem. She’d just enjoy where they were. Just because she preferred to plan the route before she set off on a trip didn’t mean she couldn’t change. With him, she was learning a whole new style of being.

“Still thinking the same way you were a few minutes ago, Leelee?” Her father asked, reading her mind.

“Yes, I am.” She said it almost defiantly as she bent to stroke Lola’s head.

Being home meant having her faithful dog at her side once again. That included cuddling in bed with her, no matter how much Nick bitched. It was more bluster than anything else. He pretended to hate her cat yet she saw him sneaking Spot treats all the time.

“What’d that damn boy do with those other two pies?” Her father said, shaking his head as he checked the oven.

“Ate them probably. He’s skinny as a whip. Leelee, do you feed him?”

“He eats plenty, and no, I do not feed him as he’s a grown male and perfectly capable of getting his own nourishment without me providing it to him.”

Though she had taken to slipping extra vitamins and protein into the morning shakes she got him to drink every now and then. The vegetables she added to their nightly meals were for her as much as him.

Bah, so she
did
make sure he was fed. She was acting motherly already. She’d have to stop that. He probably wouldn’t need to eat for a long while if he’d scarfed down two whole pies. Her mother’s baking was incredible, but wow. How could he still fit in his jeans?

Anyway, she had other things to consider right now. Like his wandering around outside gloveless. Which was
not
mothering him. He was a California boy and still wasn’t used to these conditions. As his manager, protecting his hands meant safeguarding her investment.

And her orgasms.

“I’m going to run up and grab his gloves,” she told her parents. “Be right back.”

She jogged up the stairs to the bedroom they’d been given this trip. Instead of staying at the lodge on the property as they had most of the other times they’d visited, they’d been given one of the family rooms upstairs in the main house due to “all the last-minute bookings”. At least that had been her mother’s explanation.

The room they were staying in actually had a bit of legend. Her father had been back home on leave from the Navy and staying at Happy Acres with Laverne and her parents for a short time while the new couple searched for a house. They’d married shortly before her father shipped out, so there had been no time to find a place to live or begin to plan their life.

Then on Fred’s first night back on leave, he and her mother had conceived Lila, or so the story went.

It didn’t end there. Some family friends stayed in the room when Lila was little, and she grew up hearing stories about the “magic” bedroom where they’d conceived their little boy. She wasn’t sure what to make of the fact that her parents had insisted she and Nick had to stay in that bedroom, though her mother sure had beamed when Lila had taken her parents aside for their emergency talk.