Belle and Valentine Read Free

around the counter. She stumbled backward a step but didn’t want him to think she feared him and held her ground. That just left her open for him to pin her in place with one hand on either side of her hips and standing too damn close.
    “I let you leave Aves five years ago, with a man who everyone knew was just a means for you to escape. That’s not going to happen again. He’s gone. You’re mine. It’s as simple as that.”
    “I loved Richard!”
    “You didn’t take his name.”
    “So? Lots of women do that.”
    “Who was he with when he died, Zuria?”
    The bottom dropped out of her senses. “W-What?”
    “You heard me.”
    Fane had been this way from as far back as she’d known him, blunt, not sparing anyone’s feelings. If one wanted to bury one’s head in the sand and ignore the real truth, one had better not talk to Fane Valentine. He had no problem spelling it out with no sugar coating whatsoever. By the time she found out her parents’ house was up for foreclosure—another secret Sam kept to himself—it was too late for her to appeal to Richard to help. She had learned later Fane had told Sam he had the money, but he would not offer it for a broken-down house that neither Sam nor Zuria truly wanted. Their parents had both passed on, and the house lay empty. Zuria had desired to hold on to the last connection to her mom and dad, and she had assumed Sam felt the same. Fane had instead put up ninety percent of the money for their coffee shop because it was Sam’s dream to own one. Zuria couldn’t exactly fault Fane for that, but he still pissed her off.
    She laid her hand on his forearm and gave it a push. Fane didn’t budge, and she felt the tense muscles beneath her palm, sending warmth to her core. “It’s none of your business.”
    “He was with—”
    “Shut up!” To her horror, tears sprung to her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Fane dragged her into his arms, and she held onto to his shirt, balling her fingers into the material, and buried her face in his neck. She shook, feeling so stupid and lame, hating her weakness.
    Fane stroked her back, for once doing as she asked and saying nothing. She clung to him, breathing in his familiar scent, the aching now more than about the loss of her carefully built life, the dashing of all of her plans. Fane had spoken the truth about her wanting him, but she had never intended to give in to it. Still, when he raised her chin and covered her lips with his, she parted them, inviting his tongue. He delved inside, sending tiny jolts of electricity coursing through her veins and bringing her libido to life. She circled his waist and pressed closer, taking the kiss deeper. Fane raised his head, leaving her bereft, but he used a rough thumb to brush the tears from her cheeks.
    “Ride with me,” he murmured, his lips grazing hers.
    Temptation overwhelmed her. She started to tell him no, but he kissed her again, cupping her face between his two big palms. She sagged into his chest, aching with need. “I…”
    “Just a ride,” he said, but he went on planting kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her chin, her throat. He was killing her. “Let go for once. Have a little fun.”
    She pulled from his arms, and he released her. “Just a ride, Fane. Nothing else.”
    He raised his hands, palms facing her. “I won’t make love to you until you ask me to.”
    She glared at him, and he smiled. Bastard!
    “Fine, I’ll go.”
    Whatever else they might have said to each other was lost when Dixie Ann burst into the kitchen, too damn chipper for early morning. She found reasons to engage Fane in conversation and to touch him, and Fane didn’t discourage her. The way he bent his head to listen to the blonde had Zuria rethinking her decision to go for a ride with him, and she reminded herself that even if she did, she would not give in to anything more. Richard had already proven men couldn’t be trusted when it came to women throwing themselves at their heads.