Chapter 4

Four

H e was so stupid.

Damon stepped off the back step and relished the bite of the cold on his bare chest.

He gnashed his teeth and worked through the last twenty-four hours in his head. One minute he was preparing to kick ass on the Risky Whiskey, have a little fun beating his brother at his own game and then enjoy some family time. The next, he was mentally fucking the last person on earth he needed to be hard and ready for. His dick, on the other hand, had no qualms about wanting Miss Ivy Kennedy.

Those sweet eyes. Her tender smile. they were all exactly what he didn't fucking need. A man his age had no business lusting after a damn twenty-something girl barely above the legal drinking age. He wasn't over the hill like his brothers teased, but at thirty-eight that put him way ahead of a young thing like Ivy.

He welcomed the bite of cold against his skin. Wearing nothing but sweatpants and some lace ups, stepped off his porch

He felt sorry for his sparing student standing opposite of him.

"Mr. Savage," the boy greeted with a nervous smile that almost made Damon feel sorry for what he was about to do. The boy had a lot to learn to become a cop like his old man, Damon's partner, and today's lesson would be hell.

"Samuel. Glad you made it. You know the rules."

"Yes, sir. Anything goes."

"That's right. Criminals don't follow rules. Only we do. But you need to learn to expect the unexpected."

"Yes, sir."

Damon raised his hands. "Alaska is a whole other animal compared to the other forty-nine states. You have to be tougher than all the other SOBs out there," he lectured. Fists up he landed the first punch, blocking a counter strike. Despite being bulkier than most his age, the teen lost his balance and fell headfirst into a snowbank.

"Careless. Now focus."

They started over. Both their fists raised.

Snow came down in heavy tufts but he paid no mind. While his older brother, Drake, went into the marines, Damon had devoted six years of his life to the police force. Three of those to uncover work infiltrating the Russian drug organization.

These people used his state to move heroin and cocaine. When a friend was killed on duty, he slipped into the ranks as an undercover operative to break apart the infrastructure of the gang.

He reached his target, took out the group responsible for the drug running. But it had cost him. His wife didn't care about the good he did. She didn't want someone who couldn't focus on her and be there for her one hundred percent. They lasted six months. The hateful words she leveled on him tore at his heart and he swore never to love—or marry—again.

And now this sweet little thing-- virgin no doubt--came to his mountain with pain in her eyes and his inner cop wanted to solve every problem he could see weighing on her shoulders. Unknowingly she stirred up emotions inside him better left buried.

The way her lithe body felt in his arms.

Fuck.

He roared with frustration.

When he looked at Ivy in that tacky sweater and sexy glances she threw his way his dick turned to damn steel and his mind cooked up images of her sprawled out over his sheets, spread wide and bare for his hungry mouth.

Then he'd offered her a place to stay. What the hell had he been thinking? That she would be only a few feet from his own bed with only a couple of paper-thin doors separating them.

He blocked a half-hearted punch from the boy and dealt out one of his own.

He blocked.

"Good," Damon gruffed. "Faster footwork."

His brothers could suck it and their judgmental stares as they hugged their wives, all wondering when he would find his. He was happy for them, loved the new members of the family like sisters, but wanting one of his own? Nope.

Been there done that, used the t-shirt as a cleaning rag for the bar.

Angry, he let out a deep thunderous roar and forced his attacker back several paces with a swift slap of his cupped palm .

Didn't believe in magic? Who didn't believe in magic?

Damon paced the wide alley behind his bar. What kind of person didn't believe in what they saw with their own two eyes? Alaska was magical.

And those glasses she wore. trade-off dick twitched every time she reached up to situate them on the dainty bridge of her nose. He wanted to kiss the tip of the pointy refined edge and work his way down to her pouty pink lips.

What kind of man denied what he felt the second their skin connected? He did. And then she'd bombarded him with a hundred questions about his bar because of that damn nosy man, Cougar, and Damon choked.

Fucking choked.

He interrogated some of the roughest, most lethal gang members Russia could produce. He never faltered for words, but she tied his thoughts into one large knot.

To make matters worse, he kissed her. Sweetest lips and the hottest moans he'd ever heard come from a woman.

He didn't even know he was going to kiss her, but her strawberry flavored lip balm screwed into his brain every time she uttered a word and drove him mad every step of that damn race, and it wasn't like he could just step away. He was tied to her, for God's sake. He nearly fucking groaned out loud the second his fingers touched the warm cotton of her long johns as he'd tied their legs together.

He huffed a cloud of frustration. And who the hell wore those ugly things anyway? Old men in western movies?

Not Christmas angels with raven black hair that brushed her waist like a sheet of silk.

An angel . His angel, he growled.

His mountain, his bar. That made her his to claim.

Given half the chance he would strip her of those bright pink offending long johns and never allow her to cover herself up in them again.

But that wouldn't happen, he growled.

Ever.

His dick would not go within five feet of her bed, kitchen counter, or anywhere else he could strip her bare and have his way while unrelenting fire gnawed away every inch of vein in his body.

He kicked out, sending a burst of white powder into the air and distracted his sparring partner.

The rich smoothness of her creamy skin and sweet scent. He didn't know he wanted the taste of her on his tongue either until he had her in his arms and her delicate tongue darting between his lips to touch his.

Half the town had looked on as he tongue fucked her mouth. His cock had swelled instantly and he'd hurt her when he set her away from him.

What a mess.

Damon swung out forcing his opponent to block the blow in a way that opened himself up to an easy attack.

Just what Damon wanted.

He charged, dodged a high swipe and sunk his fist into flesh. Rolling forward, Damon drew to his legs and swung, holding half of his power back. He didn't want to kill the boy, only teach a lesson.

The boy lunged and took them both down into the cold snow. Damon's age and experience had the boy pinned beneath him in seconds, his fingers locked on his attacker's throat in seconds.

"Get it together and focus," he told him firmly. Both were breathing heavy and their hot breaths carried through the early morning air.

A brush of a curtain from the second story caught his eye and cost him. An unseen weapon cut into Damon's arm, dragging a guttural roar from the back of his throat so loud the sound of glass rattling carried over the falling snow.

"Fuck," he bit out. Not from pain, but the wound to his pride at allowing himself to be distracted. That never happened.

Damon paid no mind to the trickle of blood easing down his forearm or the cold against his bare skin.

His brows snapped together. "You're getting faster. Good," Damon grated. "But not fast enough. You need to practice more," he instructed with the same force his sergeant had with him in the police academy. The old man was a hard ass but he'd taught the men under his care how to move their asses, protect those under them and manage to go home at the end of the day.

A nice trade-off in Damon's opinion. His partner's boy would appreciate that when he got a little more age on him and a son of his own to care for. Right now he didn't mind looking like the hard-assed godfather that didn't know how to have fun.

More training was needed but Damon could only manage a couple of hours at the ass crack of dawn and before school with the boy. It would have to do. "More practice, fewer games. You want to be a cop for the PD, take your father's place in the force, you have to take this seriously." Damon felt like a heel saying it, but sometimes the only way to get through the cloud of a teenager's mind was with some harsh realities.

He only nodded.

Damon walked up to the boy who stood heaving from the exertion of their sparring. "You got this."

"Yeah. It's not easy though."

"Most things aren't," Damon countered.

"I'm fast enough to beat you, though, old man. that's progress. You didn't even see the dummy knife. Sorry it cut you though." That nervous smile turned into a rueful grin.

"Don't be." But damn if he didn't feel old. Damon smiled and smacked snow on his arm to clear the drying blood away. "You think you're fast." Damon reached out and smacked the back of his godson's head. "But don't get overconfident."

"Ouch. What was that for?"

"GP. General purpose." Damon grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in for a hug. "Now, focus. Make the grades, do the work, and be good with your mom. Remember, cockiness gets you killed. Something your dad failed to learn," he added in a lighter voice. "Don't open yourself up. Keep close and move fast. Speed is your friend and remember your enemy's weakness is him thinking he knows yours."

A frown formed on the younger boy's face. But Damon didn't back down. At sixteen he was old enough to get a taste of the real world.

"I understand." He pointed at the slash mark.

"Right. I lost focus and it cost me. Take it as proof." Speaking of, his distraction was awake. He could feel her eyes on them, and a faint light flickered on the snow signaling she'd turned on a light. Damon wrapped his hand around the boy's forearm and pulled him in until he had his undivided attention. "Keep close to your opponent, use your surroundings to your advantage and protect yourself. Never show fear. You'll learn the rest as we move along."

"Yes, sir. Same time tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Don't look so down, boy. You're doing fine. Your father would be proud of you. Tell your mom I'll be by later with some things. Seen you then."

Damon watched as the god-son he helped raise for the last four years tore out through the snow and hit the thick tree line that hugged the end of the alley. Darkness swallowed him as he took the path that connected to his mom's property.

The cloak of night still held the town captive for a couple of more hours. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the wisp of a curtain again and smiled.

The little angel-eyed temptress was watching. Let the torture begin.

Inside the back door to the bar, he toed off his boots and he brushed off the snow clinging to his hair. His bare feet masked his progress up the back stairs as he made his way through the bar, taking them two at a time.

His dreamy temptress stood in her doorway wearing a sleepy grin.

"Ms. Kennedy," he drawled from the landing. "Nothing like an early morning workout to get the blood pumping."

"Mmm-hmm." She brushed the sleepiness from her eyes, her long hair pulled to the side in a braid mussed from sleep and the tempting dark locks looked sexy as hell fanned along the side of her face. The neck of her sweater dipped over one creamy shoulder to reveal an emerald green strap.

He also noticed the pale coloring of her cheeks and dark circles brushed along the undersides of her eyes. He frowned.

"Sorry to have disturbed you."

She gave a half moan. "After all that we've seen of each other," she looked pointedly at his bare chest and dared scan her gaze lower with a flush of red to her cheeks the lower she went. God, he was in so much trouble. "I'd say you can stick with Ivy. Wouldn't you say, Mr. Savage?"

"Okay, Ivy." He liked the way she shuddered the slightest bit when he said her name.

Truth be told, his name on her tongue made his cock throb and his hands itch to bury his fingers into that braid and work the length free to see where the ends brushed when loose.

He moved down the hall and leaned an elbow on the doorjamb, the smell of coffee wafting out the door at her back. "Yesterday's kiss alone should put us on the path to at least sharing coffee in the mornings while you're here. Don't you agree?"

Her eyes widened.

He tightened his fingers around the wood of the frame until they turned white as the sexy sound tugged at the alpha in him.

Two more nights with her under his roof. Forty-eight torturous, heavenly hours and he would be free. He could send her away to the Savage home with Zahara and her husbands. But the thought had red flashing across his vision and his gut dropping to the floor.

Soft light from a nearby lamp on the opposite side of the door leaked into the hall to cast a deep shadow across her face, but he didn't need the light to see every angle of her delicate shoulders or the way she worked her bottom lip between her teeth and fiddled with the ends of her ugly sweater, this one more atrocious than the last.

Damon reached between them and twirled several loose strands around a finger. Dark hair on a white pillow. His gaze clouded with the images of her tucked beneath him, his bed at her back and him tending to every fucking need her body craved. Phantom moans and tortured groans of ecstasy already played in his ear as he imagined luring the sweet sounds from her plump lips.

"Do you always stare at a woman's lips, Mr. Savage?"

"Damon," he corrected her gruffly as he leveled his gaze with hers. "And only when I can't get the taste of strawberry out of my head."

"Oh? Do you associate strawberries and lips often?" she asked softly.

"More and more. What's with the sweater fetish?" That had to be a safe enough topic. He stared at her a moment longer, torn between walking back to his room and taking care of the raging need she stirred in him, or seducing her and finding out if her soft lips would feel as heavenly wrapped around his shaft as they did pressed against his own.

"What? The clerk at the counter said it looked good on me."

"I bet she did."

"He," she corrected with a playful smirk.

He cocked a half-grin. His little tease wanted to play? She stood back from him then and her gaze pulled him over the threshold of her apartment.

His chest tightened as unwanted fire seeped into his blood to ignite a deep need he hadn't felt in years. The burning need to take a woman until they both couldn't walk from sheer excursion.

"He gave me his number if I ever need more sweaters."

His cock pulsed in his pants, drawing her eye.

"No one needs more than one cheesy Christmas sweater in their lives. All that thing needs is lights to win the ugliest sweater award of all time."

He eyed the island counter through the opened door at her back, which was the perfect height for burying himself into her dripping channel. And she would be wet. Wet for him and hungrier after he made her come with his tongue pressed between her folds, his fingers dipping into that virgin pussy to tease her further.

The dark need to confirm his suspicions grabbed him by the balls and tightened until he couldn't see. Did she know how tempting she was fresh out of bed? Mussed hair, dreamy eyes, and flushed cheeks.

His cock swelled to press against the soft material of his sweats.

He growled when her gaze drifted down his bare chest to rest on his cock.

Ivy. An angel with raven hair and greenest eyes. When her gaze lifted to his and recognition flared with a glittering surprise in her eyes.

She bit into her lip. "Strawberry you said?"

He took another step closer, then another. "Hmm-mmm. Your lips. They taste like strawberries."

Beyond the kitchen, the curtains were drawn. No one would see him devouring the Texas beauty.

His gaze caressed her heart-shaped cheeks, the way her chin came to a delicate point.

"Have you eaten?" husky and low, he drew out his question, fixing his gaze on the way her tongue flicked over her lower lip, the way her chest rose and fell with every breath.

Could he kiss her again and walk away? Doubtful. He had a feeling no one walked away from Ivy Kennedy unscathed. In the last twenty-four hours she filled his head like a bad idea waiting to happen. A charged bomb ready to explode in his face. Then why couldn't he keep away? He shouldn't be here, this close to her.

She brought her face up to his and her eyes shone with what he wanted to believe was unspent need as he reached out and tucked a stubborn strand of hair behind her ear again as it slipped free, causing the lines in her forehead to deepen and her eyes to shutter closed for a brief moment.

He picked up the faint sigh as his fingers brushed the baby soft skin of her cheek. What was it about this woman that he couldn't resist?

"Did you know that there are over one hundred different species of berries in Alaska?" Her green eyes darkened and she mirrored his steps as he entered the apartment and flicked the door closed behind them. He advanced, she retreated until her back bumped against the small island situated in the center of the kitchenette. With nothing between them but air, he watched as she slipped a finger into the neck of her oversized sweatshirt, black, big glittered up neck and gold letters that spelled out Santa's favorite HO HO HO.

He tracked her movements and fantasized how she would look on top of him, her glasses on as she rode him and that ugly sweater tossed aside.

Heat fused his blood and pounded through every inch of his body. Instinct mixed and jumbled his thoughts until his movements became jerky.

She fetched her glasses and slid them on with practiced ease. "Watermelon." Like a teacher set on driving home a point, she raised a tiny digital finger. "That's my favorite one. Watermelon berry. Of the berries, I mean and the rarest. Have you had those?"

He sent her a bemused look and nodded. "Did you memorize everything you could about this place?"

"Oh. Um." She plucked off her glasses and he stopped her before she could pull them completely free.

"Don't. They make you look sexy."

She froze with her hand mid-air. "Right."

"A sexy Christmas angel," he dragged out as she complied with pushing the frames back into place.

"Excuse me?" Her gaze danced over his as she worked the ends of her sweater as if she needed something in her hands to keep from reaching out and touching him.

Like an invisible force pushing at his back, everything in him drove him forward, and it took every last ounce of control to keep his feet nailed to the small spot of carpet. But he could easily lean in. Caress her with a kiss along her neck.

As if she sensed his internal war, Ivy edged out of where he had her pinned and rounded the counter to a safe distance. Or what she perceived as safe anyway. "I don't usually, you know, wear them. In class, they become more of a hassle than anything. I can't seem to keep up with them and then my supervisor loves to find anything I do wrong as an example for everyone else's learning opportunity."

He continued to regard her from a safe distance. "She must be a jealous old hag."

Ivy turned and rose on her tiptoes to retrieve a couple of mugs from the cabinet. The movement inched up the hem of her sweater over the perfect globes of her round, sexy ass and tight stretchy pair of pants she wore molded to her every delectable curve. He groaned but disguised it as a cough.

He brought his gaze up just as she turned. But didn't hide the fact he watched her every move. Some things couldn't be hidden and he didn't pride himself on being a liar.

She shivered delicately, the reaction so minute only an astute person would pick up the change in her stance. The way her heart rate fluttered along the pulse point in her neck and her pupils dilated. She arched her brow but continued on as though she didn't notice anything. The sweet blush that dusted her cheeks told him otherwise.

Damon grunted something following her weird train of conversation about berries, but couldn't take his eyes off the way she rubbed the pad of her finger over the rim of the mugs.

She dipped her head and the glasses slipped just slightly but enough to bring every librarian and school teacher fantasy he had rushing to mind.

"And did you know that Alaska is home to three million lakes." She looked at some book on the counter.

Damon cocked a grin, but not that she saw with her attention on the pages. What a peculiar woman. Zahara said her sister was a little nerdy, more so than herself as a linguist teacher, but he never imagined nerdy would be so damn edible. "Do you do that a lot?" he asked, taking his mug from her hands, careful not to touch her finger.

He'd watched her at the bar last night talking with everybody that approached her with gentle ease and a book sticking out of her back pocket. He'd been curious about it then but forgot to ask when the night kicked into overdrive and beer slinging took precedence.

He drew near and mentally shoved down the fire that torched his insides the closer he came.

"What?" she shrugged sheepishly flipping page after page propped on one foot as she sipped at her coffee. "Facts intrigue me."

He chuckled. "This explains a lot. How long have you had this?" He tapped the cover with "Everything You Didn't Know You Didn't Know About Alaska" printed on the front.

"A couple of weeks." She shrugged and snatched the already well-worn book from his hands before tucking it away in a drawer by the refrigerator. The small kitchenette didn't offer much in the way of anything elegant and fancy but it did okay in the day to day needs of sustenance.

"Come. Take a seat and I'll whip us up some eggs and bacon."

Her nose scrunched. "Sorry. Not really a scrambled eggs kinda girl. And bacon makes me sick."

What? He turned, already pulling out pots and pans from under the counter and mentally taking stock on what he needed to grab from his apartment. Or he could take her over there. "Tell me you are lying. Those are words that have caused wars. I'm sure of it. You're kidding?"

The green of her eyes darkened, and he immediately regretted teasing her as she shook her head. "Not even in the slightest." She bit at her lip before she continued. "It was the last food my dad made us girls." Her face shut down.

She didn't offer more and he didn't push. But still, something deep down drove him to want more from her, know more of what made his curious med student tick. But one thing his past taught him was patience, and he had that in spades.

He rounded the counter and took the coffee mug from her hand and set his down beside hers.

He was faced with two options. Kiss away the sadness dulling her eyes which would lead down a path of his taking more than just a kiss from her.

Or…

He tipped her chin up, dark circles under her eyes. They stole away the kind woman he met yesterday and that was a crime in and of itself.

"Then what kind of girl are you, Ivy."

She lifted a shoulder. "Donuts. Coffee. Sometimes a bagel. Anything sweet and fast on the lips." She did that damn nose crunch again, and her glasses slipped. "Anything I can eat on the run and not have to use a fork with. A curse of not having much time for myself lately or at all really."

Damon tore a hand through his hair and weighed the options. Settled, he reached out as she stepped around the stools pushed up against the island counter. "I think I have something that can cure the Alaskan blues and give us a nice chance to talk."

"Unless you have a glazed donut tucked away somewhere, I highly doubt it. And talk about what?"

"Work of course." He snatched a coat and scarf from the coat rack situated next to the door before walking back to her." We have a lot of orders coming in and we'll need to work out a schedule. Thought you wouldn't mind helping me." With a gentle nudge, he turned her around and helped her into the coat before he set to work on wrapping the scarf around her neck.

"Not at all. I'd love to. It would be a good distraction from..." Her words suddenly trailed off to silence.

"Distraction from what," he coaxed.

"Nothing. Just school and work." She shrugged, not meeting his gaze with hers. His little angel was hiding something, and she made teasing the truth from her pretty pouty lips a temptation he wouldn't refuse.

He paused and considered his guest from a corner of his eyes. "Ready?"

"Where are we going?"

"Trust me, you'll love it."

She stiffened beneath his gaze.

Anger welled inside at whatever put the weary look in her eyes. No one needed to go through life fearing everything or second-guessing when and how someone could hurt them. "If it helps, your sister loves what I am about to show you and..." he glanced at the clock on the microwave above the stove, "we have exactly one hour before we are interrupted."

Part of her relaxed at the mention of her sister as the tension eased from her eyes and he motioned for her to turn around. Curiosity had her following. "What can we do in an hour?"

He knew the question came out before she fully thought of it but he loved the way her lips parted as she considered her words.

Oh man, he could have fun with that. Hand on the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder and moved away from the door. "Do you want to find out, angel?"

"You are a terrible tease, Mr. Savage."

The surprise in her eyes at his question was worth the pain stabbing at his insides because every time he thought about her legs parted and him taking her, the drip of pure lava hooked up to his circulatory system intensified a few notches more. "I'm afraid to follow that through," she admitted.

His expression softened. "Don't worry—I won't eat you up with my big teeth." Just yet. Because he would. He knew it would happen like he knew the sun would rise and set.

She looked away from his mouth long enough to settle her gaze on his eyes. Green eyes like the prettiest field of lush summer grass and pink-tinged lips were his weakness when they were from one Texan girl rapidly stealing his sanity. "Trust me," he repeated in a whispered plea. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

She wrapped the ends of her jacket around her middle and gave a stiff nod. "I'm assuming it involves something sugary so I'm in." She reached for his hand. Skin on skin.

He turned to see the trust she extended to him and he took it as a gift that it was.

Two minutes later he led them both down another set of stairs that wound around the backside of the bar and apartments. Like every morning he had to put a little shoulder power into creaking open the old metal door during the harsh winter months as the cold locked the hinges. Snow drifted in as the knob gave and he ushered Ivy out of the cold.

With a loud clunk, the heavy door closed behind.

"Mr. Murdoch will be ticked we messed around in his kitchen before he got here, but if we're fast, he'll never know."

"What?" Ivy froze and dropped to the floor on all fours and tugged at his hand to do the same. He knelt beside her and tried to hold back the laugh that wanted to bust out of his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked and reached up by the back door to flick the switch on to the overheads. White light flooded the large space.

"Kill the lights. We just broke into a bakery! Are you crazy? I mean, come on!"

He kneeled and stroked the back of his knuckles over her soft cheek and realized the feel of her was becoming more of an addiction the longer he spent time with her.

He flashed a key.

Her attention darted sideways. "Oh." A red so bright she looked like a Christmas ornament climbed the length of her neck until her entire face glowed.

"The way you busted through that back door I thought...you know."

He gathered her hands in his and stood pulling her with him.

"Well, I do like donuts and I would probably do whatever it took to get some so you're not too far off base."

She rolled her eyes and he laughed. "Welcome to Big Paws Bakery. I own the joint."

Ivy shot him a look of indifference through narrowed eyes and he wound his fingers around hers. "You could have led with that you know."

He pulled her forward. "Where's the fun in that?"

She looked around the spotless workspace where cakes, rolls, and his famous triple-layered chocolate pumpkin pies were prepped for the holidays. "Come on I'll show you around."

"I can't wait."

He led her in front of him and showed her through a swinging door that separated the customer's area from the baker's workstations and various areas of prep work.

She stopped in front of him and pressed a hand to his shoulder. Her warm hand in his was a consolation prize for keeping his dick to himself back in the apartment when he could have easily seduced her into his arms. Into his bed. But when she touched him…skin on skin…God save him.

"You growl like that and it makes a girl wonder."

He peered down at her as she snatched her hand back to play with the zipper of her coat as if she needed to keep her hands busy. "Wonder what?" he husked silkily.

She shot him a look over her shoulder then cautiously stepped through the door. Her eyes darkened and he read her answer before she uttered the last words he expected to hear. "Wonder what you sound like in bed."

He groaned a tortured sound pulled from deep inside. "How are you not already claimed and spoken for, angel," he wondered aloud in a low tone, tucking the same stubborn lock behind her ear.

She smiled but said nothing as she eased around the counter to perch on a stool.

He was royally screwed.

"You did it again. Maybe you should see someone about that? Or maybe eat something?"

Not a soul on the planet could cure him of what he had.

"I don't think a donut is going to help cure me of what I have." He made quick work of cutting them each a piece of his personal creation and served up a double espresso.

"And what would that be? What ails you? Maybe I can help because you do tend to growl every time I get close to you or touch you. Maybe you have an allergy to raven-haired Texans. Or maybe it's the strawberry Chapstick?"

"Or maybe it's one angel with black-rimmed glasses, green eyes, and tacky sweaters."

"Lucky me! You're right. There's not a pill for that?"

Lucky? Not even close. His past taught him that the hard way. Working as an undercover cop for three years to build a case against the drug cartels invading the underworld from across the Bering Strait and the country's Russian neighbors, painted a big target on his ass, even retired. No, she wasn't lucky at all that he wanted her.

"And assuming you are talking about me as some angel...you should definitely get that out of your head." He watched the fork disappear between her lips, and his cock twitched, anticipating the feel of her tongue working the tip of his shaft the way she licked the remnants off the fork.

"Oh. My. God. I think I just came." Her eyes rolled closed, and she groaned as if she'd just stepped off cloud nine and free-fell into pure bliss.

Damon choked on the sip of coffee as he leaned on the countertop, his pie left untouched. "I'll take that as a compliment."

She laughed and it reached all the way to her eyes, and it warmed him in a way he shouldn't take comfort in, since it meant he'd just slipped another notch closer to the danger zone.

"You made this?" She pointed the fork at her plate as she scooped up another big bite.

He nodded.

"How do you not have women lined up outside your door right now?" She turned in her stool and craned her neck around to the front door as if to make sure her statement wasn't true already. "It's like you infused sex appeal into pumpkin pie and then dipped it in chocolate for a follow-up orgasm and for aftershocks, added another dash of cinnamon." She moaned long and low and he almost felt jealous of the pastry she praised, wishing it was him giving her such euphoria.

"I had no idea that was even a thing." His words sounded raw even to his ears. She killed him. One mouthful of pie at a time.

"It is to a woman. Have you ever had an orgasm so hard the aftershocks felt just as good as the original until you're left with nothing but a limp body and the need to sleep for days?"

That burned like a poker to the balls and had his jaw flexing, biting back the crazy notion of jealousy that clawed at him at the thought of another man giving her that experience. What the hell was wrong with him? "I take it you have."

"Nope. Virgin, but I've dreamed about it."

It took him a good ten seconds to gather his thoughts after that admission. This woman was amazing. Open book for sure, but there was a quaintness about it.

Braced against the counter, his gaze roved over the several platters of sugar cookies in various shapes. Tension cranked up the heat with every heartbeat and every muscle in his body bunched tightly at the single word.

"But this comes pretty damn close."

He pushed up and poured them another round of espressos.

Time to change the subject. "How long have you been a doctor?"

Ivy shifted and straightened her shoulders. "Are you going to eat that?" He scooted his plate over to her along with her fresh cup of caffeine.

"So," he pushed, looking into her eyes. He immediately wanted to shove his foot into his mouth so deep he'd need a crane to pull it free.

She drew away slightly from where they both bent over the counter, him on one side and her on the other. Perched on the edge of her stool, she didn't have much room for retreat so he pulled back, sensing a change in her.

"Not a fully certified doc yet, but it's a work in progress."

Not a full answer. People who dodged had a tendency to hide things. Not that it was his business, but he couldn't help the curiosity that dug into his brain.

"Must be hard dealing with so many other people's problems. Separating them from your own when you go home at the end of the day. You and your sister are a lot alike. You both have hearts of gold. You more so. Especially if things don't turn out like you expect for some patients." He watched her over the rim of his cup.

"You read into people a lot, don't you, Damon." She swallowed another bite of his cake.

"Occupational hazard." He shrugged.

"You mean as a bar and bakery owner. I had no idea. I guess you need to know people's preferences. Makes for good business."

"Cop. Former anyway, remember." She didn't need to know the grittier details so he kept that off the table.

She leaned forward with a pretty smile. "Oh, yeah, you got me with that. I did not see that coming. So, you retired from the badge and gun to what? Don an apron? Must be a story there. How long have you had this place?"

"I took it over when Morgan died a few years ago." When he'd heard the news of his sister's death in an avalanche he'd put in for his papers and never looked back. His job with the force had already run its course anyway. He'd done what he'd set out to accomplish and his family needed him here.

She sat back on the stool. "Your wife?" Her warm smile slipped a notch.

"No, my younger sister. The baby of the family."

"I'm so sorry." She reached out to clasp his hand. He drew closer and wrapped his fingers through hers and inhaled.

Big mistake. The power of her scent overpowered every other smell in the small bakery and wrenched up the heat. He was in so much trouble and he couldn't see a way out of the dark alley he'd walked down that didn't involve claiming Ivy and her virginity for himself.

His eyes slid shut. "You're killing me, angel," he grunted. The scent of happiness and torment mixed together to create a whirlwind of emotions bombarding one another in his head. His heart.

"Sorry." Her hand slipped from his, and he wanted to tear down the world around him. "And I'm not an angel. Just a simple girl. A nobody."

"You shouldn't think like that. And there's nothing that is ‘just simple about you."

He drew closer until she could see nothing but his face, his eyes and drew her gaze to his so she could see the truth as he spoke.

"You have no idea how others perceive you, do you? What you do to the male population of this town? I can only imagine the string of doctor wannabes and full-fledged doctors you've left in your wake in Houston. Maybe you didn't recognize the way Reaper was looking at you, his posture, but I did. That fucking bear of a man was ready to swoop you over his shoulder and run back to his own mountain. That was only a few minutes after meeting you. I know him. He would have done it had I not stepped in. Hell, I can't really blame him."

She lifted an eyebrow and her expression grew more solemn the longer he spoke.

"And you, Damon?" she asked in a soft, husky voice that made his cock turn to steel in his pants and come leak from the engorged head.

She tightened her fingers around his.

"It takes every ounce of control not to do what my gut says so I'm not much better," he admitted gruffly, "and the longer I'm around you the less I'm in control.

She nodded; eyes cast downward as if considering his what he said.

Boundaries be damned, he couldn't take the sad look in her eye. He slipped a palm around her cheek and eased her head up until he captured her attention once again. "He even touches you and I'll have his balls. Friend or not."

She studied his face for a long moment before her small smirk became a full-fledged smile.

"You should also know every old man to every twenty-something in this town wanted to get close to you last night. The only thing keeping them back was me."

Unable to stop, he caressed the pad of his thumb along the soft seam of her lips.

"And I didn't want to stop at kissing you yesterday. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me but I want you spread wide for me, taking every throbbing inch of me."

Ragged breaths tear from her parted lips.

"What's holding you back?"

Her question was so softly spoken he barely heard it. But he did and couldn't bring himself to lie.

"Your innocence and age. You don't need a man like me. But as long as you're on my mountain no one else can have you either."

She looked completely taken aback by what he said. Good. She needed to know the truth.

"How old are you, Damon? Because from what I see you're no older than thirty-five."

"Try forty next April."

She grinned. "And kissing? Is that off the table too, Damon? If you won't fuck me, will you kiss me?" She wound the warm fingers of her other hand around his and drew the back of his hand over her lips. One at a time she pressed her sweet kisses to each of his fingers, her gaze locked on his. "You taste of snow and ice."

"God help me." He groaned and sucked in a harsh breath.

Fuck me. "You don't hold anything back, do you?" he growled. "The shy city girl routine is a beautiful ruse to lure in unsuspecting victims, and I strolled in like a lamb."

She dropped his hand and played with the fork as she softly said, "I'm open to having some fun while I'm in town then it's back to normal for you once I'm gone. No strings."

Having someone as sweet as Ivy to spend Christmas with? It was more than tempting.

He stood there for a long moment without saying a word. She didn't understand what she was asking. Besides, he doubted anything went back to normal after the tornado named Ivy touched down anywhere she went.

Blazes tore up the back of his legs, spread through his back and reached between his legs to grab him by the balls.

He considered her proposal, played with the idea of having his cake and eating it too. She was the sort of woman he didn't need in his life. Skilled with a scalpel and sweet. The last time he fell for sweet, his heart was crushed. He couldn't do that, not with her. Not when it would never be a tumble in the hay and peck on the cheek goodbye.

Besides, she was a virgin.

He slipped his hand from hers and crossed his arms over his chest calmly despite the war raging inside him. That earned him a pretty roll of her eyes as she nibbled at the soft corner of her lower lip. The same exact spot he craved a taste of. He swallowed.

"You're not scared of the sweet Southern girl are you, Savage?"

Terri-fucking-fied . Heat released his balls, only to claw up his spine, and burrowed deep in his gut until his dick swelled, stretching the soft material of his sweats.

Son of a bitch.

Her gaze raked over his chest and landed on his tented pants.

One touch and she would be his right here in the middle of the flour and Christmas cookies. Screw everybody who walked in.

The sun tipped over the peaks in the distance and the lights on the street died one by one. Any minute the first of the day's customers would arrive for their bread and holiday treats.

"Ivy," he warned gruffly. "Don't." He closed his eyes, unable to look at the doe-eyed expression she gave him.

Chills ran the course of his arms, and his chest widened from the tension she hammered home.

He growled low in his throat as she leaned over the counter, the scent of strawberries like a damn gut punch. A soft pad of her finger traced the ink spread over his arm and chest.

Moving faster than he anticipated, he snatched her hand from his arm, looped it over his shoulder and pulled her over the counter, rattling the glass of the displays and toppling over a stand of holiday cupcakes.

"I can't want you like this," he growled every word that left his mouth. "You're fucking killing me. Don't you get that?" He wound his arms around her and pressed as much of her to him as he could. With the counter at her back, he bent and lifted her to sit on the marble and drew her legs around his waist. The soft material of her pajamas did nothing to squelch the sudden pleasure that shot straight to his dick as he nestled between the soft folds of her virgin cunt.

"What do you think you do to me?" Out of breath as if he'd already swept her away on a marathon of sex, she pressed a hand over his heart before trailing her kitten nails down his chest. He wanted to feel the delicious pain on his back as he pushed balls deep into her tight core.

Her hand slipped between them, and then she tugged at the waistband.

Warm, silky and pure heaven.

I growl into her ear. "Oh my God, Ivy."

Using the tip of her thumb, she caressed the head of his throbbing shaft before stroking down the full length. That one touch nearly had him coming all over her hand.

He wrapped his hand around hers. he rocked his hips and the moan on her lips vibrates through his whole body. A hot ribbon of pre-cum slipped over her hand. "Stop, angel. Please, for the love of everything…" He pressed his forehead to hers. "Stop," he whispered.

"You kiss me, shove me away, and then tease me, standing out there in the snow this morning. Why? Waiting for me to look? Well, I did. I watched you naked for all but a pair of sweatpants. You left me so frustrated I couldn't even pleasure myself while the coffee brewed."

He moved against her hand, not ready to lose the feeling of her hand wrapped around his pulsing length.

"Good. We can suffer together." His angel blushed at her admission and if he didn't already want her, that would have clinched the deal.

He dragged in a breath of air, and his lungs nearly burst. Looking down at her, the plumpness of her lips less than a whisper away, he listened to the demon in him and caved.

Heaven touched his lips and he dove deeper. The walls of hell closed in.

Tortured angel kisses. The warm caress of her tongue against his. She moaned, and it was harps to his ears.

Palming her outer thighs, he twined her leg around his middle tighter and nearly lost himself when her center nestled so perfect over his engorged cock.

He rocked her hips and knew his hard length rubbed over her clit.

Her legs tightened.

Her chest rattled against his and he tore away, looking down at her. "What is it about you that has me so fucked up in the head? Why can't I get enough of you when I know you'll cut me like a razor blade to the throat?"

She pulled back until their gazes locked. His hips undulated, and he pressed his cock into the crook of her thighs. His heart ground to a halt mid beat as he watched pure pleasure wash over her face.

"I need you."

"I'm sorry." She shivered delicately in his embrace, and the sudden urge to protect her against every force the world hurled her way, or threatened to take away the pleasure that swam in the emerald depth of her irises, grabbed hold. To shelter her from the pain he saw earlier drove him to grind her against his hard shaft again despite the clothing that blocked him from giving her real pleasure.

"Sorry for what? Don't be. The torture is almost a sweet reward. But Ivy. The kisses won't hold me forever. The beast of a mountain man in me wants more. Demands more and I don't know if I can maintain control around you much longer. You should run. Save yourself for the man you'll marry."

"What if this is what I want? What then? Should I still be afraid?" With her mouth parted and eyes wide she tilted her head back and he rocked his hips.

He moved his hands inside her soft pajama bottoms and clenched his fingers around the bare, delicious globes of her plump ass. She had her chance to get away.

"Mr. Savage?"

Anger mixed with fierce possessiveness of another man seeing the heated Passion in Ivy's eyes. It belonged to him, and him alone.

Wrapped up in her, he failed to hear the approach of someone from behind them.

A thin speck of control eased his anger down a notch and while holding her gaze, he spoke to one of his wait staff. He turned to shield her from the intruder and their prying eyes.

"Just wanted to let you know the first customer is coming up the sidewalk now."

Damon nodded at the dishwasher for Savage Fire who doubled as a barista for Big Paws in the mornings.

"Thanks, Mave."

"Yeah, sorry, man."

Finally, alone again he turned his attention back to her and cursed under his breath at how far he let things get carried away. How far the need drove him.

He stroked his hands down her arms and slowly stepped away from the counter. "I'm sorry about that."

"You keep saying that. But you know what? Maybe it's for the best. Being a razor blade and all, I wouldn't want to leave you bleeding." She scooted off the counter and straightened her sweater as she turned on her heel and was out the door before he could stop her.

Damon's jaw dropped as she tossed his words back at him. He had a sinking feeling he would regret those words for a long time coming and really fucked up big.

God, but she was lovely.