DUTY

TWO

Of course, there were some, few, but some good things about the seasons' change. I pulled my coat tighter around my waist as the wind blustered around us. Hunter failed to hide his snort at me. He thought I was a baby. A weakling.

But Ohio was f*****g cold. Like unnaturally so.

And I was a southern baby. Hell, I'd spent two years stationed in Honolulu and even there I never forgot to bring a sweater out with me at night.

So this, this dry and cold, was the ultimate torture.

But oh how it made the drinks all the sweeter. Slipping into my regular coffee shop I waved at Elle as I untangled myself from my scarf, hat, and mittens. Passing them out to Hunter. Bodyguard turned Sherpa.

We didn't bother with the line, selecting an intimate table by the door, hunter immediately dug into his phone, earbuds in and blasting.

The shop was warm, the worn wooden chairs comfortable and the staff more than obliging. I gave Elle a sweet smile as she dropped off a perfectly curated tray. Two black coffees, an assortment of their divine croissants, the day's paper and the newest addition per Tom's request, a vase holding fresh lavender. Required whenever I came without him, a loving reminder.

He wished he could join me.

Elle was exquisite, eyes that enthralling hazel, hair draped in curls across her shoulder, the raven color reflecting the string lights around the windows. She swallowed her gum. A habit around the don that extended to my presence. How Tom hated bubble blowers.

I guessed there were worst pet peeves. See my fidgeting.

I brushed my own hair behind an ear. Instantly it sprung out, coarser and wilder than a horses mane. Elle sighed at my frown taking a frizzy strand into her own hand, "I wish I had your hair, it's so thick and beautiful."

I snorted, "it's like living with an infant, always acting up, never listening, mysteriously sticky."

She laughed, low with an easy sexiness. Equally as beautiful as her brother, Roman, it was the laugh that really tied them together. Sparking from deep in their chest, never fake, never polite, they laughed when they wanted to and did so shamelessly. "I'd rather have your hair, it's stunning."

Her laugh died out and she shook her head, "you don't even know half the products I have in here right now. The list would haunt you -"

The pleasantries died as the front door of the shop rang open, a rush of cold air in with it. Elle smile faltered and her voice went tight, mechanical as she told me, "Wave if you need anything."

I didn't grace the door with a glance, handing Elle a fifty, I dug deeper in my purse. A bottle of tic tacs, Hunter's brow raised, a ghost of a smile on his lips as he watched me lazily shake a couple little white pills out.

Not for me though.

Not for fresh breath either.

A body at our side, a hand, skin pulled tight across bone slid a thin white envelope to me, on it in tiny loopy handwriting was Santa's address. I grinned, "thank you for the letter, Tic tac?" Without sharing a look, I dropped the tiny pills into his hand and slid the letter onto my tray.

And so went the day. Men and woman dropping off letters to Santa, getting a small minty treat in return.

Or that's how it looked. Just as I'd organized, the plan was finally coming together. The evening temperature drops made dealing at night pretty much an impossibility for me, so I worked around it.

I'd spend the day reading the local paper while customers came in, cash in envelopes, Toms best batches of x trapped in my tic tac containers. It was sad really, how easily I had gamed the system. No more creepy back alley dealings, no abandoned stairwells. Just me and Hunter, a vase of lavender in our favorite coffee shop.

As the sun began to dip, my coffee cup casting long shadows over my paper, Hunter stood, padded me on the shoulder and left. Excitement crept over me and silently, to whatever god that was free and taking requests, I prayed that I looked alright as Tom took the chair across from me.

Without a word I passed my cup to him, pads of his fingers red from the cold, he brushed the cup to the side, taking my hands into his. I bit back a squeal but kept them anchored in her grip. Spreading my fingers and palms forcing more warmth into them, more for him to take.

"You look ravishing." He said in that low sensual tone that made my toes curl. I moved closer to him, butt barely on my seat as I leaned over the table and planted a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Tease." He growled, stopping my retreat and meeting me halfway across the table, capturing my lips in his.

The shop around us vanished and it became just us, me and Tom. Two people who owned each other. In every way.

"Let's get out of here." I whispered, anxious, wanting more of this, of us. Of skin on skin.

He let out a throaty laugh, "I have plans." I tried not to frown, tried not to feel the disappointment wash over me. He smiled and c****d his head, "Relax it's just date night for me and my girl so -"

I smacked his arm. "Ass."

He stood, taking my purse and helping me up, arm slipping easily around my waist. "That's Mr. Preston to you." He pinched the skin of my hip leaving me to give a little yelp.

Another smack for him.

He left me to layer up and strode to the counter. I watched as I wound my scarf on, watched Tom's hand grip Elle's arm, watched her flinch. Watched her eyes swell with tears, watched her fight them off. He threw her arm out of his grip and said something that made her face go still, eyes dropping, shoulders slumping.

"What . . ." I couldn't find the words as Tom's arm returned to my waist.

He pressed his lips to my temple, "I'll tell you later Baby."

I nodded and quieted. Because Tom had my trust, and if he said he was going to tell me later then he would very well tell me later.

We walked tangled up in each other, Tom's hands in my pockets, my cheek on his shoulder through the empty city streets. Simple papier-mâché turkeys and colored leaves hand from the light posts signaling the start of the holidays. Up a block and over two, Tom dragged me into a hotel, elegant cream colored columns line the lobby, two womanizer sharp suits armed with iPads smile at us, "Reservation?"

"Mila Scott." Tom provided, nudging me forward.

The woman led us to the elevators and with wandering eyes reminded us to 'enjoy our stay'.

My gaze lingered on the steel elevator doors, the hotel's logo etched into them. "What are you thinking? Why are we here Tom?"

His hand tightened on mine, "Are we going to take the elevator?"

Cowardice reigned over bravery, a battle often loss. I shook my head.

We went up the stairs in thick silence. Read the three numbers off our hotel key and pushed into our suite. Simple, styled modern with sharp tight rigid lines and practicality in mind. Clean whites and blue toned greys on the walls, sheets a midnight blue.

Tom sighed, shrugging out of his coat he let it fall to the floor and fell back onto the king bed. He covered his face with his hands and grit out, "I found a mole."