Lolita Lopez: Dead Sexy Dragon

“You can stay until we sort this out.” Stig rose quickly and cleaned off his plate. “You’ll be safe here.”

Cora stood and caught his hand as he turned to leave. Her touch branded him and sent electric arcs up his arm and across his chest. His breath arrested in his lungs as Cora slid her arms around him and hugged him. Stig didn’t know what to do. His arms dangled uselessly at his sides. Her curvaceous body pressed against him in all the wrong—and right—places. He could so easily cup her cheek and tilt back her head, finally claim that pink pout for his own.

Arms still around his waist, Cora smiled up at him. “Thank you, Stig.”

“Anything for Hector’s sister.” He quickly pecked her forehead and stepped back. “I’ll be in the shop if you need me.”

Lips on fire and pulse sprinting, Stig spun on his heel and left the house. He had to get away from her before he made a colossal mistake.

Anything for Hector’s sister. The words echoed in her mind, rubbing a raw spot as they bounced around. She gulped back her disappointment and started to clean up the kitchen. For a second there, Cora had been sure Stig was debating whether or not to kiss her. She’d heard the uptick in his heartbeat as she’d hugged him. There was no mistaking his body’s response to her closeness. He wanted her.

But he was afraid. She’d sensed that clearly. Of what, she couldn’t say. There was some line he wasn’t prepared to cross. Cora’s mischievous side wondered what it would take to get him to throw caution to the wind and take the leap. She supposed a little aggressiveness on her part might work.

Was that a good strategy? Probably not, she admitted. Stig didn’t seem like the type to be led into anything he didn’t want. He was principled like that. She mentally crossed off any plans to strut naked around the house or display any sort of seductive behavior. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate or annoy him. She needed to stay in Stig’s good graces. He was the only thing between her, the streets, and some very bad men.

Disappointment seemed to be Cora’s default setting as of late.

She cleaned up the kitchen and headed upstairs to change out of her pajamas. A pair of jeans and a simple yellow tank top were the first things she spotted when she opened her suitcase. Once dressed, Cora found her laptop and cell phone and moved downstairs. A comfy brown leather couch in the living room called to her. She nabbed the corner seat, stretched out her legs, and started making phone calls and typing notes.

The detective in charge of her case gave her an update. There were no leads on the arson at the bakery, nor were there likely to be any in the future. None of the witnesses were talking.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“I’d rather not say.” Cora didn’t want to risk anyone finding out where she was. The kind of people who would burn down her bakery were the kind of people who probably had someone on the inside. “You can reach me on my cell.”

“Sure.”

The call ended and Cora returned a message from her insurance agent. There was some question as to whether the policy would pay for the total loss since Cora had technically been engaged in illegal activities, albeit under duress. That piece of information left her even angrier at herself. What the hell had she been thinking? Why hadn’t she been braver and told those punks to go to hell? Why hadn’t she been smarter and reported their sorry asses to the police?

But what was done was done and there was no changing it. She’d made her bed. At least she’d be able to start over in a new city. Where or how she’d build her new bakery, she had no idea. She’d find the right place eventually. She had to because the thought of never again waking up early to knead dough or decorate cupcakes or mix up some of her grandmother’s famous pastries was unimaginable. Baking was in her blood.

Her business dealt with, Cora called and texted a few friends to let them know she was okay. She hedged on the location with them as well. She couldn’t be too careful.

With her to-do list complete, Cora set aside her phone and laptop and wondered how to spend the rest of her day. Used to the hustle and bustle of the bakery, she found the house incredibly quiet, almost unnervingly so. How could Stig bear the solitude? Perhaps he found the animal residents of the surrounding woods company enough. The thought of said animals goosed her memory. She eyed the kitchen and shoved off the couch. Last night, she’d heard something odd down in his basement. She’d meant to tell Stig about it but he’d left in such a hurry. The thought of bothering him now wasn’t all that appealing. His abrupt departure had made it fairly clear he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat.

Cora stood in front of the forbidden door. There could be something down there, something hurt and in need of help. Curiosity triumphed over sense and Cora twisted the handle. The unlocked door creaked ominously as she drew it open and stepped through the doorway. Steps led down into darkness. She cautiously felt the wall on either side of the staircase but detected no light switch.

She retreated from the darkness into the safety of the kitchen and located a flashlight in one of the drawers. She flicked it on and carefully descended the stairs. Moist, pungent air engulfed her. She listened intently for any noises but heard only the faint drip of water. A plumbing leak?

The light beam bounced side to side. She expected to see a basement of some kind, four walls and shelves, but there was nothing. As far as she could tell, there was only the stairwell leading down to a cement floor.

Her internal alarm clanged loudly. This wasn’t right. As she reached the bottom of the stairs, her worst fears were realized. The staircase dead-ended at a large metal door with a keypad.

Cora’s blood went cold. This wasn’t a basement. This was a holding cell.

As if the fires of hell nipped at her heels, she rushed up the steps. Panting and shaking, Cora slammed the basement door. She dropped the flashlight back in the drawer and ran back into the living room where she promptly flopped down on the sofa and tried to reconcile what she’d seen.

What was Stig keeping down in that basement? Was it something illegal? He obviously didn’t want anyone to know about it. Oh God! What if he found out she’d been down there?

“Calm down.” Cora spoke sternly to calm her nerves. Stig was a standup guy. He’d been a marine, for crying out loud. Surely there was some other explanation for what she’d uncovered. It was likely to be simple and not in the least bit sinister.

Of course, she couldn’t ask him because he’d pretty much forbidden her to go down there. What was that saying about curiosity and cats?

Her gaze fell on the limestone mantel. There were pictures of Stig with similarly burly men she’d never met. Framed photos of Stig and Hector and other marines took center stage. They’d been taken on various deployments and during their downtime stateside. In most of them, Hector and Stig were side by side, arms slung over one another’s shoulders as they grinned.

The sight calmed her. Whatever was going on down in that basement, in that holding cell, she had to trust him. Hector had trusted him implicitly. She had to believe her brother’s judgment of Stig’s character was true. Those men had fought in the fiercest of battles and had depended upon one another for their very lives. Surely Hector would have seen Stig’s malicious side if he had one. And yet, she still had to know what was going on.

Cora took a steadying breath and made her decision. Tonight she’d ask Stig about the basement.

Stig gathered the last pile of sawdust with his broom, scooped it up, and deposited it into the large can in the corner. He made a quick sweep of his shop, ensuring everything was in its place, and switched off the lights. He yanked on the nylon cord attached to the overhang door and brought it firmly down into place. During the day the open garage-style door allowed the swift breezes to cool the otherwise-sweltering shop.