Cinnamon Candies, Secret Languages

It was too easy to fall into him. To fall for him. Once she opened the door, seeking to know him better than she knew his body, she couldn’t close it.

She learned he had an addiction to cinnamon hard candy, which explained his scent. A habit that stemmed from having little to drink on previous jobs.

Her expression had turned thunderous at hearing that.

If she ever found out who it was…

he always tasted of mint when he kissed her and the thought of him brushing his teeth before coming to her only dragged her deeper into his orbit. His last girlfriend had been two years before her.

She doubted he’d remained celibate in that time. He looked like a god with a dark halo and a handgun. No way had his bed been empty. She ignored the slither of something greasy and venomous within her. Of course, he had a past.

She’d be a fool to think otherwise. He whispered under the cover of darkness, every night they stole for their own, sharing pieces of himself. His greatest fear was losing his focus while guarding her and something getting past him.

His fingers had dug into her skin as he admitted it. She silently vowed to take the blame, as she did every night. He switched to lighter topics after that. He hated American chocolate with a passion that made her cackle.

He called it a travesty of the cocoa bean. Preferring it shipped from Europe, she called him a posh bastard. He had a sneaky, dry sense of humor that matched hers.

She told him about her past. The dream of this life that once seemed out of reach. The toil and struggle to get here. Years of proving herself capable. All her failures were visceral.

She still tasted the blood from all those years ago. Faint now. Then the drama when she and her ex, Nate, broke up and the sleepless nights it caused for months after he released an album detailing the fallout.

Her label and manager had tightened the restrictions immediately after. She talked more than she had in months. And he listened. Never judging. Just listening. Holding her. His hand always wrapped around the side of her neck, thumb pressed into her pulse.

It happened in one of those held silences after he’d crawled into her bed and woke her up with a sharp bite on her inner thigh; he’d asked her a question no one else had. She’d complained about the restrictions placed on her by her label. Nothing too outrageous. Nothing controversial.

And certainly nothing too raunchy. She was twenty-nine years old, but still a teenager in their minds. Writing about desire and longing—that was fine. Writing about it in more blatant, explicit terms was a problem. But Tyler didn’t care about that.

“Forget them. What do you want?”

He’d spoken into her nape, curled around her from behind this time, their sweaty skin sticking. She could feel his heartbeat beating through her own chest.

She had to think about it for so long; she felt absolutely pathetic. He waited. Patient. Fingers splayed over her heart, legs tangled with hers.

“I—I think I just want the freedom to choose.”

He had hummed, beard tickling her neck as he kissed the spot below her ear that made her melt.

“You should have it.” There was a loaded pause, and she almost heard the cogs turning in his head. “It’s your power. Take it back.”

His words sent a thrill through her, so potent a wave of clammy nausea immediately followed it.

This.

This was why she was falling in love with him.

And it was exactly how she would lose him.

He believed she was stronger than she was. He saw a version of her that didn’t cower in gilded cages. Cages of her own design, she’d long since forgotten she was the one holding the keys.

One day, he’d look at her and see only the disappointment and disgust of that failed expectation. The fantasy would curdle like cream.

The thought was an ice pick to her sternum. Her pulse hammered, ruining her pretense of calm as an old familiar frustration made her jaw clench and stomach flip. She had laughed to cover it.

If only it were that simple. Every time she tried, she got reined back in, and told to stick with what fans knew. But she knew her fans would support a new direction.

Deep down, she knew it. Why couldn’t they just let her try it? If she failed, lesson learned. But she told herself she just had to focus on getting this last record done.

Then her contract was fulfilled. She could branch out elsewhere. Take control. If she were brave enough. It seemed like leaping off the top of the Empire State Building just to feel something.

She did not consider the smash when she hit the ground. Anything had to better than this. She sighed. Sinking deeper into her pillows as she said, “Not now. Once the record’s done, I’ll have more leverage.”

Tyler’s breath warmed her neck as she sensed him nodding. She tensed, waiting for him to push her for a better answer.

He didn’t. She’d changed the subject swiftly after that. Asking him what he’d wanted to be before the military and becoming her bodyguard.

He’d chuckled, rich and lovely. It rumbled through her and turned her bones to liquid.

“My options were limited. Join the family business, become the CEO my father expected. Or leave.” He pulled her closer somehow. “I left.”

Dangerous. It was dangerous getting to know him. She still couldn’t stop. She thought she might’ve loved him from that first night.

As cliché as it sounded, she’d known the moment he’d first slid inside her that no one else would compare. She could search the world, shine a spotlight in every shadow. Peer into every stained-glass window.

She wouldn’t find anything like him anywhere else. The obstinacy of that truth made the next three weeks slip away. The sand in the bottom half of the hourglass piled up no matter how hard Kenzi tried to freeze it.

In between studio sessions, writing at all hours of the day and night. Slowly gathering enough material to complete the album and waiting for Tyler to appear maskless and gloveless, she barely slept.

She tried to write a love song. The melody came to her in a dream. She woke up with it in her head one morning. The bed was cold on Tyler’s side as she threw on her robe and scurried down to the piano.

It was a soft and hopeful-sounding song, but her face twisted and her hands stopped moving across the keys as she realized the lyrics were lies. They spoke of sunlight and forever.

Lies. All she thought about was the acrid taste of stolen time and the certain, crushing finality of a door sealing shut like a tomb.

She was writing an elegy and pretending it was a hymn. Her tongue felt too heavy as she met his gaze across the room.

His prowling stillness was a total contrast to the cataclysmic storm brewing inside her. She was rebuilding herself.

Just for him. On a foundation of quicksand. After all, sandcastles were never meant to be eternal.

The afterglow kept her going—the thrill. The thrumming, weighty tension that lifted the fine pale hair on her arms. And stolen glances whenever he was on shift and they couldn’t speak. The glove he’d stolen from her became their silent game.

She’d steal it back, keep it in her bra for him to uncover later. Then he’d take it again. Leaving it in random places around her house for her to find.

She grinned like a madwoman every time it fell out of a cupboard, her purse, or she discovered it under her sheets. He’d given her a secret phone in week two.

It had one number saved: his.

He’d message her while in meetings or whenever he and Stefan planned their move back to New York. Sometimes the messages were innocent, just flirting and curiosity.

Mostly, they veered to the carnal side. Filthy texts that made her face heat and legs cross, eyes glazing over as she read them. It went on like that for weeks.

It was a digital prelude to the clandestine mission of most nights as they snuck around under her team’s noses and made full use of many rooms without prying eyes.

Her bedroom, her kitchen island after he put the surveillance system on a loop, the camera-free elevator to her penthouse, a closet—it didn’t matter where.

It only mattered that she was with him. It was his hands tugging at her clothes or rucking her skirt over her hips and bending her over a desk until essence dripped down her thighs, and she became a creature of base instincts. He would claw, tear and bite as he made her disintegrate.

Permanently slick between her thighs, she’d stopped wearing underwear by week three. She had delighted in his reaction and the things he growled whenever she wore something purely for him to tear off her. Like the little black dress she’d worn to one of the few parties she had attended while on her ‘break’.

He’d looked murderous that entire night, and she paid for it beautifully. She’d ached between her legs all the next day, his scent stained her skin even after a shower, a pleasant reminder that she wasn’t alone.

She had something no one else had. And the day after that, he used his tie as a blindfold, bending her body into a vessel for him to fill.

She had run off to the bathroom or her bedroom every time she caught sight of that damned tie around his throat the following day. Hurriedly using her own hand to take the edge off until they could be alone.

He would direct her through the phone he’d given her, voice all smoky darkness as she fucked her hand.

If anyone noticed her gazing off into space frequently, mind reeling with the pleasure he had given her, no one said a thing.

Lana was the only person she finally dared to tell, and even then, she kept much of it quiet from her oldest friend. This wasn’t like the lovers in her past. She wanted to protect him from the reality of her life. Gossip about them in the tabloids would kill everything he felt for her.

So, she kept it to herself, drowning in lust and an inconvenient love that she denied every time she pulled him inside her body.

Lana’s vindicated joy still made her smile. She had deleted the texts right away. But Kenzi remembered every word.

Lana: I knew it! I knew you were hiding something.

>You sneaky little witch… well, was it as good as you thought?

>Did he keep the mask on?…

The dots appeared before Kenzi could disabuse her of that notion. She laughed as she read her friends words.

Lana: That’s a stupid question. Ignore me. My caffeine fueled squirrel brain can’t handle the excitement.

Kenzi: Believe me, neither can I.

She knew no one read her private messages to friends. She could talk in peace because they’d encrypted those messages. It was everything else they monitored. But she still had to erase the evidence. Cover their tracks Knowing Tyler felt the same, she could barely hide her attraction when he was near. Yet he seemed much better at concealing his distraction. His aloof attitude greeted her each morning, but she could see under it now.

And he appeared to soften whenever she asked him to take her to the studio. Fans and paparazzi haunted the place hoping to see her.

He was a wall of hard muscle between her and the crowds blinding her with camera flashes. Unbuttoning his jacket and using it to shield her as much as he could until they were safe behind the studio doors.

She always knew she loved too fast and hard, giving her entire self to it. And now, she knew their hands were tied. The ropes had been bound tight. Hope was in charge, as they couldn’t stay away from each other.

She tried to.

For an hour. Two. She lay in the vastness of her bed, sheets still smelling of cedarwood and cinnamon. Leather. Staring at the door in the dark.

She’d locked it. Her fingers still tingled from turning the cold bolt. It was a final, pathetic act of self-preservation. Her chest had tightened to the point of pain.

Breath catching and eyes nipping. The thought of his confusion—then his understanding, the smoothing of his brow, then his frozen acceptance—when he found his way to her barred made a sob lodge in her throat.

Her hands trembled. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as the bed grew colder. Kenzi’s mind repeated the same speech that she’d been telling herself all day.

This was the right thing. The only thing. End this cleanly before the world ended it for them in a spectacular, brutal fashion.

But her body was a traitor. It remembered the hot weight of him, the pressure of his rough hands on her hips. The proprietary growl that vibrated against her fevered skin and liquefied her spine.

It was a secret, complex language only he spoke. And she was illiterate in any other tongue.

Her comforter became another cage as her jaw wobbled, heat spreading behind her cheekbones until a tear finally slipped free. The droplet of warm saltwater streamed into her hair.

You can leave me with nothing, the thought came desperate and unbidden, but don’t you dare take the love with you.

At 3:17 a.m., she gave in and stood up. The cold floor bit at her bare feet as she tiptoed. She didn’t allow herself to think. She didn’t let herself hesitate. If she thought about it for even a second, she’d never do it.

She crossed the room in what seemed like a blink. Her hand closed around the frozen brass of the lock. She held her breath as she turned it.

The click of it unlocking was the loudest sound she’d ever heard. It followed her for days after. It no longer felt like a surrender.

It was a sentencing.

When he slipped into her room minutes later, his rough hands were still chilled as he pried her legs apart. Touching, tasting, teasing. She didn’t speak.

She only burned, gasping as the flames licked her prickling flesh, letting him teach her the secret language of their bodies all over again. Memorizing every syllable as if it were the last one.

Kenzi was stocking up for a famine she knew was coming. She’d always known that love was a crying game.

The day of their trip back to New York arrived grey and drizzly. She hardly remembered it when she thought back days later.

It was just a blur of stern faces. A ball of slicing anxiety sat heavy and low in her stomach. Her mother gave polite orders to the staff to ensure the home remained safe and cared for while she was gone.

They packed up and shipped out her whole life before she could get her shoes and coat on. Tyler practically carried her to the black SUV that would take them to the airport. All business once more. She hadn’t slept the night before.

All the late nights caught up to her the moment she could rest. She’d passed out on the short drive, her mother waking her up with a frown. Those hazel eyes were full of concern. By the time they boarded her plane, she was ready to fall into a coma.

The jet engines thrummed, the crew doing their last checks as Tyler and a grey-haired Stefan boarded. Both inclined their heads at her; she gave a tiny smile back. Trying not to roll her eyes as her mom spoke.

“We need to discuss the next phase—“

“Can we not do this now, please?” Kenzi groaned, burrowing deeper into her blanket on the plush leather seat. She glanced out the window at the men outside on the damp black tarmac. The early morning mist gradually drifted away.

Turning back as Stella Harlowe sighed. Her mother, red-haired and bright-eyed, freckles like tiny tea stains sprinkled on every visible patch of skin, sat across from her. Posture like a queen’s.

She had a black leather-bound diary in one hand, a fountain pen in the other. Exhaustion was a boulder on her back, grinding and pinning her in her seat. Stefan took his usual spot behind the red curtain at the back of the plane.

Tyler sat behind Kenzi. She swore she sensed him through the supple chair padding.

“When then? You keep putting this off. They won’t wait forever.”

Sometimes, she felt like a delicate china doll —something to be carefully handled and kept busy so as not to inspire any shattering meltdowns. She rolled her eyes, fingers tapping an irregular, soothing rhythm on her armrest.

“Tell them to give me space and I’ll get it done.” She closed her eyes, head leaning back. “Remind them of the first week numbers for the last three albums. If they want a repeat, they’ll have to be patient. Can I sleep now?”

She didn’t open her eyes, but she knew her mom was glaring at her. The heat of it scorched her face.

“You’ve had three weeks off. Didn’t you get enough sleep then?”

Kenzi snorted. Willing the flush crawling up her neck to go away. Pulse speeding up. She heard Tyler shift behind her. Unseen but focused on her every breath.

“Three weeks off? Mom, you scheduled zoom meetings and phone calls the entire time. Japan calls at 5am. That’s not time off.”

She heard the distinct sound of the diary slapping shut. Then the thud as it landed on the table between them. She kept her eyes shut. Sleep called to her like a siren song.

“Alright. But please tell me you’re making progress. Last time we talked, you were blocked.”

Her mom’s tone had softened to the one she’d used whenever Kenzi had fallen and skinned her knees. A kiss, a hug, and a few gentle words soothed every wound back then.

If only it did so now. She huffed. Nodding. “Yeah. It’s coming together. I’ll show you later.”

Her mom made a sound at the back of her throat, but Kenzi let sleep carry her off. Dreams of stages crumbling under her feet and blue eyes turning so cold it was as though they were dead.

When she woke upon landing, she found a single, folded square of paper tucked into her palm. Her heart stuttered.

How? He’d never been close enough. Unless he’d done it when he’d briefly covered her with the blanket himself.

Maybe he’d gone to the bathroom, noticed it had slipped and taken his moment? She never asked.

She unfurled it under the cover of her lap, the tremor in her fingertips making the paper quake. Her mother was already gathering her things, too busy to notice Kenzi’s distraction. She devoured the brief note.

The handwriting was sharp, precise slashes of black ink that were so him it made her chest ache.

Tonight. 10pm. Wear something you don’t mind ruining.

No signature. There was none needed. A bolt of electricity, bright and reckless, shot through her. It scoured away the lingering fog of restless sleep and the taint of her nightmare.

It was stupid. It was dangerous.

It was everything.

As they walked through the airport gauntlet of cameras flashing, flashing, flashing—she managed a genuine smile. Nothing could dull the glint of anticipation in her jade eyes.

No one knew it wasn’t for the mob gathered to make a pretty buck off her weary image as she returned to her home base. And it wasn’t for her mom, who grinned back. It was all for the secret roasting a hole in her pocket.

He was going to steal her away. For just a few hours, she wouldn’t belong to the world. She wouldn’t owe anything to anyone.

She’d just be his.