by K. T. Samois
… Oh, God.
She squirms in mortified arousal and prays he doesn’t notice.
“Okay, so no showering together. We’re setting ground rules. That’s a good idea.”
She heaves in a ragged breath and shifts down in the seat. The roadster’s leather is warm to the touch and supple on the skin of her thighs, where Ree is acutely aware of her sundress riding up. With the top up, the whole thing smells like Hardin and—
And you, Riona.
She cuts a look at Hardin under her lashes and can see the way his breathing has settled into a cadence of deep, slow inhales. He does the same thing while he cooks; allegedly, he’s savouring the aroma.
Taste is mostly smell, right?
She knows she read that somewhere, and Hardin is clearly a big believer. She blushes to remember the way his mouth feels between her thighs; he’s been extremely solicitous and very skilled. But…
She goes to shut her legs, but his right hand snaps off of the wheel and grips her by the inner thigh.
“Keep them open, Riona.”
“Yes, sir!” Riona leaps to obey the moment Hardin’s gloved right hand squeezes her bare left thigh. Every little hair stands on end, and now no sommelier’s nose is necessary to smell herself. She can’t hear to look at him, so she closes her eyes. A revved growl from the engine and a sharp merged lane has her eyes snapping open again, and Hardin shoots her a wolfish grin.
“Keep your eyes open as well, Riona. Do that again and I’ll make you use the mirror in the sun-visor to watch yourself come.”
Oh my God, Ree thinks, wildly. I am writing this down.
Her thighs tremble at the thought of it; he can feel it, the fucker, and his pinky finger strokes along the tender skin of her upper thigh. The leather is slicker than human skin, and Ree is acutely aware of the picture she must make.
“Undo a button.” Hardin orders. Ree obeys, fingers shaking. It doesn’t reveal much more than an inch or two of her bust, but it’s enough to let Hardin see her chest rise and fall with sharp breaths.
“Very good, kitten. Now that you’re a bit more… comfortable… I’d like you to tell me the appeal of showering or bathing together. I’ll admit I’ve never tried it.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’ve never cared to have that experience with any partner I took to bed. You, however, seemed quite interested. What do you think is the appeal?”
About 6’3 of lean muscle, give or take eight inches…
And the way he’d look in the steam, all silver and grey and blue… Or the noises he’d make as I washed him, got my hands all over him, oh God, I want him —
She hears Hardin continue from a distance. “Clearly, there is one.”
“Yes!” She gasps, and he raises an eyebrow.
“Sir”, she adds, and his laugh sounds more decadent than dark chocolate.
“Then tell me.”
“I just… like the thought of it, sir. You look fantastic when you’re wet.” His hand slides upwards a millimetre, bringing the tip of his pinky to within a caressing distance of the bottom hem of her lace panties. Ree feels her heart stop. The muscles of her thighs tremble with the exertion to stay still.
“Thank you. So do you.” He pauses. “Did you know that I can feel your temperature rise when you blush? But don’t be shy, Riona. You’re beautiful when you’re aroused for me. The way you look…”
He smiles down at her, eyes roving possessively. Ree doesn’t mind Hardin looking; instead, she shifts to give him a better view.
“The way you smell…”
Ree shivers helplessly as he removes his hand to the gearshift and shifts gears. The car responds to his touch with a roar of the engine, and it’s almost loud enough to drown out Ree’s whine of need. Manoeuvre completed, Hardin’s hand returns to its grip on her thigh — but now, a fraction higher.
“The way you taste.”
Ree can’t resist; her hips angle upwards towards his hand, desperate for more contact. Hardin chuckles, and the noise does absolutely nothing to cool her nerves.
“Are we there yet?” Ree whines, eyes riveted to the black leather glove on her thigh. This time Hardin laughs aloud, low and pleased.
“You tell me, Riona.”
She looks up for the first time in a while. Oh. Shit. Yeah, no wonder he laughed. They’re on her block, and she’s been too distracted by his hand and his driving and his words to notice. Oh, he’s going to be so smug.
… But not if I wipe that smirk off of his face first.
“Upstairs. Upstairs now.”
“My effects?”
“Can wait, sir. I need you.”
That seems to be the winning argument. Hardin has barely slammed the car into park before he’s handling her out of it and up the stairs. She returns the favour by getting him in the stairwell's corner; her hands at his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pressed to him like a snake around a tree.
“Upstairs-” she gasps, because if she doesn’t find somewhere private to ravish him, she is going to cry.
“Right,” he says, scooping her up into a bridal carry.
“Jesus!” Riona yelps, and Hardin laughs.
“No. Just me,” he says, voice playful, and Ree nips at his throat.
It’s the first patch of open skin she can reach, but she has to cling to his shoulders when he almost drops her in shock.
“Do that again,” he grits out, “and I might drop you.”
It’s a threat, but not one made in anger. Huh. Who would have thought Hardin would be the type to enjoy getting his neck played with? Maybe he’s a vampire.
He looks like one, if she thinks about it — all dark intensity and command, blue eyes and sharp cheeks. Needs an invitation to come inside—… Oh my God.
They make it to her doorway by an act of grace, and Ree fumbles with the electronic keypad for an awful second before it clicks open. The world whirls as he tumbles her down onto the sofa, hands all over her, mouth following, Ree desperate and begging and-
“Wow,” Becca says, amusement and horror warring for prominence on her face. She’s sitting in the breakfast corner in sweats and yesterday’s makeup, hair in a ragged bun. A fork-full of spinach and strawberry salad hangs forgotten halfway to her mouth, and a mixing bowl of more rests in front of her.
Ree stays frozen where she’s landed on the couch, hoping if she doesn’t move somehow, none of this will have happened. She isn’t that lucky.
“It’s not even noon yet, guys. Damn.”
***
Hardin’s gone out for a run. Or maybe just run away. Either way, he’s left Ree to face the Eisner Inquisition on her own. She’s just pissed she didn’t think of it first, because this is like getting grilled by a jury of judgemental cats. Becca inhales the steam off of her venti 2-pump pumpkin spice 2-pump chai tea latte with soy-milk before passing her judgement.
“Oh my God, Ree, it’s fine. This place is like an hour from my new job, anyway.” She says it with the achingly casual delivery of someone dishing the latest gossip. Ree bounces in her seat from the excitement.
“New job?! Oh, Becca, congratulations! Where is it? What is it? When do you start?”
“Personal trainer for some venture capitalist’s mistress. It’s so Manhattan, Ree, but I’m so excited. I’ll start next week, and the money’s great. Not gonna lie, that four am close shift was getting real old.”
Ree should probably feel guiltier about being happy that one of her best friends is going to be moving out of their home. Maybe she will later.
“So… you don’t — mind?”
“Oh, Ree, no. You really like him, huh?” Becca leans in for the details, but all she gets is Ree’s fond smile.
“I really do, Becca.”
“Is he the one?”
Ree can feel her cheeks itch, but carries on anyway.
“God, I really hope so.” It’s the first time she’s admitted it aloud, and it feels momentous.
Be
cca nods. “Okay, then. But after today, I want to be in the bridal party.” She pauses and then clearly reconsiders. “Also, you’re naming your first-born after me.”
Who said anything about a first-born?!
“What? Why?!”
The sigh she gets in return is long-suffering and world-weary.
“Because neither of you are half as quiet as you think you are.”
Ree wants to cringe into a ball like a trilobite fossil and never move again. “Oh my God! Rebekah! You never said!”
Becca has the grace to look extremely sheepish. “Well, I mean… I figured I kinda had it coming, you know?”
Ree laughs so hard that she nearly snorts her cappuccino.
“Oh, I’m going to miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Ree, but we’ll still hang out!” Becca promises. “I think I’ll remember the address. Nevermind that, though. I want to hear all the details.”
Chapter Eight
“You had no right,” Hardin snarls, waving the sheaf of papers at her like they’ll explode at any second. If he’s aiming to intimidate her, though, he’ll need to try harder.
“It’s not an order, Hardin! I’m not your boss. But either you want to go into business for yourself, or you don’t.”
He stares at her with a curled-lip sneer.
“And you know so much about going into business?”
“I studied Business Administration and Actuarial Studies, Hardin. So, YES!”
“This isn’t any business, Riona. This is the business of murder for money. If this backfires, she will go after your family.” His face is gaunt as granite.
“Yeah?” Ree doesn’t know who this she is, but she wishes her good luck with Evie.
“Good luck to her gnawing on that brick. And for the record, Hardin? We’re going to have a chat about your super sketchy past just as soon as we’re done with this argument about your self-sabotage!”
For the first time in their colourful acquaintance, he takes a step back from her.
“And anyway,” she adds, barrelling onwards, “have you considered the alternative? If this goes right, you’d have the lift to start your own shop. No more red-eye flights to off-beat vacation destinations, no burner phones and weeks away-”
No weeks of not knowing if he’s alive or dead… or the first wishing he were the latter. No weeks of sleepless nights, stomach churning with fear for him.
“Why won’t you just do it?” She’s appalled at the plaintive note in her voice. He doesn’t seem to hear it, too trapped in a nightmare of his own imagining.
“And what if they say no?”
“It’s a bid, Hardin, not a proposal. You don’t wear sackcloth and ashes; you reword it and reapply! Anyway-” she says, struggling for composure. “It doesn’t matter, because we’re going to get it.”
“What, a migraine? I’m already there.”
“You are so lucky you’re cute, Hardin,” Ree snaps. “No. The tender. I submitted a bid.”
There is a silence as profound as the depths of space, and Ree wonders if Hardin is going to just up and leave. He doesn’t.
He does, however, light a cigarette.
“Explain,” he says once the nicotine has stopped his hands shaking.
“I was packing everything when we moved you over last month, and I grabbed the file folder. I thought it had a closed bottom — it didn’t, by the way — so I threw myself a confetti parade.”
“You read my mail?!”
“What am I, a felon?! Of course I didn’t read your mail, Hardin! I live with you and I don’t open your mail. I put it all back in the file, but I have eyes and can recognize a logo. Especially one that big. Department of Defence? Come on.”
He’s wearing his business face, the one with the unreadable eyes. It drives her nuts. Ree would pay a pound of flesh to know what he’s thinking.
“And you submitted how?”
“Their website’s public, Hardin. Then I got on LinkedIn and started looking for executives. Its basic HR creeping.”
“I’m aware. I just… did not expect you to take an active interest.”
Ree stares at him, incredulous. “Hardin. Of course I’ll help. Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life wearing an apron and calling other men Sir?”
He winces at that and looks away. Ree would feel guilty at throwing such a dirty punch, but she’s still so damn mad at him.
“I understand, Riona, but this is—”
“A fifty million dollar contract providing personal protection to an NGO transferring personnel and product to the epicentre of a disaster zone. I’m aware. Would you like the specs? Torrential rains resulting in major landslides, burying entire villages and displacing approximately 4500 locals, most of whom are now in distress or infirm. You’ll be helicoptering into a muggy, buggy, extremely volatile humanitarian crisis with a large volume of the Good Drugs with a few doctors and pharmacists and nurses to serve as convenient hostages for any idiot out to make a fortune. They assured me it was low risk during the phone discussion. I’m not sure I buy that.”
“As much as I appreciate your input and your help, there are complications! It’s not that easy, Riona!”
“Oh no? Then explain the complications that make you throw an application for a fifty-million-dollar gig!”
“She’ll know!”
Oh, okay. That clarifies everything.
“And who in the fuck is she?!”
“J!”
She stares at him. “Yeah, okay, now do you want to buy a vowel? Talk to me, Hardin, because I’m good, but I can’t actually read your mind!”
“J is — J is everything that’s bad in the world. She is… Moira’d call her bad news, Ree. Big bad news, even. We need to stay off of her radar. That article that made you upset last week, about the mine shaft that collapsed on all those child labourers? Those were her emeralds.”
“That mine was owned by a despot; they said so on TV.”
“Riona.” He gestures at the air with an exasperation that infuriates her. “Think strategically. Someone always has to fund the despots, or else their gaudy asses would be broke. That’s her. She bankrolls every single awful thing you can imagine, because it makes her rich, and it keeps everyone else putting out fires. She is… the smartest woman I have ever met and the most ruthless. And she hates me.”
“Oh, good. What did you do, leave her at the altar?”
Hardin goes extremely still.
“No,” Ree breathes, hand fluttering up over her mouth.
“Not at the altar, Riona,” Hardin says, mouth a sharp slash. “But… it is personal between us.”
His lips have gone grey and bloodless. He’s terrified. But Ree’ll deal with that later.
“So what if it’s personal?” Riona retorts. “Are you going to spend the rest of your life living in flophouses and running from her?” He shrugs, an eloquent non-response. She stares at him, aghast.
“You… weren’t actually going to do that, were you? Don’t you want more for yourself than that?!”
“People are afraid of her, Riona. And for good reason. She has a five million dollar bounty on my head.”
Ree waits for the joke, but there isn’t one. He’s serious, and he means it. Ree feels her loathing for this woman crystallise. This must be what Moira feels like all the time, she thinks. It feels as though she’s staring at a stranger from a distance.
“I almost hope I meet her,” she hears this new woman say. “We’re gonna have words. But Hardin, look — I don’t care about her. I care about us. And we’re going to get that tender. I reworded it for you and resubmitted it under a new name.”
“Whose?”
“Mine. Or, well, ours.”
There’s a sudden and awful silence.
“What gave you the right?” Hardin snarls, and that’s when Ree decides she’s done with his shit. She can still feel his fingertips over her skin, the ghost of last night’s kisses. She thinks of fingertips over her skin, of her lips
over his flesh, of secrets in the dark, and giggles over desserts.
“What didn’t? Or aren’t we in this together?” Ree replies, ice in her blood.
He looks down at her, dripping disdain.
“I am trying to keep us safe, Riona.” He advances on her; every limb within razor-sharp and crisp control, enunciating every word. “This ... misguided attempt at bravado doesn’t work when you are simply unaware of what she can do. J doesn’t just kill, Ree. She had me for that.”
It’s awful, but it’s the truth, and he throws it at her like a mortar shell.
“She ruins lives. Not just life, not just limb. She’ll go after you. Your sisters. Your parents. She’ll ruin everything and everyone you have ever held dear. Reputation, finances, body, spirit, soul — she’ll destroy that pretty house in that pretty neighbourhood, Ree.”
His breath comes out through his nose like a winded thoroughbred. Ree has never seen him this agitated. Her smart mouth and bad temper don’t care.
“And you stuck your dick in that?!” She tries for funny, but it falls flat.
Maybe I’m taking that a little personally. Don’t care.
“How the hell do you think it felt, hm? To be some foster brat, not a garbage bag to my name and no home to fall back on ever since Daddy plastered Mommy to the back wall for having an opinion, to end up in her orbit? To be faced with that sort of power?” His smile sharpens and takes a turn for the cruel.
He takes another step into her space. “I guess you wouldn’t know.”
When Riona speaks, her voice is hoarse with sudden horror. “No”, she says, voice soft. “I wouldn’t. Is that what it was like for you?” Cold sweat prickles over her skin, and she reaches up to touch his cheek. “Oh, Hardin. I’m so sorry.”
He flinches as though she’s slapped him, looking at her with an awful expression on his face. He looks as though he isn’t sure to sob or shove her away. There’s a moment where she thinks it could go either way — and then he flees. It takes Ree a second to realize what’s just happened, but when it sinks in, she flings a pillow at the closed door.
“Damn it”, she spits. It makes her feel a little better. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”