by K. A. Tucker
“They thought it was a heart attack at first but there haven’t been any signs. They think it’s severe stress, coupled with high blood pressure.”
“Stress? What the hell does he have to be stressed about?” I chuckle. And then stop, because the guy’s in the hospital and I’m being a douche.
“He’ll be out for a few days, so you need to keep things running smoothly. Come on, Luke. This is why I put you in the office.”
Miller has never missed a day of work. It’s something of a joke around the garage. “Yeah, no problem. I’m on my way.” Tossing my phone onto my bed, I stretch my tired body and wander forward to my window to stare out at the wall of closed blinds across the way. Rain met me on the path behind our condo in tight pants and a fitted sweatshirt. After keeping up with me for an hour—I had to carry Stanley for most of that, ready to collapse—I asked her back to my place, hoping to drag her into my shower with me so I could lick the clean coat of sweat off that perfect body of hers.
She smiled, lifting to her tiptoes to kiss me with salty lips. And then turned me down for a photography assignment.
It damn near crushed me.
But, at the same time, it makes me respect her more. The girl she was describing yesterday, when I dropped her off? The one who ditched her life to cater to some guy who sounds like someone I’d punch if I had the chance? That girl sounded needy and weak, and that’s not what I want if I’m going to have a woman in my life for more than the occasional night.
I’ve always been attracted to confidence, and I saw Priscilla and those other women as being just that—strutting in, grabbing attention, getting what they want. But now that Rain’s in my life, I realize how stupid that is. Pris is drowning in insecurity. She needs beauty and money and a man to attach herself to in order to feel self-worth. She chooses her friends based on their looks and their lifestyle and what they can do for her. She chooses men who attract her with their money. I know because she’s admitted as much to me.
Priscilla lives with a ticking clock hanging over her head, because when her looks start to fade, all that she’ll have left is a vapid group of girlfriends who trash-talk each other behind their backs and a rich husband who relies on her to wash and fold his socks while he dips into the next generation of insecure, beautiful gold-diggers for his dick fix.
But Rain knows who she is. She’s gorgeous, but she doesn’t wear her beauty like it’s all she has going for her. She can be forward—in a cute, sexy way, like the first day we met at the garage—but she’s strong enough to tell me to back off, to slow down, without fear. That’s confidence and self-respect. That’s telling me that she won’t hesitate to go after what she wants, but she won’t just give herself away. I have to earn my place in her life.
And she’s obviously independent. As in, she doesn’t need a man. Yeah, okay . . . She may still be relying on her father to bankroll that independence. But in a sense, so am I, right now. I get the impression that she has a plan and goals for the rest of her life. I haven’t pushed her on it so far, because I have to be ready to share the same information if she asks me, and I’m still not sure how she’ll take my answer. But Saturday night changed things for us. I felt the distinct shift.
Rain is someone I can trust.
Looking down at my morning wood, coming alive with thoughts of the night in my cabin on the yacht, I consider that maybe I should throw some boxers on if I’m going to stand this close to my window in daylight, like I’m begging to see her. Especially if she happens to peek out from around her blinds. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done that.
Fuck it, I don’t care if she knows how much I like her.
Chapter 36
■ ■ ■
CLARA
An engine roars on the other side of Luke’s office wall, rattling the hanging picture frames. “I hate it when they do that,” Luke mutters, digging the key out of his pocket. “Thanks so much for walking Licks. Poor guy’s probably dying right now.”
“Of course. It’s no big deal.” I look over at the empty chair. “How is Miller doing?”
“He’s back home now, but he’ll be out for most of the week.” Luke slips my key ring from my hand and begins fiddling with it.
Hooking a spare key to his condo onto the ring.
My target is giving me unsupervised access to his personal space.
“You really think this is smart?” I tease, holding it up.
He laughs and grabs my waist, pulling me into him. “I’ve already called security to let them know you’ll be there. They’ll be on the lookout for the gorgeous brunette with the ugly little dog. They shouldn’t give you any problems.”
“Licks isn’t exactly a looker either—you do realize that, right?”
He doesn’t answer, stealing a slow, deep kiss that makes my knees buckle and me forget where I am for a moment.
This can’t happen. I push against his chest. “I’d better head over there now. It’s almost seven. He’s probably about to burst.”
“You know, if I came home tonight and found that same gorgeous brunette lying naked in my bed, I wouldn’t complain.” Luke’s arms curl around my back. He pulls me into him again, until I can feel the bulge in his pants.
My cheeks flush, knowing Warner is listening to every single word right now. Knowing what it feels like to be with Luke, free of a wire and observation, makes the time that I am on the clock with him all the more unpleasant. “What time do you think you’ll be home?”
He sighs. “Fuck, I don’t know. The way things are going, I’d say around ten. This week is really busy and I don’t know how to do half of what needs to be done around here.”
I peck his cheek with a kiss and pull away. “Then you’d better get back to it. I’ll talk to you later.”
■ ■ ■
“We’re not staying long,” I warn Stanley as the two dogs race for the giant dog bed by the window.
I should just turn around and head home right now. But I can’t help myself from wandering through Luke’s home. I’ve been inside only once, and he was here. Now, I’m free to inspect. For a few hours, if I want. Bill’s watching the garage, in case Luke leaves work early.
What will I find here? Something to incriminate him? Because he handed over his keys to me trustingly, anything I find is admissible. Warner giggled like a schoolgirl when he found out I had access. I’m sure Sinclair’s going to be happy. But I’m not really looking for things pertaining to the case.
I just want to explore Luke’s personal space.
I make my way through his kitchen, opening drawers and cupboards to find neatly piled pots and polished silverware, small appliances still in original packages. The only cupboard that looks well stocked and frequented is the one full of hard liquor.
He is twenty-four, after all.
After sweeping through bare closets and a spare bedroom with nothing but a bed to fill it, I move on to his bedroom with hesitant steps.
Because any curious female would do the same of the guy she was dating. And sleeping with.
Turning his lamp on, I find his sheets in a rumpled mess. He normally makes his bed in the morning, based on what I’ve seen. But he did say he basically ran out today. So, I do him a favor and take the time to make it for him, stealing a quick inhale of his sheets as I smooth out the creases.
And then the hairs on the back of my neck prickle because I feel like I’m being watched. Or I’m simply afraid that I’m being watched.
Glancing out across the way, I see my apartment, blinds closed and dark. I stroll over to the panel and hit the switch, closing his blinds.
Just in case.
Luke’s words earlier replay in my ear and my heart begins to race. I stretch out on his bed, burying my face in his pillow, as I briefly allow myself the luxury of imagining myself granting his request.
Wishing I could.
With a groan of frustration, I roll off and gingerly open his nightstand. It’s bare, save for multiple boxes and brands of condoms—some opened and half-empty—and a long, slender black jewelry box. I pull it out and flip it open, catching my breath as sparkling diamonds wink back at me. I finger the delicate chain, instantly mesmerized by the beauty of the stones, each encased with a setting in the shape of a drop.
A raindrop.
“Holy shit,” I mumble, pulling out a folded sheet of yellow paper tucked into the inside of the lid. It’s an appraisal certificate from a jewelry wholesaler here in Portland. A row of digits—the necklace’s value, for insurance purposes—glares up at me.
I snap the case shut and slide it back into the drawer quickly, knowing that I probably wasn’t supposed to see that.
But I’m positive that the necklace is for me, and it’s real. When did he buy that? And why? I don’t have to ask with what money because I know. I also know that when he does give it to me, I’ll have to smile and gush over it. But that won’t be hard. What’ll suck is handing it in to evidence after the case is over, because I can’t keep it.
I should be disgusted with him for giving me gifts bought with dirty money.
But, if I’m completely honest, all I can think about right now is how beautiful that piece of jewelry is and how thoughtful he is and how I can’t wait to feel him slipping it around my neck.
This is exactly what Luke meant when he said that he’s been blinded by wads of cash and a Porsche.
My stomach begins churning with self-loathing.
After searching his bedroom closet and finding nothing but a well-hung, neat wardrobe of dress clothes and more shoes than any man should own, I make a quick stop in Luke’s bathroom, stepping over the towel he left on the floor. I don’t pick it up, not wanting him to know I was in here, too. Scanning his medicine cabinet, closet, and vanity drawers, I find only cold medication and basic hygiene supplies, albeit a lot more of the latter than I’d expect the normal guy to use. Luke is meticulous with his appearance, though, so I’m not surprised.
There are no prescriptions of any kind, no embarrassing rash creams, nothing that tells me I should be heading to the doctor for tests. That’s a relief.
As is the fact that I’ve uncovered nothing to use against him in our case.
So, I grab Stanley and head out.
Chapter 37
■ ■ ■
LUKE
“I can’t believe you’re making me watch this,” I hiss into the dark theater.
She gives me a look of shock. “You’re kidding me, right? There’s blood, carnage. And aliens. What kind of guy doesn’t like aliens?” Her tone is almost accusatory.
I hold my hand up. “I’ve never dated a girl who likes this stuff.”
A sly smile forms on her face. “Are you afraid of scary movies?”
I throw my best “seriously?” game face on. “Me? Come on.” I slept with my light on until I was ten because monsters lived under my bed, waiting for a chance to kill me. The hell if I’m admitting that to Rain, though.
The way she throws buttery popcorn into her wide-grinning mouth tells me she sees right through my lie.
“Shut up.” I lean in to steal the piece from her fingertips about to go into her mouth, licking the salt and butter off her lips on my way. We’re sitting in the back row of a half-empty theater because I insisted and she didn’t complain, and dammit, she’s wearing a short skirt. When I saw which movie she chose, I decided I’d rather be touching her for the next ninety minutes than watching the screen. It’s been four days since the overnight cruise, since I felt the inside of her.
Just thinking about it now—about the feel and smell and taste of her—I’m getting hard.
While a red-eyed alien gnaws on some guy’s face on the giant screen in front of us.
I don’t really care. I’m just happy to be out with her. Turns out that running the garage on my own is exhausting. Miller’s been doing a heck of a lot of work that I don’t know about, while I make my own hours and fuck off at odd hours of the day. I haven’t left the place before nine any night this week. No wonder the guy hates me so much.
Couple that with the added anxiety of relaying orders to fences for the next shipment, and I can barely get a workout in every night, I’m so tired.
I throw my arm over her shoulder and rest my other hand on the inside of her bare thigh, letting my fingers run along silky soft skin. She smiles, plants a kiss on my lips, and mouths, “Watch the movie.” Then her hand drops to hold mine in place, like she knows exactly what I’m intending on doing.
Great.
Forty-five minutes of gore over a deafening sound system later—when I’ve jumped out of my seat at least five times, earning laughs from Rain each time—I finally lean in to admit, “Fine, I’m terrified of aliens. I’m probably going to have nightmares tonight. Are you really going to make me watch the rest of this?”
She rolls her eyes but then smiles. “Alright . . . let’s go.” She reaches over to collect her jacket and purse. I use the opportunity to slide my hand farther up.
It’s so loud in here that I can’t hear her small gasp as my fingers weave under her damp panties, as one finger slips into her, but by the sudden tension in her body and hard swallow in her neck, she wasn’t expecting that.
Though it sure as hell feels like she wants it.
She hasn’t pushed me away yet. She’s too busy scanning the other rows, the corners, and the ceilings for cameras. There are none on us. It’s all safe. Only when she seems to accept that does she ease back into her seat. Her eyes land on mine. Thanks to random flashes from the screen, I can just make out the fire in them.
Finally, she gives me a tiny smile as her thighs fall apart. She lifts her hips up just slightly. I take the access greedily, yanking her panties all the way down until they hit the dirty theater floor. I push her thighs farther apart as I begin working her with more fingers and my thumb, her skirt riding up higher. Fuck, I wish it weren’t so dark in here.
Her jaw’s clenched tight, like she’s trying not to make a sound, not that anyone would hear anything in here. Maybe that’s what spurs me forward, makes my fingers move faster, a little more aggressively, wanting her to lose control. “Come on, Rain . . .” I mumble into her ear, grabbing hold of her lobe with my teeth. “Let me hear you—”
Her hand slaps over my mouth, smothering the rest of my words, a glare of warning in her eyes. Maybe dirty talk embarrasses her? I keep going with a smile, my own blood flowing south. Watching her lips part and her eyes close as she gets more and more wet, as she starts squirming against my hand, until she grabs hold of the back of my head and smashes her lips into mine, smothering any moans that might have erupted as her body spasms around my fingers.
I have no fucking clue what’s happening in the movie anymore, thank God. Right now I’m ready to unzip my fly. I’m hoping Rain will return the favor, but I won’t ask. She seems to read my mind because her hand wanders over my lap, gripping me through my jeans, her thumb flicking the zipper pull.
And then her hand is suddenly gone. She collects her purse and panties from the seat next to her and whispers, “I need to use the restroom. Will you be okay here for five minutes? You know . . . with the scary aliens?” She points up at the screen.
I slap her ass in answer.
My head falling back in complete and utter frustration.
Chapter 38
■ ■ ■
CLARA
I stare at my flushed face in the restroom mirror, my hands shaking as I process what just happened. What I just let happen.
When he called me to go out tonight, I immediately suggested the movies, knowing it was a way to be with him without deceiving my cover team or worrying about what might be said. I figured it’d be a good
way to slow things down a bit, too, while still gaining his trust, keeping his attention. We could hold hands, steal a kiss or two without Warner or Bill hearing anything over the blasts of the speakers.
Of course I picked a gory movie, something to steer my mind and body away from the fact that I don’t want to just hold hands and kiss. That the devil on my shoulder convinced me to wear a short skirt, and that I was wet the second my ass hit the leather seat of his car.
I can’t believe I just allowed that to happen.
While wearing a wire!
With my cover team listening!
I’m sure that’s not the first time this back row has served a tawdry purpose. It happens often enough. Two years ago, I got called to the local AMC to bust two sixteen-year-olds for indecent exposure after they got a little carried away. There have been plenty of “incidents” of guys going in alone and coming out in handcuffs because they felt compelled to jerk off. So where the hell do I fit in, exactly? The horny teenager or the pervert?
Desperate for Luke. That’s what I am.
I was keeping an eye on the entrance from the second we sat down, watching for someone from my cover team. I didn’t notice any lanky male forms slipping into the shadows. Even if someone did, he wouldn’t be able to see what was happening.
Still!
What if I’m wrong and the Feds now have the sounds of me getting off recorded, for all to hear?
Needing some reassurance, I pull out my phone. “Oh my god,” I groan, clutching my stomach, as I see the four missed calls from Warner. My phone was on vibrate, but I can normally feel it through my purse. If I hadn’t been . . . distracted, I would have noticed it going off.
It starts vibrating again.
I manage a weak and croaky, “Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Restroom. Why?” I close my eyes. Here it is. It’s coming. I’m so screwed.
“12’s car just got jacked.”
It takes a moment for his words to register. “What!”