by Elise Noble
Russell bundled me up and held me close, kissing my forehead, my hair, my temples.
“Sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t.”
“So this is just one hell of a coincidence?”
“I don’t… It’s just…”
“Shh. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, if you’ll let me.”
“What do you mean? I thought this was just a fling?”
“I hate to break it to you, Kylie, but I don’t do flings.”
He was joking, surely? “But…but where can we possibly go with this?”
“I’ll admit things look bleak at the moment, but I’m not giving up, and neither should you. The more time I spend with you, the more time I want to spend with you. And today, it looks like that time’ll be spent jet skiing.”
I buried my head against his chest and squeezed him as tight as I could, both overwhelmed and terrified at the same time. I never wanted to let him go. What did he see in me? I had no idea, but the feeling of desire was mutual. The more I got of him, the more I wanted. A tiny glimmer of hope flickered inside me, a spark, but darkness quickly descended again. Because what hope did we have?
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He raised my chin and kissed me softly—almost chastely—on the lips. “What does one need for jet skiing?”
Oh, hell, he was so bloody posh. “Just yourself. And some sunblock.”
“Are you driving?”
“Unless you want to? Or we could take separate jet skis?”
“No, I like the idea of you being nestled between my legs all afternoon.” He blew out a breath. “It might kill me, but I like the idea.”
Until then, I’d been focusing on the wildlife-spotting aspect of the trip, not Russell’s freaking trouser snake. But the prospect of having him wrapped around me for an hour or two was undeniably attractive, even if it made me self-combust.
“I’ll drive.”
The water lapped at the edges of the jet ski as we rested in a small cove a little way up the coast. The ride had been every bit as good and bad as I’d imagined. We’d cut through channels and ridden around small islands, taking in only a fraction of the breathtaking scenery Queensland had to offer. Russell even spotted a dolphin in the distance, leaping out of the water in a show just for us.
But my insides were on fire, and Russell kissing my neck didn’t help one bit.
“That was wild,” he murmured. “Perhaps even better than golf.” His hands crept under my T-shirt and cupped my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they hardened into stiff peaks. “Definitely better than golf.”
“You’re such a perv.”
Teeth nibbled at my earlobe. “Would you rather I stopped?”
I quickly shook my head, arching back into him, pressing into his hands. The movement elicited a low groan, and I reached behind me to see what other effect it might be having. Russell was half hard already.
“We should head back,” I whispered, my voice soft because, in truth, I was happy exactly where I was. “Don’t you think?”
“No, I think we should make out on a jet ski. That’s got to come under advanced skills, right?”
I twisted to look at him. Ran my tongue over his bottom lip and then sucked it. My head reminded me I should have been packing, getting ready for whatever tomorrow threw at me, but my body had other ideas, and I tangled my fingers in Russell’s hair, pulling him into me until my back protested. I wanted him. Craved him. When my muscles threatened to spasm, I loosened my grip and swung my leg over the seat so I was facing him properly, his cock pressing between my legs. Another groan.
Small waves pushed at the jet ski, rocking me into him, and when I leaned forward slightly, he rubbed me in exactly the right spot. I tore his shirt off, then mine, relishing the feel of skin on skin, our bodies slick with sweat that had nothing to do with the sun. I pulled back for a moment to glance around. No, we were completely alone, with nothing but the noise of the birds for company.
Russell seemed to share my thoughts because he popped one breast out of my bikini top, leaning down to run his tongue over my nipple. I let out a squeak, half surprise, half pleasure. Michael had been dangerous, but at that moment, I realised Russell was too. This man would steal my heart if I let him.
I tried to even things up, reaching down to push his swim shorts lower on his hips. His cock sprang free, and I gripped it. Ran a thumb across the tip, swirling the drop of pre-cum over the end, then rubbed the hardness against myself. Only a tiny piece of material stood between us, and it was so, so tempting to push it aside, to slide myself forward until I had Russell exactly where I wanted him. But I’d stopped taking the pill years ago. Egypt wasn’t exactly famed for its easy access to birth control.
But then I saw Russell was holding a tiny packet in his hand.
“Do it,” he said.
“You brought a condom?”
He shrugged. “I thought we might find a quiet beach somewhere. Hoped we would. But this’ll do, and I don’t think I can last much longer.”
I snatched the packet from him and tore into it with my teeth. A moment later, I inched forward, slowly, slowly, until he got sick of waiting and met me with a buck of his hips. Oh, fuck. I buried my face against his chest to keep from crying out as he thrust in and out of me, then bit his shoulder when I shattered around him.
“Sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be.”
He came with a quiet groan seconds later and collapsed against me, the two of us wrapped up tight in each other’s arms.
Shit, shit, shit. I was gone for this man.
CHAPTER 14 - KYLIE
IN MANY WAYS, the waiting was the hardest part. Late on Sunday evening, I paced the living room, hungry but unable to eat. Leyton had called half an hour ago to say everything was in place. Russell had his three laptops set up, alerts ready and waiting to deliver news of any police activity in the Brisbane area, but so far, nothing seemed to be happening.
“What do you think of this house?” Russell asked.
“What house?”
I sat on his lap, forcing myself to stop fretting for a moment and focus on the centre screen. Russell was looking at interior shots from a three-bedroom villa in Marrakech.
“Why are you looking at a house in Morocco?”
“Just planning for every eventuality.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Yes. About you.”
“You can’t seriously be considering renting a house in Marrakech?”
“I’m not. I’m considering buying a house in Marrakech. That way, we could pick our own decor.”
A tear leaked out and plopped onto his keyboard. Russell wiped the ones that followed away with his thumbs, then followed up with a kiss to each cheek.
“You can’t move to Morocco,” I told him.
“Which part of ‘I don’t do flings’ didn’t you understand?”
“I didn’t think you were serious. I mean, why do you even like me? You could have any girl you wanted.”
“Yes, and now that I’ve got her, I’m keeping her.”
“Why? Why me? Two months ago, you were into Tai.”
In Egypt, they’d gone out for dinner together, several times in fact. It only ended when she fell for our neighbour in a bizarre case of opposites attract.
“For the most part, that was a pretence. We had a deal. Tai posed as my girlfriend to keep my brother from lecturing me about work/life balance, and I bought her dinner. Every time Finn caught me working, he tried to set me up with another vapid idiot, so the arrangement worked quite well.”
“For the most part?” Why was I even upset? Tai was besotted with Ren, for crying out loud. Yesterday, she’d messaged to tell me they were picking out new furniture for his house. “So there was something there?”
“Don’t do this, Kylie.”
“But I don’t understand why you want me. There’s a warrant out for my freaking arrest!”
; “For something you didn’t do.”
“You think that matters? The police don’t care.”
I tried to get up but Russell held me down, hugging me tightly. “From the very first moment we met, it was always you. Even when you pushed me to date Tai. I thought you weren’t interested, and yes, Tai was sweet. I’ll admit it’s possible our relationship would have gone beyond a business arrangement if everything else hadn’t happened.” He gave me a lopsided smile. “Maybe I’d have reconsidered my position on flings. But the events in Egypt did happen, and now I’ve got you exactly where I want you.”
“But why me?”
“First, there’s the obvious. You’re beautiful, and I won’t deny that’s why you caught my eye. But you’re also brave, and smart, and loyal. And living here with you this week’s shown me how easy you are to get along with. You don’t nag when I get engrossed in work, you’re not high maintenance, and you’re adventurous.” He gave his head a little shake. “Jet ski sex. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Not high maintenance? You’re talking about moving to bloody Morocco to be with me!”
“Yes, and I bet when I get there, you won’t berate me for wearing the wrong colour tie to the opera or forgetting to order more caviar from Fortnum & Mason.”
The exasperation in his voice suggested he spoke from experience.
“Someone really did that?”
“Yes, someone really did. Which is why she’s an ex-girlfriend and you’re very much not.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh. And don’t even consider pushing me away, because I’m not going anywhere.” He turned back to the screen. “So, the backup plan—do you like this place? Or should I look at somewhere else?”
“I’d live in a shack with you.”
The corners of his lips twitched. “Sorry, darling, but I don’t do shacks either.”
A ping sounded, and a box popped up in the corner of the screen. In an instant, Russell went from playful to serious, reaching around me to punch keys and click stuff.
“Looks like something’s happening,” he said.
“What? What’s happening? Is it Nabarra Street?”
“No, it’s not… Shots fired at Delario’s Pizzeria. It could be nothing to do with us.”
But it was. How glad I was that I hadn’t eaten because my stomach clenched and heaved. It was everything to do with us.
“Kylie, what’s wrong?”
“Who got hurt? Does it say?”
“It doesn’t say anyone got hurt. It’s just a post on Twitter. Why?”
“Shane’s mum owns that restaurant.”
Since Michael was as bad at cooking as me, it’d been our go-to place for dinner after an evening shift. The dough was always soggy, but on the rare occasions I suggested going somewhere else for pizza, Michael had reminded me that cop families stuck together. Mrs. Chapman offered a twenty percent discount to anyone with a warrant card. Half of the force went there for takeout. What the hell was going on? Had one of my former colleagues been injured? Or worse?
All we could do was watch as the story unravelled, tweet by tweet, news headline by news headline, interview by solemn interview.
A little after 10 p.m., the Australian Federal Police had raided Delario’s Pizzeria and found a large quantity of drugs. While trying to arrest the people involved, guns had been drawn, resulting in the death of one officer and the injury of another.
“Who’s been shot?” I asked, back to pacing again. Please, let it be Michael.
Not that I wanted him dead—I wouldn’t have wished that on anyone—but when it came down to his life or somebody else’s, I knew who I’d rather stopped breathing.
“They’re not saying yet. Someone on Twitter reckons a guy from the Specialist Response Group was down. Isn’t that like the Australian version of a SWAT team?”
I bit back a stream of curses. “Yes, it is.”
Had my actions resulted in his death?
“Hold on, there’s something about Nabarra Street here. The occupants of a house there have been arrested.”
“Did anyone get hurt?”
“It doesn’t look that way.”
Thank goodness.
It wasn’t until after midnight that we found out all the horrible, devastating details. Leyton arrived with Mimi trailing along behind him like a tiny, pissed-off wraith.
“What happened?” I asked. I was shaking by then, trembling from head to toe due to stress, fear, and lack of food. I hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast. Couldn’t.
“The AFP cornered Michael and Owen, and they panicked. Started shooting. One of the SRG team took a round to the chest, and Owen’s in the operating theatre as we speak.”
“Will Owen be okay? I mean, will he live?”
“That’s all the information I have on him right now.”
“What about Michael?”
A look passed between Leyton and Mimi, and I knew the news wasn’t good.
“He got away,” she said. “In the middle of the chaos, he stole a car and ran.”
“What?” My words sounded hollow, even to my own ears. That was a scenario I hadn’t really considered. Michael was on the run? The thought terrified me in case he hurt somebody else, but a small part of me thought see how you like it, asshole. “Who shot the cop? The news said he was dead?”
“Died on the way to the hospital,” Leyton said. “The ballistics haven’t come back yet. Too soon.”
“Oh, hell.” I collapsed onto the sofa, numb. “This is all my fault.”
“No,” Mimi said. “It’s Michael and Owen’s fault. Nobody asked them to load enough coke, heroin, and ecstasy for every junkie in Queensland into the back of an unmarked police car and drive it through the city.”
“Are you kidding?” I turned to Leyton. “Is she kidding?”
“Nope. The coke and heroine were packed into flour bags, and the ecstasy was disguised as kids’ candy.”
“Holy fuck.”
What if a child had gotten hold of it? That didn’t bear thinking about.
“Holy fuck indeed. So far, they’ve arrested Owen Mills, Charlene Chapman, a chef, two waiters, and three delivery drivers, plus two women back at Nabarra Street who claim they’ve never heard of Francis Mulhearn.”
“Shane’s mother? They arrested Shane’s mother?”
Mimi shrugged. “She was the one who started shooting first.”
I struggled to believe it. To me, Mrs. Chapman was a sweet middle-aged lady who always put too much tomato sauce on pizza and gave me twice as many slightly dried-out dough balls as I’d ordered. I couldn’t even imagine her holding a gun, let alone firing one. I’d been the most awful judge of character back then, hadn’t I? But what about now? I thought Russell was the one, but what if underneath that kind veneer he was actually a slimeball, just waiting to ooze out?
No. No, I couldn’t think like that. Russell was no Michael.
“Mulhearn got away?” Russell asked.
“Unfortunately. When they went into the house, he’d vanished.”
Two men in the wind, undoubtedly with money and connections. The news just got worse and worse.
“Is that Brenner’s laptop?” Russell asked, nodding at the slim black bag slung over Mimi’s shoulder.
She nodded once. “Yes.”
“Do you reckon he’ll come back looking for it?”
“We’ve left two colleagues behind at the house just in case, but I don’t think so. He didn’t have a go-bag waiting, and if I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t show my face back home.”
Russell held out a hand for the bag. “Then I’d better get started.”
After Leyton and Mimi left, Russell got his head down behind Michael’s laptop for the rest of the evening and part of the night. I brought him coffee, made sure he ate, and we had fifteen minutes of light relief where I attempted to teach him yoga on the terrace. Aurelie had left the mats behind after our session on Tuesday, so I figured we might as well make use of them.
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He crawled into bed in the early hours, spooning himself tightly against me, his front to my back, one arm curled around my waist. I hadn’t slept a wink until that point, but with him there, I felt safe. Secure enough to close my eyes and snooze, albeit restlessly.
When my eyes flickered open, sunlight was slanting through a gap in the curtains, and a hard cock pressed against my ass. What a way to wake up. Russell was still breathing steadily, but when I nestled back against him, he murmured something unintelligible.
“Are you awake?” I whispered.
“Barely. What time is it?”
I checked my phone on the nightstand. “Eight o’clock.”
“Rats. I should get up.”
I wiggled a little more. “You’re already up. Spare me five minutes before you get out of bed?”
Russell smoothed my tangle of hair out of the way, giving himself better access to my neck. His lips were so soft, so gentle. Not sloppy, not pushy, just sweet. I treasured every one of his kisses.
“No, but I can spare you fifteen.”
For the first time in my life, I got to experience sleepy morning sex, and it might even have been my new favourite thing. When Russell slid a hand between my legs to finish me off, I had to bite the pillow to stop from crying out. Thoughts jumbled around in my head. More, more, more… I’m in trouble… Harder… I could so easily love this man if I let myself.
The mess just kept getting messier.
I turned on the TV that morning, hating every moment of every show, but still feeling compelled to keep watching. One channel showed a picture of last night’s haul—ten kilos of coke, five of heroin, and eight thousand ecstasy pills. The street value ran into millions. No wonder Froggy had been so paranoid and Michael so secretive.
By afternoon, the news anchors began reporting more about the situation. Apparently, Michael and company had used Delario’s Pizzeria as a base of operations, and the food deliveries had been a cover for distributing drugs. Pizza and coke? No problem.
How had I been so stupid? So blind to what was going on under my own nose? My ex-boyfriend had run possibly the largest drugs ring in Queensland’s history.
By early evening, some enterprising researcher put two and two together and linked us. I knew it would happen, but it still made me sick to see my picture up there alongside Michael’s, and when they began speculating that we were partners in crime and on the run together, fury took over.