Deadly Sexy

by Beverly Jenkins

  It was, but he didn’t respond.

  “It’s all about you, isn’t it? You don’t care what happens to anybody as long as you get what you want.”

  “Yep.”

  Misha couldn’t believe she’d deluded herself into thinking he cared about her. For five years she’d worn blinders, made excuses, but no more. “I hacked into your life, Mr. Garrett.”

  He looked startled.

  “Thought that would get your attention. I looked into all the little dirty corners of your life, and you know what I found?”

  His eyes were cold.

  “You don’t have a dime and neither do your clients. You’ve been tapping into their accounts and they’re just as broke as you. What do you think’ll happen when they find out?”

  “Are you threatening me, bitch?”

  “I got your bitch because now, Bobby Garrett the Third, it’s all about me, and if you’re thinking about doing me like you did Carole and JT, think twice. Everything I know is on a disk sitting on the desk of a friend of mine who works for a top dog lawyer. Anything happens to me, my family, or anyone else I know, you’re going down.”

  He looked like he was going to explode, but she didn’t care.

  “I also know about the woman in Houston, the one in Miami, and the ho in Santa Clara. I got you by the balls, Bobby, and I don’t ever want to see you again. Don’t call me, don’t e-mail me, don’t come near me. You do, and I’ll drop a dime so fast you won’t know what hit you!”

  When she stood and stormed off, Bobby slammed his hand down on the table so hard the glassware fell to the pavement and broke. The waitress hurried over, but he snarled, “Just give me the damn check.”

  She backed away and went to do his bidding while he simmered and contemplated Misha’s death.

  Across town, Big Bo and Ham were sitting in Bo’s stadium office also contemplating death: Bobby’s.

  “He took Pennington’s music player?” Bo said, incredulous.

  Ham nodded. “Yeah. Like a damn raven going after something shiny. Gave the thing to his son and the kid pawned it. That’s how the police found out.”

  Bo cursed. “What the hell was he thinking?”

  Tight-lipped, Ham shrugged. “Stupid muthafucka. I’m cutting him out of the loop.”

  “You think the police have him under surveillance?”

  “Of course, so he’s got to go. Willingly or not.”

  Bo met Ham’s eyes. “You think he’ll rat us out?”

  “Not if he wants to keep breathing. Bobby knows I don’t play. Not about business.”

  Bo was in over his head now, and could feel the noose tightening. “So what do we do about tonight?”

  “We keep the date because it’s already lined up and I have a reputation to maintain. We’ll deal with BG3 afterwards.”

  Bo nodded. He’d let Ham take the lead on this, but in the meantime he planned to make sure his rabbit hole was ready, because the way things were looking, he might need to run.

  Bobby was in his office clearing out his files. He added Misha’s name to the list of bitches screwing up his life. Even though he took her threats seriously, he didn’t see her turning snitch, because then she’d have to implicate herself. She was the one who arranged for both the virus and the bomber, but with a big-time lawyer having her back, a plea could be worked out. If she was offered immunity from prosecution in exchange for what she knew, he was screwed. So he was contemplating heading underground, but not until he finished shredding everything that could be used against him. If he could find a place to hole up before the Feds tied him to the music player, or Misha started singing like Mary J. Blige, he might be able to disappear long enough to figure out his next move. His phone rang.

  The caller ID showed it was Ham. He let it go to voice mail. It was the third call this morning. He didn’t know what Ham wanted but his gut said let it ring.

  He was in the middle of feeding some of his clients’ financial documents to the shredder when his phone rang again. He didn’t recognize the number, so he let voice mail take it then punched the button so he could hear the recording in real time. The voice sounded foreign. Jamaican. Sinister. “I’m still waiting on payment, Garrett. You asked me to send Ms. Blake a surprise. I did. I’ll call back in one hour. If you don’t pick up so we can talk about this, the surprise will be on you.”

  Bobby stared at the machine, puzzled. Replaying the message, he listened carefully this time, and at the end surprise widened his eyes. Was that the bomber he’d hired? It was the only logical conclusion, but how had the man found him? Panic wanted to grab him, but he took a deep breath and forced himself to think. Was Misha already singing? What had the caller meant about wanting money? The payment had been put in the mail last week, the same night the police picked him up.

  Bobby stilled and got a sick feeling. Had they somehow intercepted the payment? Had they already tied him to the bombing? With effort, he calmed himself. If the message had been from the bomber, more than likely the man was just trying to shake him down for more cash, and he wasn’t going down like that. He’d paid him once, he wasn’t paying him again. To that end, when the man called back precisely one hour later, Bobby didn’t pick up.

  JT decided it was a good thing she’d been laid up and had lost a few pounds because at her regular weight she’d never be able to fit into her clothes the way the Anthony men ate. Sunday dinner was a barbecue, complete with some of the best ribs she’d ever tasted. There was also chicken, coleslaw, baked beans, corn on the cob, and more of Pops’s French bread. She laughed as much as she ate at the antics of Pinky and the Brain. They poked fun at Reese, threw napkins and plastic forks at the screen in response to the terrible play of the hometown team, and treated her like a queen. They fetched her food, brought her second and third glasses of her favorite grape Kool-Aid, and spent so much time just looking at her that all she could do was smile and shake her head. By the end of the second game she was exhausted. This was the first full day she’d spent on her feet since the explosion, and her body was letting her know it was time to pull up. “I need to lie down for a little while,” she told them.

  Concerned, Pops said, “We didn’t mean to wear you out. Reese, take her upstairs.”

  JT tried to reassure him. “It’s okay, Mr. Anthony. I’m having fun. Just need to pace myself.”

  His concern was still apparent. “Come on, Brian and Jamal. Let’s go watch the postgame show at my place.”

  JT hated being the one to break up the party. “You all don’t have to leave.”

  Reese countered, “Yeah, they do.”

  Pops chuckled. “Cramping your style?”

  “I am leaving in the morning, remember?”

  Bryce rubbed his hands together and cackled like a mad scientist, “Which means we get to have her all to ourselves.”

  Jamal added his cackles, and JT couldn’t help but laugh. They were something. “I’ll be up later, so you’re all welcome to come back for the Sunday night game.”

  “No, they’re not.”

  Pops shook his head at his eldest’s response. “Okay, Mouseketeers, let’s leave Kingfish in peace. JT, I’ll send you over some ice cream later.”

  JT tried to decline. “I can’t eat another bite.”

  “Maybe not now, but you might want something later. If Reese doesn’t have the force field up, I’ll leave it in the freezer, and see you tomorrow. By the way, one of my neighbors is a retired nurse. She’ll stop by in the morning and help you out with whatever you need.”

  “Thanks.” JT was glad he’d arranged for some assistance.

  “You’re welcome.”

  So Pops and Pinky and the Brain headed across the field to Pops’s house, and she and Reese were left alone. Reese could see the weary slump in her shoulders. “Want me to carry you?”

  “No. I can make it.”

  “Want some company?”

  “Sure.”

  “Want a kiss?”

  “Is Bret Favre going to t
he Hall of Fame?”

  Looking down into her smiling face, he bent to kiss her, and afterward followed her upstairs. Climbing, she turned and said, “When I wake up, I want to take a two-hour bubble bath, and then you’re going to make love to me.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yep. Now, if you’re not interested, I can call your brothers.”

  He popped her on her lovely behind. “Quit playing.”

  She laughed. “I knew that would get you.”

  Lying in his bed, she took some meds and washed them down with a glass of water then handed the glass back to him. He was seated on the bed. “I’ll probably have nightmares sleeping, with all this food in my stomach. Where did your father learn to cook so well? He’s amazing.”

  “Our gran owned a small restaurant on the south side of Chicago. Pops says he was about nine when she first put him to work.”

  “I’m impressed. Do you all cook?”

  “Yes, but none of us can come close to Pops. He is the kitchen king. We used to love it when he came off the road because we knew we’d feast.”

  “When he was playing ball?”

  “No, when he was driving rigs after mama died.”

  “Who kept you when he was gone?”

  “Sometimes my aunt would drive over from Chicago if he was going to be gone more than a week, but most of the time I was in charge.”

  “Really?”

  “Why do you think they give me such a hard time? Back in the day, when Pops wasn’t around, I ruled.”

  “The Great Dictator.”

  “Yep. I did the cooking, the cleaning, laundry, and made sure they got their homework done.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Lot of responsibility for a twelve-year-old.”

  “I know, but Pops trusted me, and I didn’t want him worrying while he was away, so I made sure everything was okay here at home. Jamal and Brain gave me fits, but they helped out a lot too.”

  She could imagine him at twelve telling his brothers what to do, taking care of the house. After the death of his mother, she bet he’d had to grow up fast, and that probably accounted for the serious undertone she sensed in his personality.

  He bent and placed a kiss on her forehead. “No more stories. Get some rest. I’ll be across the hall in my office. If you need me, just yell.”

  “Okay.”

  Reese knew she was healing but he still worried. “You sure you’re okay?”

  JT found his concern touching. “Yes, Reese. Just did too much, that’s all. I’ve never had to pace myself before. Takes a bit of getting used to. Wake me in three hours if I’m not up, please.”

  He nodded and placed a parting kiss on her lips. “Okay. I’ll see you later.”

  She snuggled beneath the lightweight quilt and closed her eyes.

  True to his word, he awakened her later and began running the water in his big tub for her bubble bath. She had him dig through her bags until he found her soap and oils, and once he added the liquids to the streaming water, the scent of sandalwood and almonds permeated the air. Reese looked at the bottle. “So, this is why you always smell so good?”

  “You like it, huh?”

  He set it down and began undoing the buttons on the shirt she was wearing. “Very much.”

  “Good to know.”

  When the buttons were all freed, he slid his hands into the open halves and settled them on the warm skin of her waist. “Need help taking off your pants?”

  The mischief in his eyes made her grin. “Think you can handle it?”

  He smoothly worked his hands into her sweats, filled each big palm with a soft hip and squeezed suggestively. “You mean like this…?”

  “Yeah,” she tossed back.

  He tugged them down, took care of the thong, and she stepped free.

  Naked but for his black shirt, her beauty was all his eyes could see. The truth be told, he and his rising manhood wanted her there and then, but the prospect of exploring her scented loveliness at his leisure once she was done was enough of an incentive, so he said instead, “Hold onto my arm so you don’t slip getting in.”

  A few seconds later, using him as support, she was standing in hot frothy water. “I think I should sit backward, that way I can put my cast on the edge and it’ll stay dry and out of the way.”

  He thought that sounded like a good plan but held onto her until she was submerged to her waist. The cast made the process awkward, but once she was settled in, she sighed with pleasure. “I may be in here forever.”

  “Let’s hope not. Making love to a raisin could be tricky.”

  She laughed. “Sounds freaky.”

  They were both smiling. She looked up at her gorgeous knight. He’d been such a blessing. “Thanks for everything.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “No, that’s later.”

  “Call me when you’re ready to get out,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll be on the couch watching the game.”

  After he left, closing the door, she soaked and relaxed.

  An hour or so later when she called, he came in with a large fluffy towel and helped her out of the tub. “That was wonderful,” she gushed. He wrapped her up and then surprised her when he bent and lifted her into his arms.

  “You’re carrying me again.”

  “Yep.”

  He walked her out of the bath and into the candlelit quiet of his bedroom. The flames undulating in the fireplace gave off both light and heat, which was where his steps took them. She saw a thin mattress set out on the floor in front of it, along with a couple of pillows and blankets. The soft jazz playing in the background added to the very romantic setting. She was impressed. “More of your courting technique?”

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He set her on her feet. “Let’s get you dried off.”

  The towel was used so gently and erotically that when he was done, she was left throbbing everywhere; her nipples, between her thighs. “Are you sure I can’t hire you?”

  He began kissing her slowly, passionately. “What kind of man are you looking for?”

  “One who’s good,” she whispered heatedly.

  The kiss deepened before he trailed kisses across her throat and filled his hands with her yielding breasts. Teasing the nipples with his thumbs, he looked down into her lidded eyes. “How’s this?” He flicked his tongue against first one nipple and then the other before treating them both to a lingering welcome.

  She shimmered in response. “That’s very good.”

  The heat of desire flared like the dancing flames of the fire. Mindful of her injuries, he loved her gently and was careful to touch her softly so he wouldn’t cause her pain. He treated her as if she were as rare as she was precious; awing her with his technique and making her croon in response to his exploring hands and lips. The clean fresh smell of him and the faint dampness of his skin told her he’d showered too, and she wished she had two good hands to caress him with instead of one.

  He undressed and they both knelt on the mattress to resume their play. When she grasped his straining manhood, his eyes closed and she didn’t think he cared that she only had one hand; one seemed to be more than enough. Moving her palm over him wantonly, she teased her tongue against his flat nipples. He groaned in response and she smiled, savoring the power she held.

  To keep from exploding, Reese backed away. Eyes glittering with desire, he had her lie down then worshipped his way down her body from her lips to the shrine between her thighs. He conquered her, teased her; made her spread her legs so shamelessly for more that a few intense moments later the powerful orgasm buckled her and she shattered, screaming.

  When she came back to herself, he whispered, “Come, ride.”

  So she impaled herself on his condom-sheathed staff, loving the slide of his hardness as he filled her to the hilt. Reese wanted to stroke her like a madman, but mindful of her injured ribs, forced himself to go slow and let
her set the pace. The rhythm was hot, seductive. He guided her with gentle hands on her waist and thrilled to the sight and feel of her moving above him and with him. He fondled her breasts and the tiny temple at the apex of her thighs. She came again and the heat and contractions of her sheltering flesh made him roar and grab her hips as his exploding orgasm sent him tumbling after.

  JT had no idea what time it was when he finally carried her over to the bed, but because he slid in beside her and held her close, she went to sleep without a care.

  Sixteen

  She awakened the next morning to the sounds of rain and thunder. Struggling up, it took her a few moments to remember where she was. Reese. She looked around but she was alone. There was a note on the pillow beside her: I’ll call you later. Rest. Reese. He’d written his father’s phone number on the bottom.

  Disappointed because she’d wanted to see him off, she laid back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She was in love with Reese Anthony, and if she were being truthful with herself, had been for some time—maybe since that first meeting on the 5. She wasn’t sure she was supposed to tell him, though. To hear her girlfriends tell it, men changed once declarations were made. Relationships went from fun, easy and equal, to one where the man decided he was in charge and called the shots. Would Reese change if he knew how she felt? She had yet to meet a more caring, considerate individual. If he remained true to that person, there would be no problems, but if he started trying to manage her, they as a couple would implode. She wanted things to stay as sweet and as hot as they were, and she wanted him in her life, but she didn’t want to create a monster either, so she decided that keeping her feelings to herself was probably best.

  She went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she finished, she ran water in the tub. After last night’s marathon loving, she needed to soak, and since taking a shower was out, another bath seemed the only logical solution.

  She was pouring bath oils into streaming water when her phone went off. It was Special Agent Tate calling to give her an update on an envelope Bobby had placed in a post office pickup box the night he was interviewed by the police. “What was in it?” JT asked. Reese had told her about the interrogation but hadn’t mentioned an envelope.