by J. L. Beck
I scramble for his belt. Oh God, I need him now now now. I free him of his clothes and marvel at the free reign I have over his delicious stomach. My tongue blazes a trail along his defined abs, lapping up the salt of his skin like a culinary delicacy.
His fingers yank my panties down down down my legs and toss them somewhere that doesn’t matter. All that matters is they’re gone and his hands are that much closer to touching me. His finger slide inside me, digging and curving in a way that ramps ecstasy right at the very spot of his touch. I writhe against him, my hips following the revolution of his wrist. Pressure builds in intensity, and I squirm, stroking him with the same kind of gusto.
After a moment, when I’m nice and warmed up, he pulls out of me. He wraps an arm beneath me and lifts me onto the kitchen table. I scoot closer to the edge, my desperation for him making me impatient. My body screams for his, and I fumble for the condom I keep in my purse.
“You sure?” He plucks the square from my shaking fingers and slides it on.
“I’m sure this is a terrible idea, yes.”
“That’s well established.” He kisses me again, so hard and fierce I barely have time to catch my breath before he robs it again by entering me with a powerful thrust.
I wrap my legs around him to bring him deeper inside me. Pleasure sparkles through me at the intense pressure of his movements. He lets out a guttural cry that turns me to Jell-O, pliable at his touch. My hips embark on a desperate race to meet his thrusts, each one punting me off a cliff of desire. Pulses of bliss spiral outward until I’m gasping at the heady sensation building at my core.
His lips find mine in a searing kiss before we break apart, both of us struggling to catch our breath. My eyes slip closed, concentrating on the rush of pressure spinning and turning to a sharp point at the base of me. My fingernails dig into the skin of his back, and I cry out. His hips swivel in a motion that makes my head arch backward. Colby uses the opportunity to bury his face in my neck and sucks a scorching trail of kisses along the tender flesh of my shoulder.
Holy hell. I grit my teeth against the double attack of pleasure working in tandem to send me over the edge. Every atom in my body inflates with enough helium to burst like a balloon. The ache inside me swells to a crescendo with every new pulse of his hips. Oh God. The moan that slips past my lips is an omen, foreshadowing the burst that ricochets through me in beautiful, pulsating releases. A few moments later Colby gasps against my neck, his breath hot along my skin.
Both of us shudder together, clutching each other to hold on for dear life.
Fuck, that was good. But only because it was a fucking bad idea.
7
Morning light filters in through the billowing curtains that hula dance in the slight breeze. I blink against the stark white sheets, my eyes adjusting to the foreign room that smells like sandalwood, replacing the distinct cigarette scent that usually seeps into my motel room from the one next door. A fog pounds against my skull, blotting out all thought of where I am and how I got here. But then the sound of the shower pings in my ears and I bolt upright.
Holy shit.
I’m in Colby’s bed.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m in Colby’s bed and last night I did the one thing I shouldn’t: I forgot my mission, let my desires overtake me, and nearly screwed myself over in the process of screwing him.
I blink, my eyes sweeping over the empty room once more. I’m in Colby’s room…and he’s in the shower.
I leap out of bed, completely naked, my muscle memory and instinct kicking in before the events from last resurface in my brain like a movie I’d forgotten I’ve already seen. Images float to my mind: the rough scrape of his stubble against my thigh, the scream that ripped from my mouth as I straddled him on this very bed with my palms braced against the wall, the delicate whispered words about promises for more. More than tonight. More than just sex.
More than I can keep.
I fucked up last night but today I have clarity. He’s not here and this might be my only chance. I rip open the first drawer I come to and sweep my hands inside, my fingers working fast and methodical the way I’ve always been good at, before I knew my fingers could work other magic on him besides theft. The first two drawers yield nothing but immaculately folded clothes and frustration that makes my teeth clench. But when I dig my hand beneath his boxers, hard velvet scrapes my fingertips.
I freeze, not daring this to be real as I trace the rectangular shape. My pulse quickens. I fumble to remove the box and gasp at the sight of it, my heart swelling with hope and nostalgia and down right gratitude. Tears spring to my eyes, and when I pop open the box and my gaze catches on the iridescent shimmer of the brooch, my breath shivers out of me. I hug the beautiful piece of jewelry to my chest. It’s mine. It’s finally mine.
“Ahem.”
I scream, spinning around to come face to face with Colby leaning against the bathroom doorjamb, a teal towel wrapped around his waist. My heart leaps into my throat and I scramble to hide the brooch behind my back in a childish game of hide and seek.
He stalks toward me, his face void of expression. A lump lodges in my throat and I stumble backward a step, the brooch knocking into his wooden dresser with a bang that sounds like a nuclear bomb to my years.
He holds out a palm, forcing me to be the one to close the distance between us. My throat feels swollen. My hands shake and it takes all my will power to reluctantly hand over the brooch. It feels as if a part of me has been severed. A strangled sound rips from my throat.
“Do you like it?” He holds it up to the sunlight, marveling at the way rainbows sparkle in each tiny prism. A ring of tiny, exquisite diamonds surrounds a teardrop shaped deep red ruby, two inches in diameter.
I gulp down a swallow, my head squirrel-darting around his room in a desperate attempt to locate an excuse. Any excuse. “What is it?” I say because I can’t admit the truth: that I love it. If I say that, I might confess everything.
His lips curve into a frown. “I bought it to give it to my mom on her anniversary of being cancer free.” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “But maybe I should give it to her on the day she starts chemo again. It might be the only thing that will cheer her up. She’s obsessed with nineteenth century royal history.”
My stomach clenches. I know I shouldn’t ask questions. I should make an excuse and get out of here before he can call the cops on me. But alarm bells ring in my ears and I press my palm against the dresser to steady myself. “When does she start chemo?”
He lets out a low breath. “Sunday.”
Two days. A whimper leaks from my throat. “It’s beautiful,” I force myself to say. “She’s going to love it.”
He settles it back in the box and gently sets it in the drawer, then sets his blue eyes on me. “Why were you looking through my drawer anyway?” He’s clearly trying to keep his voice casual, but his clenched teeth betray him.
My pulse is still pounding with the force of a concert speaker, making it hard to think, but my brain latches onto one piece of evidence: boxers. I glance down and realize I’m still standing here, completely naked. “I was looking for something to wear.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was going to grab your clothes for you after I got out of the shower.” He bends to open one of the drawers I dismissed and plucks out a crisp black t-shirt and then a pair of boxers. “You can put these on for now.”
I yank them from him hastily and clutch them against my chest. “Where’s your mom?” I bite my lip and suck in air through my nostrils so I don’t sound so desperate. “I mean, where’s her chemo treatment?”
“Back in Indiana.” Colby rakes a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to take an early morning flight out on Sunday to be able to surprise her in time.”
I nod while cold panic sluices through my blood. In two days, the brooch will be gone forever. “What are you doing tomorrow?” I blurt, my mind running ten steps ahead, working out a plan of action while I’m still trying to g
et my bearings straight here.
“Um. Work?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I need to make up for yesterday.” He slides his palm over his forehead. “You can have the day off today, by the way. And a few days next week once I figure out when I’m getting back. I’ll still pay you, of course.” He pauses, his eyes widening. “Actually. Would you want to come with me? To Indiana?”
My body thrums with his invitation. The girl part of me wants to say yes yes yes and leap into his arms. He’s asking me to go on a trip. To meet his mother. The mother he loves enough to pluck down three mil for a stupid brooch his mom won’t even wear, just display.
But there’s another part of me—the criminal part—that can’t possibly say yes. Because by Sunday, I’ll be far away from this town and never looking back. “I wish I could but…” I tap my finger against my lips, cobbling together a plausible excuse. “I have my grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday on Sunday. I’m throwing her a surprise party.” I swallow past the lump in my throat. My grandma didn’t live to see seventy-five. “I was actually going to invite you to it, but—“
He holds up his palms. “No worries. That’s just as important.”
“But Saturday,” I say again. “I know you said you have to work, but my friend’s having a party that afternoon.” My stomach clenches. Damn it, I just used the party excuse. “It’s a low key barbecue, should be fun. I’m going to work my magic on the grill,” I add, because if this is a fantasy date, I should put on all the fixings. “Do you want to meet me there?” I disarm him with a smile. “As my date?”
He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “That sounds amazing, actually. Screw work and my investors!” He fist-pumps the air.
My arms are trapped between us, still clutching the clothes he handed to me. I toss them to the floor. Outside the door, I can hear Galina singing to herself, but I don’t care if she hears us. “Meet me there around six then? I’ll text you the address.” I tug at the towel wrapped around his waist and then toss that aside too.
“Why can’t we drive there together?” His lips graze against my neck, leaving a trail of tingles in his wake.
Fuck. Why can’t we? “I promised I’d help her set up so I’m actually getting there a few hours early. Trust me, you don’t want to be there for this. It’s more about leg waxing than setting out appetizers.”
He laughs against my neck and I nearly melt into a puddle right there. “Okay, I can still work all afternoon then.” He kisses me, hard and passionate, leaving my gasping. My hands start to grasp at his exposed skin but he wraps his fingers around my wrists and sets them back at my sides. “But unfortunately we have to wait for this.” His eyes flick toward his clock. “I have a conference call in a few minutes.”
I let out a moan at the unfinished business pulsing between my thighs. Business that’ll never be finished between us again.
Because tomorrow when he drives an hour a half to meet me, he’s going to leave his house empty. Ripe for the taking.
8
I park several blocks away from Colby’s house. Far enough that he won’t notice my car. It’s four-thirty P.M., but I still don the requisite all black favored by girls who want to look skinny and by burglars who prowl the night. Except my all black comes in the form of yoga pants and a sports bra. My blond hair swings in a ponytail behind my head. I’m a jogger. I’m not suspicious. Everyone will ignore me.
I crouch behind a bush, bending down as if I’m tying my shoe. Through the leaves, there’s a dissected view of Colby’s driveway. A text vibrates in my pocket—on my way!—a full two minutes before his car backs out of the driveway and swerves down the road.
I let out a breath, wiping sweat from my brow. I don’t dare move. Not yet. Not until I’m absolutely sure he’s not going to turn around and come back for some forgotten object. Ten minutes passes, the sun blazing against the back of my neck. Fifteen.
My stomach clenches when the buzzer of my phone’s timer goes off. Twenty minutes. Time’s up. Time to do this.
Time to betray the guy I’m falling for.
Each step my feet take toward his house feels like I’m wading through wet concrete, leaving permanent footprints behind. Every press of my sole against his driveway is a decision, guilt pulsing through me. When I reach his back door, I have to brace my palm against the siding, gulping desperate breaths of salty ocean-scented air. I whimper and then slap my arm in an attempt to knock some sense into myself. I’ve never hesitated on a job before. Not once. And I won’t now.
I punch in the door code that’s been repeating in my brain ever since Thursday night. Even tipsy, my instincts were still honed to a sharp point, ready for opportunity. The door beeps and unlocks, granting me access. I disable Colby’s alarm code in the same manner, feeling like a super hero instead of a girl who followed a guy home and managed to stumble into this dumb luck.
Emptiness greets me inside, the rush of silence tuning up the volume on my beating heart. My eyes lock on the kitchen table, the place where I first stole his heart with my food and then his heart with my body. I shake my head, looking away, temples pounding. Focus. I place one foot in front of the other, wobbling just a little, enough to send me off course entirely. I grip the walls as my guide as if I’m navigating a maze and can’t find my way.
Upstairs, the dresser is a challenge. I face it head on, staring it down. A deep breath doesn’t offer me the kind of courage I need. I try counting: one, two, three, but my arms refuse to reach out and grip the handle.
This should be easy. Smash and grab. Get the brooch and get out of his life forever.
I nod to myself in encouragement. I can do this. It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
The drawer scrapes when I pull it and my teeth clench in response. Light blue boxers jiggle with the drawer movement, each one neatly folded into a perfect square. The last time I dug my fingers beneath the fabric, I was hasty, haphazard, and desperate. But this time I coax my fingers in gently. There’s a thought that flashes in my mind, as fast as lightning, there and then gone: maybe he changed hiding places. My chest stills at that thought.
But then my fingers bump against the velvety surface. I squeeze my eyes shut as a mixture of relief and something else, something like disappointment, seizes my shoulders. He trusts me enough to keep the brooch right where he knows I can find it. A pang curls in my gut, twisting with the sharp point of guilt. My fingers shake as they lift the box from the drawer and hold it up into a stream of illuminating sunlight.
The air is thick with solid humidity, blocking my airways. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. I nudge the box open even though I can feel the brooch sliding inside. The beauty of the sparkling diamonds and rubies still hits me with mega watt force, and I gasp, caught off guard once again by the brooch’s beauty.
Mine, I think. Finally mine.
I reach toward it with trembling fingers but as soon as they touch the jagged edges of the brooch, they go limp. My mind flashes to an image, of Colby holding out the box to a woman covered in a hospital blanket, a glorious smile brighter than the brooch itself, stemming from both of them. My pulse amps. I set the box back down on the dresser and stumble away from it, squeezing my palms against the sides of my temples.
It’s not mine. Not anymore.
I swallow hard and shut the box again, sealing the brooch inside. I slip it back into the underwear drawer and smooth my hands over the boxers. Once the drawer shuts, a semblance of balance restores into the room, as if every puzzle piece has finally clicked into place.
With a sigh, I head toward the door, not daring to look back. I came here for the one thing I’ve been coveting my whole life, but I’m stealing something else. Something I didn’t even know I wanted. Something that resembles a future.
My hands are empty when I reach the bottom floor, but they’ve never felt more full. I only wanted the brooch because of its sentimental value; it represented a battle with my mother that I fought for ye
ars to win. But it belongs to a different mother. Colby’s mom needs it more than me. For her, it embodies hope.
There’s a skip in my step when I turn the corner toward the kitchen, but I stop short at the entryway, gasping. A palm flies to my chest. There, standing in the center of the kitchen, is Galina.
“I—I can explain.” I stumble backward from her intense glare.
Her narrowed eyes seer into me, her arms crossed. “I knew you were trouble,” she says in Spanish.
My temples pound with the insistence of a rock concert, but there’s a thought that pulses through the fog: convince her you belong here. I put one hand on my hip and try to inject a casual attitude. “Not sure what you’re accusing me of,” I say in English just to piss her off. “But Colby gave me his alarm code. He knows I’m here.”
Galina raises a brow as a sick smile slides over her lips. She glances toward the entryway and clears her throat.
Colby saunters in, wearing a grave expression.
Shit.
“You’re half right.” He leans against the doorjamb, rigid and stiff. “I do know you’re here.” He forces me to follow his slow trek toward the very table we christened the other night before he sits down.
She shakes her head at me before ambling out of the kitchen. I lift my chin, my muscles trembling.
“I knew it,” Colby says. “I knew I recognized you.” He clenches his jaw and the very look of anger on his face sends my pulse into overdrive. “You’re the girl from the auction.”
My head darts at my options: the back door, which would require running past him. The front door, behind me, which would lead me right toward Galina. Either way, if I fled, they’d surely catch me. And the last option, one I’d never ever chosen before: the truth. I swallow hard. “I’m so sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m sorry I lied to you.” I hold up both my palms, showing him they’re empty, but it looks as if I’m surrendering. “How—” My tongue is thick and heavy in my mouth. “How did you know I was here?”