I throw back the last of the top-shelf whiskey and set my glass down on the bar next to me harder than necessary.
“Another, sir?”
Without looking away from the lover of the commonwealth in front of me, I answer. “Yes.”
“Another glass of the Delaney, ma’am?”
She has better manners than me and turns to the bartender. “No, thank you. One is my limit.”
“You piloting that international flight tomorrow?” I ask.
She sets her glass down next to mine and shakes her head. “One is enough. I’m not a good drinker. Too much doesn’t settle well with me.”
My whiskey appears in almost an instant and I grab it in one hand and tag her hand with my other. When I turn to pull her with me, she yanks on her arm but still follows to where I lead her in the shadows, to an abandoned table where we can get some damn privacy.
“What are you doing?” she demands.
“I want to know your name.” I pull two chairs out and she falls into one while I take the other, sitting squarely in front of her.
She crosses her legs in the breath of a space left between us. “Wow. Do you always turn this intense in a blink?”
“I’m an intense person.” I lean back and cross my arms.
“No. You’re a stranger.”
I move my leg to bump hers with my knee and leave it there. “You can trust me, Lover.”
Her eyes fall to my leg that’s now resting on the outside of her thigh. She reaches and circles my knee with the tip of her index finger and her simple touch brings my dick to attention. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Because everyone trusts me. I’m that good. The least you can do is trust me with your name.”
Her eyes angle to me and she shakes her head. “You haven’t earned it.”
I press my knee into her thigh and do what I’ve had to train myself to do because it doesn’t come naturally—I give her my patience. “Tell me how to earn it.”
She studies me and her gaze is heavy and warm, and the longer we sit here, the more I need to learn about her, and her name is at the bottom of the list.
At the top, how long it’ll take her to beg for it when I play with her.
Yeah, the longer I sit here, the longer that list gets.
I lose her touch as she pulls her hand away from my knee and folds her arms across the Virginia state motto. “Let’s play Twenty Questions.”
Well, fuck.
“I mean,” she amends, “I’ll ask you twenty questions, you answer all of them, and then I’ll give you my name.”
I can’t believe this. I haven’t had the time or the opportunity to pick up a woman in … hell, I can’t remember when. At least as long as I’ve worked for Crew. And I damn sure never had to work for it like this. Most women can’t wait to open their book and fucking feed me their life story, boring me to no end.
This is something I’m not used to.
I let my arms drop and wrap my hand over the top of her slim thigh and demand the truth. “Are you worth it, Lover?”
She doesn’t move, shift, or kick me in the balls. Not even her blue eyes flinch when she dares me, “You’ll never know if you don’t play, Noah.”
* * *
Gracie
With his hand plastered to my thigh like it’s his and he’ll never let go, it’s everything I can do not to fidget.
Should I do this?
I’ve had enough inoculations to wander into a war zone since my journey begins tomorrow. I’m as anxious as a virgin on her wedding night, even though I’m nowhere near one, and it has nothing to do with the Greek god sitting in front of me.
This man who has my full attention has hair as dark as his eyes. It looks like it’s been an age since he’s seen a barber and the scruff on his face hasn’t met a razor in at least a week. I wonder if it’s because he’s too busy or he just doesn’t give a shit.
I hope it’s the latter. The overgrown look works well on him and I like the fact he might not give a shit.
His features are rugged, and ever since he appeared out of the dark shadows of the night, I can’t take my eyes off the scar that’s still pink and snaking into his shaggy, dark mop at his temple. He runs his hand through his hair again, trying to train it to stay put but it protests, curling right back where it was, caressing his forehead with a touch much softer than his hand on my thigh.
“Okay, Lover. I’ll play.” He lifts his chin—accepting my challenge, almost mocking me to do my worst.
And, so it begins. I need to go for it or walk away. Right now, the distraction he’s offering me is more welcoming than a Walmart greeter.
“How did you get that scar?”
“I got hit over the head with the barrel of a gun.”
My face goes slack and my jaw drops. “Really?”
“Yes. And that counts as a question. I’ve answered two. Keep going.”
“Shit,” I mutter and lean forward, putting my hand to his scruffy jaw and turn his face so I can inspect it closer. “You didn’t get stitches?”
He takes my hand in his with the other still clamped on my leg like a vise, shaking his head out of my grasp. “Three. No one was around to stitch it and I didn’t have a mirror. I glued it myself.”
“Holy shit, you carry skin adhesive around in one of your many pockets?”
His lips tip north on one side. “I do.”
“Where in the hell do you work that requires you keeping skin glue on hand at all times? Or do you just enjoy a good street fight?”
“Ask me that five years ago, the answer would’ve been hell yes because I wanted to put my fist in every third person’s face.” He shrugs. “Now, it’s only about every twentieth person. And I work everywhere but the US.”
There’s so much there but I get it. I’m not the same person I used to be, either. Instead of telling him that, I ask, “Of A?”
“Lover.” A smile kisses his lips, and despite the danger reeking from this man that should send me running off into the dark night, my heart skips a beat. “You suck at your own game. So many questions wasted. That’s seven.”
He’s right on so many levels. The question game was a way for me to buy time, make a decision, to allow myself to chicken out or go for it with the crazy-hot, modern-day MacGyver who gets whacked in the temple with guns. Moments ago, the idea of a distraction seemed as timely as a crisp fall day.
But now, I’m back to internally slapping myself for not listening to my family, friends, co-workers, and even my cat, Moose. I think he judges me more than anyone and was straight-up pissed when I closed the door on him today, promising that Raine would be by to fill his bowls and talk pretty to him.
It was a lie. Raine, my oldest sister, hates Moose and she isn’t happy about being on cat duty while I’m away. She’ll never give him the attention he needs and that guilt lays heavy on my cat-loving heart.
So here I am, at Keelie and Asa’s wedding reception hiding in the shadows, tangled up with a man who oozes danger from every pore, scar, and flip of his unruly hair.
“What’s your favorite color?”
His eyes narrow. “Black. And here I thought you were interesting. You can do better than that.”
Shit. He’s right.
“Did you go to college to get that job that requires skin glue?”
He nods. “Naval Academy.”
“Ah,” I drawl. “You’re military.”
He shakes his head. “Not anymore. Retired, so to speak.”
“If you went to the Academy, you were an officer. You look too young to be retired, Noah. How old are you?”
“I bet I’m older than you.”
I shake my head. “That’s not an answer. I’ve only asked ten and playing Twenty Questions requires full, complete answers—unspoken rules and all.”
“Nope. You asked if I was in the military, that brings you to eleven. And I didn’t realize there were unspoken rules for Twenty Questions, but since I really want to know your n
ame, I’ll tell you. I’m thirty-one.”
“I stated that you were in the military. That doesn’t count.”
“I’m counting it,” he throws back. “Sounded like a question.”
I roll my eyes but I’m taken aback when his thumb brushes the skin at the inside of my wrist where my pulse speeds. “Why do you want to know my name so badly?”
He leans in, levels his dark eyes with mine, and lowers his voice. “I think it’s only proper I know your name before I make you come the first time.”
My tongue turns to cotton, but he’s so close, I persevere because I haven’t done this in a while. A while, meaning years. My last one-night stand turned into a year-long relationship that felt more like a baker’s dozen. It was overdone, like a cake forgotten in the oven and baked to a dry, disgusting block of store-brand box mix that was expired to begin with.
I should have ended it much sooner than I did. I was young and stupid enough to think I could manage it.
And the one before that turned stalker on me. I was afraid to call my brother for fear it would lead to murder. Raine’s husband had to step in, which is not in his nature. He’s an accountant.
Then there was my first one-night stand which was just as much of a failure as the rest. He came back the next day and begged to see me again. I had no desire for a relationship but he was so sweet, I couldn’t bear to send him away. He settled for friendship and we still get together for coffee from time to time but his puppy-dog eyes make me feel guilty for friend-zoning him.
I’m a failure at one-night stands.
But I still need to make a decision. “What makes you think Twenty Questions will lead to orgasms?”
He hikes a thick brow, drawing my attention back to his scar. “Because I want it to, and if I’m reading you like I think I’m reading you, I think you want it, too.”
My eyes wander back to his. “Presumptuous much?”
“Lover.” He shakes his head. “That’s fifteen. And if you’re not into me, say the word. I’ll kiss your perfect nose goodbye and you’ll never see me again. Can’t lie, I’ll be disappointed and wonder where I went wrong. But you won’t have to tell me twice.”
My voice betrays me. Caring makes me invested and if there’s anything I don’t need, it’s an investment. I need a distraction, a reminder, but especially tonight, the night before I start out to conquer my dream, I could use a nice memory. “Do you do this often?”
I don’t want him to be the king of one-night stands even though I need him to be. I’d rather be thrown into a pool of many and forgotten.
He lowers his voice. “No, Lover. I don’t.”
Shit. For some strange reason, I believe him.
I have to work at pulling in a shallow breath.
I should get up and walk away.
Say thanks, but no thanks to the hot guy with the scary scar who doesn’t even work within the borders of the red, white, and blue—where the stars and stripes are supposed to stand for freedom.
“Hey,” he gives my hand a squeeze and a crinkle forms between his brooding eyes. “If I read you wrong—”
“No,” I interrupt quickly and shake my head. Reminders and memories. I want them, need them. “You read me loud and clear.”
He hesitates a beat before he goes on and tries to ruin what we’ve worked so hard for the last ten minutes. “Look, give me your number and when you get back from your international whatever—”
I shake my head. “Don’t ruin it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
A smirk appears, and for the first time since I laid eyes on him, I see something different. “You flying to the moon?”
I relax because I think we’re on our way back to making a simple memory that will get me through until who knows when. “Just a work trip.”
“I know for a fact there’s cell service all over the world, and in some places, WiFi. Give me your number and we can pick this up when you get home—”
“Grace,” I blurt.
He tips his head, confused.
“My name is Grace.”
Realization touches his eyes, his gaze heats, and his hand on my thigh slides up an inch or three. But he doesn’t say anything more about cell service or WiFi.
I put my hand on his and squeeze. “Give me a memory, Noah.”
His breath tickles my face when he expels, “Fuck.”
My smile is small but real as I whisper through the warm dark night, “Please.”
Chapter 2
The First of Few
Jarvis
The moment I flip on the lights and slam the front door, I turn back and watch her walk through the main hall. She’s peeking into the rooms of the old farmhouse we use as headquarters for Crew’s operation.
“You live here?” she asks.
I cross my arms and lean into the wall, not taking my eyes off her. She was quiet on our walk back to the house, and once I told her I lived next door, I thought I caught her fighting a smile in the dark of night. She never hesitated when I took her hand and led her off into the woods. She’s either stupid or a masochist for putting herself in this position with some crazy man she doesn’t know. She’s lucky I was the one who found her alone at the bar because I’m not that flavor of crazy.
“Sort of,” I answer. “My boss owns the place. I’m here when I’m in town.”
She turns and eats up half the distance between us, biting that lip again. “Anyone else here?”
I shake my head. “It’s not a frat house. You think I’d bring you somewhere with other people around?”
A sheepish smirk tugs at those full lips I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes off of. “It’s a fair question, Noah. I don’t know you.”
“No one calls me Noah.”
Her eyes widen and I see nothing but a deep, dark ocean just waiting to be explored. “You lied about your name?”
“I never lie.” I let my arms drop and take the three steps keeping me from the enigma named Grace. Without looking away, I wind a chunk of her hair that’s fallen to her shoulder around my finger and tug. “Noah Jarvis. Everyone calls me Jarvis.”
“Well then.” She tips her head back and splays a hand across my abs. She presses in and the way it feels, she might as well be branding me with her mark. “I’m going to call you Noah.”
“You not only walked off into the dark forest with me—a man who could break you with my little finger—but you’re a rebel, too.”
Her hand slides to my side and fists my tee as she steps just close enough, her tits tease my chest. “You won’t break me. I can’t be broken. It’s a proven fact.”
I put my hand to her shoulder, sliding it down her slim back until it lands on her fine ass. I pull her in the rest of the way, liking the feel of her. Despite our differences in height and sheer mass, we strangely fit.
But I have to fight my cock because I need to know. “Someone tried to break you?”
She shrugs, lifts to her toes, and has to reach to brush her perfect nose across my jaw. “No one important. Why are we talking, Noah?”
She tries to slide her hand down my chest again before I grab it. Shifting her, I put her back to the wall, allow the blood to rush straight to my dick, and this time I enjoy it. “You change your mind at any time, say the word. I’ll take you to wherever your suitcase is being delivered—no hard feelings.”
Her eyes flare, and for the first time since we both dove headfirst into whatever this is, I know without a doubt she wants it.
She wants it as much as I do.
Putting my hands to her hips, I lift and she wraps her legs around my waist. Pushing her against the wall, her exhale brushes my face, and I press my hips between her legs, holding her there. My cock crowds her pussy with only fabric between us.
When I put my hand to the side of her face and let my thumb brush her bottom lip, her tongue peeks out to taste my rough, callused skin. I can read people. I have to in my job. Here in the hall, I look beyond the blue of her eyes and can tell she has shit b
uried deep. “What are you hiding from me, Lover?”
She grinds down on my cock and her eyes fall completely shut, cutting me off from the depths of her ocean. It only makes me hungry for more.
“Grace,” I clip and her eyes pop open.
She shakes her head, the words coming out on a breath. “Nothing but nerves.”
I freeze. “About this?”
Gripping my shoulders, her fingers press in and she pulls me to her. “No. About everything but this.”
Good. With my hands at her sides, I grip her Virginia is for Lovers tee and yank. Her arms go up with the state motto and I’m left with her tits heaving, swelling out the top of her bra.
She hangs on to the back of my neck and I look at her face. She presses down again and I can’t wait another second.
Leaning in, I do what I’ve wanted to do since I laid eyes on her tonight. I put my lips to her parted ones and there’s no easing in to anything. We’ve got one night and this woman powers my insides from zero to sixty in an instant.
* * *
Gracie
Without hesitation, his tongue thrusts inside my mouth. Before I know it, he’s everywhere.
My mouth.
My breasts.
My hair.
My sex.
Oh, yes.
He pulls the cup of my bra below my breast, twisting my nipple to just this side of painful in that delicious space that’s almost embarrassing, because I want more but I know it’ll be sore tomorrow. The hand fisted in my hair tilts my head for better access and I let him because I don’t have a choice. The tension at my scalp along with my nipple and the denim cutting between my legs against my sensitive clit is a cocktail so strong, I’m up for anything he wants to give me.
And I’m pretty sure he knows it.
Clomp, clomp, clomp.
He holds me tight, not breaking our kiss—the first of few—as he makes his way up the staircase, his big boots connecting with the wood at each step, their sound bouncing off the old walls no one has ever bothered to paint, let alone pull down the faded wallpaper that was probably once the color of ballpark mustard.
Veils: A Killers Novel, Book 4 Page 2