by Alana Hart
Unfortunately, Connor seemed determined to have a conversation.
“I get what Frankie sees in you.” His eyes took in every part of her, exposed and covered. Was this a poor way of complimenting her? “Quiet and pretty, at his beck and call. You’re exactly what he would like.” Not a compliment. “But, Frankie don’t seem like your type.” He eyed her over his coffee mug.
She cocked an eyebrow, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How would you know what my type is?”
He shrugged. “I have a gift.”
Connor had a gift all right, the gift of annoyance. Casey sighed hard through her nose. If he was going to be mysterious, so was she.
She needed a reason to leave the kitchen. There were other things she could be doing, but Connor didn’t need to know about them.
Casey swung her hair dramatically over her shoulder, prepared to make a show of leaving. But Connor’s words stopped her.
“What is it, his good looks? His money? The conversational skills?” His eyes glittered.
She met those eyes and glared.
If she said it was Frankie’s looks, Connor would say she was shallow. If she said the money, he would think she was a gold digger. And they both knew he lacked any sort of conversational skills. The man was a complete bore to talk to. It would make sense for Jenny Cartwright to be with him for his money. And she was just as boring, but Casey played it that way on purpose. To say it was his looks was the least damning, and Frankie wasn’t a bad looking man by any means, but Casey Keene would not be with someone solely based on looks.
She shouldn’t care what Connor thought, but she wasn’t shallow or a gold digger, and choosing either of those things would only add unnecessary lies on top of the ones she was already keeping track of.
Casey met Connor’s gaze with as much fire as she could put into a look, her stomach doing a little flip at the intensity in his. “It’s the sex,” she said. Let’s see him turn that around on her.
He cocked an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”
“The best.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
A moment of glaring at him didn’t shake that smirk from his face, and honestly he was better at keeping eye contact, so she snapped her chin up. “And how would you know I’m lying? Slept with Frankie lately?”
He grinned, and she wanted to punch that pretty mouth of his. “Would that make you jealous?”
“Hardly.”
“Thought he was the best lay you ever had.”
“He can sleep with anyone he wants.”
“Why do you want to go to his farm so badly?”
“What?” Her cheeks warmed. She glanced at the door; afraid Frankie might come back and overhear them. It was supposed to look like she wanted to be with Frankie, not get to his farm.
“You know what he does up there, don’t you?”
She narrowed her eyes, her voice low. “Do you?”
He nodded, his voice also low. “Not really the kind of place for someone as delicate as you.”
“I’m not delicate,” she said, affronted.
He stared hard into her eyes, making her uncomfortable. “Aren’t you?”
Her cheeks got hot. Shit. She was supposed to be delicate and girly and sexy. The kind of woman who would lounge by the pool all day and then let Frankie have his way with her whenever he pleased. She was not supposed to be the kind to stick her nose in his business, which was actually the kind of woman she really was.
She couldn’t think of anything to say, and when she decided fuck you would suffice, Connor got up and left the kitchen.
Well good. Fuck you wasn’t the sort of thing Jenny Cartwright would say anyway.
Casey chewed the tip of her nail and then mentally slapped herself. Jenny didn’t do that either.
Why was she letting that man get to her? She’d done this sort of job four times in the past and she had never before been so thrown by anyone.
Granted, no one had ever managed to throw her off her game by simply being near her. Why did he have to stare like that? Didn’t he know that it was impolite?
She headed upstairs to grab her handheld. She needed to run a search on the annoying bike builder. There had to be a way to get rid of Connor sooner and get her ass invited to the farm. If those things didn’t happen this week, she was going to tail Frankie’s car and follow him to the damn farm.
And Connor McKinnon could go fuck himself.
Chapter Five
He needed information, details about who Jenny Cartwright was. She played the part well, but he saw through it. She wasn’t the delicate flower she wanted everyone to believe she was. Why? Why was she acting? What was she after? Would it interfere with his job?
If the answer to the last one was yes, then he needed to stop her, fast.
He had a week to get Frankie to bring him along to his farm, which seemed to be Jenny’s goal as well. Connor could have completed his job here at Frankie’s Cambridge house, but the alphas preferred absolute certainty before execution. So far, all Connor had was word of Frankie’s operations, not physical proof.
And for that, he needed to get to the farm.
Connor went into the garage and cranked the radio. Rock and roll blasted through the space. He had done a sweep this morning and knew where all of the cameras were, and which ones had audio. There were two in the garage. Both recorded sound, which was why he had been blaring loud music anytime he went in to work on the bike, so that when he needed to make a phone call, it wouldn’t look suspicious. The kitchen was where Frankie had a lot of meetings, meaning it had no audio and the camera only recorded the door, so it seemed safe to interrogate Miss Cartwright in there.
Sitting by the bike, at an angle so that the cameras could see only his back, Connor dialed and held the phone to his ear, out of view. It rang once.
“McKinnon.” Aidan’s voice came through, lost under the music, but Connor could hear him.
“Need your tech skills, brother.” Connor tinkered with the bike, making sure to barely move his lips, just in case.
“The alphas want to know how close your job is to complete. They’re getting antsy.”
“Just antsy? Maybe I should take more time.”
He was met with silence. He could picture Aidan on the other end, giving him that look that said, enough of your bullshit.
“I need at least another week. Good enough?”
Aidan sighed. “Not for them, I’m sure. What do you need?”
“Jenny Cartwright. Get me everything you can find on her.”
“She part of the job?”
“Maybe.”
“Give me until tomorrow.”
Connor ended the call. Aidan was good with technology, he had a biological connection to it that Connor lacked. Aidan would find everything on Jenny, and then Connor would have what he needed to either send her away, or end her along with Frankie and his crew.
He shook off the nagging little voice that hoped it wouldn’t come to the latter. Collateral damage, he told himself. He wasn’t used to it.
Chapter Six
Casey had spent part of her day hacking into Frankie’s office computer. It took a few minutes—and a long run outside so she would have alibis in the neighbors—to disable the security system, and thereby the cameras. There were none in the office, but she didn’t need him to be looking for her on any of the other cameras around the house. Once done, she was able to search his desktop for the location of the farm, just in case he didn’t invite her.
She opened files, scanned the contents, closed them. Repeating this tedious task over and over until she found a file inside several others. This one was labeled, “Pooches.” Glee coursed through her, making her stomach all fluttery.
Double click. Password needed.
Fuck.
Casey stared at the screen, her heart sinking. Glancing at the clock she figured she had maybe another hour before Frankie came home. She could ha
ck the password in that amount of time. And then she heard the front door open.
From the hall she heard Arthur, the housekeeper. “There a problem, Joey?”
“Frankie sent for me. Says his cameras are out. Got to reset the system.”
Casey froze, unable to even blink for a second. And then fear got her ass moving. No one, not even his damn housekeeper, came into Frankie’s office.
Exiting everything and shutting down the computer, Casey climbed out the window and dropped into the bed of flowers beneath. She heard the office door open just as her knees brushed some wildflowers. She ran.
When Frankie and Victor walked through the slider a couple hours later, Casey was sprawled on the lounge chair, browning up nicely under the hot sun. She was topless, in an effort to tan her breasts and as a distraction. Neither man seemed to notice.
Frankie sat on the lounge chair with her, his closeness and gentle touch to her face and neck a cover for his real intent. “Sorry I was gone so long. How was your day?” His fingers danced over her neck, feeling her pulse. If she were the airheaded twit she pretended to be, she might not have known what he was doing. But she was playing a part, and she had to play it better than Frankie played his.
She smiled and touched his chest, hoping to mask any jumps in her heartbeat with feigned desire. “I went for a jog around the neighborhood, took a swim, and I’ve been right here since then.”
He wouldn’t mention the security going out, not to her. She was unimportant, so she didn’t have to hide her reaction to that. But he pressed his fingers to her neck, her pulse tapping steadily.
“You didn’t spend any time inside?”
“Not since breakfast.”
“Haven’t you eaten?”
“No, but now you mention it, I’m starving.”
“Aren’t you afraid you’ll burn out here all day?” His concern was very convincing.
“Not at all,” she purred.
He stared into her eyes, their depths and darkness reaching into her, sifting through the lies, searching for the truth. But she was good at what she did. Leaning forward, she smiled and pretended to mistake his eye contact for an invitation to be intimate.
He let her kiss him, and she really got into it. Hands in his hair, sucking his bottom lip, nibbling at it. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Frankie took her wrists and gently pulled her free, kissing her knuckles.
“Go on upstairs, I’ll be there soon.” He kissed her nose and set her wrists free.
Casey left her bikini top behind and sashayed her way inside slowly in an attempt to hear Frankie and Victor talking. But Frankie only commented on how brown the grass was looking, and Victor gave him a grunt in answer.
Inside, Casey shivered. The air conditioning was on full blast and she was wearing only a slinky bikini bottom.
“Quite a show.”
She didn’t know he was standing by the sink, out of sight, and when he spoke she jumped, covering her bare chest. Her scream was no more than a squeak. Connor cocked an eyebrow at her, his hands deep in soapy water.
Hands on her hips, she glared. “I’d appreciate you not spying on me while I’m sunbathing.”
“I thought you liked being watched.”
“Not by you.”
He grinned, setting her teeth on edge. God, she hated that grin.
“Shouldn’t you be finishing that bike?” she spat.
“Shouldn’t you be upstairs, prepping yourself?” He raked his eyes over her, making her feel exposed and self-conscious when she was normally very comfortable naked.
Growling, she turned to leave when Connor’s voice stopped her. “Sex is a useful weapon.” His eyes caught hers, and it took everything she had to keep her face impassive. “But only if you know how to use it,” he said.
Go upstairs, Casey. Don’t respond. He’s baiting you. Those thoughts ran through her mind, and she knew she should listen to them. “I know how to use sex.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her voice shook, whether from fear of Frankie overhearing or her reaction to Connor’s eyes on her, she didn’t know.
He dried his hands on a flowery towel, leaning against the counter, watching her. “So you’re going to the farm then?”
Casey bit the inside of her cheek. Bastard. She chose not to answer, and instead crossed her arms trying to act bored.
“I didn’t think so.” He smiled that irritating, stupidly gorgeous smile, and tossed the towel aside.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything that might shut him up, but then he glanced out the window.
“Better get up there.”
Frankie and Victor’s voices grew closer. She didn’t have time to try and listen to what they were saying. Throwing a glare at Connor, Casey hurried out of the kitchen and up the wide, chestnut staircase into Frankie’s room.
To cover her racing heart, she started to work on herself, imaging all the ways she would like to murder Connor McKinnon.
Chapter Seven
Connor stood beside the nearly complete motorcycle. He had spent the last few weeks putting it together in his shop at home, but yesterday Frankie called and asked that he finish it here. He was waiting for a custom leather seat and painted gas tank to be delivered, but other than that, he was done.
Frankie walked around the bike, admiring it. “She’s beautiful, McKinnon.” He stopped and ran his fingers over the handlebars. “What do you think, Vic?”
The big man nodded his approval. “Looks good.”
“She does, doesn’t she?” Frankie clapped. “How much longer you think she’ll take?”
Connor scratched his cheek, the stubble grating against his nails. “Could be a few more days. Need the seat and the tank. I’m no painter or seamstress, so had to send for those to be done.”
Frankie frowned.
“Don’t worry, my brother’s a damn good artist. He’s doing both for me.” That wasn’t a lie. His younger brother Liam was painting the gas tank and he designed the seat, but a friend was making that for them.
For a moment, Frankie stared at the bike, brow furrowed, and Connor wondered if his thanks and goodbye was coming. But then Frankie grinned, meeting Connor’s gaze.
“You a betting man, Mr. McKinnon?”
Connor nodded, calm, but his heartbeat had kicked up a notch. “If the occasion calls for it,” he said.
Frankie and Victor exchanged a glance. “I have to be somewhere tomorrow and I want my bike there with me. Planning on showing it off on the big night.” Connor didn’t interrupt with questions. “How’d you like to come out to my farm for a few days? Finish my bike, make some bets, eat some good food. My cook out there makes a mean baked brie.”
Connor managed a chuckle. “Cheese sounds good. What kind of betting we doing? Poker? Horses?”
Frankie’s smile was slow, amused. “We have fights out there.”
Connor nodded. He wouldn’t let Frankie know that he already knew the kind of fighting done out there. “Boxing?”
Frankie shook his head slowly. “Dog.”
Connor ran a knuckle across his lips. Either Frankie trusted that Connor wouldn’t rat on him for having these fights, or he had a contingency plan to avoid that. Whatever it was, Frankie had just sealed his fate.
“Coupl’a days on a farm sound good to me.”
Frankie clapped Connor on the back. “Damn right they do.” He led Connor toward the kitchen door. “Need a favor first.”
Connor waited. He wouldn’t commit to anything just yet.
Frankie stopped by a toolbox, and ran his fingers over a few gleaming wrenches. “I’m heading up there tonight. I need someone to bring the lovely Miss Cartwright to my condo in Boston before joining me. Can you help me out?”
Shit.
“Can do.”
Frankie’s smile beamed in the dank garage. “Perfect.” He smacked Connor’s back and headed inside. “I’m going to give her a goodbye romp and then head off. I’ll have Victor te
xt you the directions. Have a go at her before you join me if you like. Bitch knows how to fuck.”
Victor followed Frankie, his hulking frame sliding sideways through the doorway. Connor fixed the wrenches Frankie had shifted. Of all the things Frankie could have asked him to do, it had to be sticking him in a car with Jenny Cartwright. At least it was only to Boston.
His phone buzzed in his back pocket.
Aidan. Info on J. Cartwright emailed.
Of course he emailed it. Aidan was a tech nerd and expected everyone else to understand it all, too. Granted, Liam had been bugging him about getting one of those smart phones with email and all that crap on it, so maybe it wasn’t just Aidan. Connor rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t old. He was just old fashioned.
He would have to wait until tomorrow, after Frankie was on his way to the farm, before trying to get on his computer. For now, all he could do was sleep and dread telling Miss Cartwright that she wasn’t going to get to play Little House on the Prairie.
Chapter Eight
Casey woke feeling happy and sore. The sun streamed in through the curtains. A warm morning wind brought in the scent of chlorine, new mulch, and cooled asphalt. She had spent the night letting Frankie do as he pleased, putting on her A game when it was her turn to be on top, so to speak. After last night’s sexcapades there was no way Frankie was leaving her behind.
She took her time, enjoying a hot shower and dressing in a skimpy, white cotton sundress with daisy shaped straps, and then padded barefoot down to the kitchen.
Coffee wafted through the halls, and she followed it. The treasure at the end of this rainbow was a let down. Connor sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and eating a plate of blueberry pancakes. Her favorite.
Frankie’s morning newspaper sat unread on the counter.
Connor glanced up at her standing in the middle of the room. “He left.”
Her heart sank. And then anger warmed her face. After what she did last night he should have been begging her to marry him.
Fuming, Casey reached for her phone in her pocket, but remembered she had on a dress. Clenching her fists, she stomped to the coffee pot, poured a mug, and dumped in milk and sugar. She sat at the table and glared at the pancakes.