by Tiffany Snow
“No, this is just me doing my job,” he retorted. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”
“But Parker’s been working for the CIA all this time!” I said. I knew Parker had said no one was to know, but he’d just been arrested for murder. I wasn’t sure the rules still applied.
Ryker stared at me like I’d just grown two heads. “He told you that?”
“Yes!”
“And you believed him?”
I covered my face in my hands, but he was right. How was I supposed to convince him? He hadn’t been there to see the two CIA guys and Parker rescue me. They’d shot those men.
“You know what,” Ryker said. I looked up at him. “You’re here with him, in his apartment, wearing his clothes.” He gestured to the T-shirt I wore. “No matter what he does, you think he’s innocent. So maybe you should just stay here.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about tonight. “Wait, Ryker, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” he interrupted. “This isn’t something you can straddle the fence on, sweetheart. It’s either him or me.”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. “You’re not serious? I work for Parker! It’s my job.”
“Call it whatever the fuck you want,” Ryker retorted. “But don’t call me until you’ve made a choice.”
He was gone before I could even think what to say to that.
I didn’t know what to do, who I could call that would help Parker. All I could do was sit and wait. Parker had said it would be okay, that he’d be back, and that I should stay here. So that’s what I did.
Going back into the bedroom, I pulled down the sheets and climbed into bed. Sitting up, I pulled my knees to my chest, hugging them.
The clock ticked the minutes and hours slowly by. After two hours, I started nodding off, but then I’d jerk awake and glance at the clock. Worry ate at me, exhaustion close on its heels.
A soft touch on my cheek startled me awake. I’d fallen asleep again. I jerked upright.
“Shh, it’s all right.”
Parker was sitting beside me on the bed.
I threw my arms around his neck. “Thank God!” I hugged him long and hard and he hugged me back. Finally, I pulled away. “What happened?”
“The CIA came through for me,” he said. “I was in a holding cell for a while, then interrogation, where of course I said nothing. Then a little while ago clearance came through for me to be released and the charges dropped.”
“I’m so relieved,” I said. “I was so worried…”
“Did you doubt me?” he teased. “Shame on you.”
I huffed a small laugh, surprised he could be in a good mood after all that had happened today.
“You seem awfully chipper for being arrested,” I said.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” he asked. “I did my job, helped the government seize billions of dollars that would’ve gone into criminals’ pockets, outwitted the cops, and saved the girl. Life’s pretty fucking perfect right about now.”
Okay, call me weird, but I really liked hearing Parker curse. For such a straight-laced kind of guy, hearing him spout the F-word was all kinds of hot.
“Saved the girl?” I said. “Any reason why you listed that last?”
“The best is always last,” he replied, his lips twisting in a half-smile.
I liked that. I liked that a lot.
He stood. “I’m going to shower the station-house smell off me. You’ll stay with me tonight.” It wasn’t a question and I didn’t argue. After all that had happened, I felt a strong need to be close to him tonight. Our lives had nearly been torn apart today—mine almost snuffed out—and the aftereffects of that lingered.
I lay back down and Parker’s hand smoothed my hair back from my face. I watched him go into the bathroom and heard the water start. I promised myself I’d stay awake for when he returned, but the last thing I remember was pressing my face into his pillow, inhaling deeply, and smiling.
* * *
I opened my eyes. It was dark and I was in an unfamiliar room. It took a moment; then I remembered.
I was in Parker’s apartment. Parker’s bedroom. Parker’s bed.
With Parker.
I felt his body at my back, one arm slung over my waist. His breathing was deep and even.
I lay there in the darkness, listening to him breathe and soaking in the feel of the moment. It was something that would never come again and I wanted to enjoy it, remember the sound of the clock ticking in the corner and his breaths as he slept. I wanted to memorize the scent of him surrounding me—so like what he smelled like in the office, but deeper here at home in his bed. And I never wanted to forget how it felt to be spooned next to him, a position I wouldn’t think a bachelor like Parker would be overly fond of.
There was an ache in my gut that I knew was dangerous. Here in the silent hours in the deepest part of the night, I could be honest with myself. I was in love with Parker. Probably had been for quite some time now, though I’d refused to acknowledge it. But it was there all the same. Undeniable.
And there was nothing that could come of it.
Parker had been clear on the possibility of a relationship between us—there wouldn’t be one, whether I worked for him or not.
I’m toxic to relationships.
His words made more sense now that I knew more of the story with Natalie. I wasn’t foolish enough to think tonight had changed that, no matter how sweetly he’d taken care of me or how he’d wanted me to stay the night. But being there, waiting for the morning light to brighten the room and Parker to withdraw again as I was certain he would…I couldn’t do it. My heart would shatter into a million pieces and I wouldn’t be able to hide that from him.
The decision for what to do next sat in my mind for several long minutes, waiting. I didn’t want to make it. Didn’t want to do what I knew I had to. Habit and the routine of reserving a part of my heart for Parker fought with logic and sense. Continuing to allow my unreciprocated love for Parker control my life wasn’t going to get me anything I wanted. Whereas Ryker…
He cared about me and I cared about him. Our relationship was new, but maybe he and I could have a future together. Granted, it was uncertain and I didn’t know where it would lead, but I knew it would be doomed already if I stayed here tonight. I’d be a fool to throw away what Ryker and I might have for a man forever beyond my reach.
The decision was clear-cut, and only the absolute certainty that I’d hurt worse and would lose Ryker entirely if I didn’t do this forced me from Parker’s side.
I eased out of the bed, careful not to disturb or wake him. Reluctantly taking off the T-shirt, I pulled my dress over my head and tugged it into place. I couldn’t find my bra in the dark and with my eyes watering from tears, so I left it.
Tiptoeing out of Parker’s bedroom, I took one last glance at him, still asleep in the bed. No doubt it would be the last time I saw that particular sight.
The doorman downstairs let me borrow his phone, since I had nothing with me. No purse, no shoes, and no phone. I dialed a number from memory.
“Ryker, it’s me,” I said. “Can you come take me home?” I hesitated. “Please? I-I’ve made my choice.”
I stood in the lobby for the ten minutes it took Ryker to get there, trying not to think at all. I was tired, so tired, and all I wanted was to lie down. I felt jittery from exhaustion and nerves that were shot, but I thought I was holding it together pretty well…until I climbed into Ryker’s truck and laid eyes on him.
It was as though the tense ball of trepidation inside my chest evaporated. The expression on his face as he looked at me said more than words ever could about how he felt, and it was a huge relief. I’d been afraid that it might have been too late, that he wouldn’t want me anymore.
I managed a watery smile, tears stinging my eyes as I climbed into the truck.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he said, easily reading me. He pulled me over by his side and wrapped an arm around me. I cuddle
d into his chest and felt his lips press against my forehead as he drove.
By the time we’d reached his house, I was dozing against him. Ryker turned off the engine, then pulled me into his arms to carry me inside. The slam of the truck door woke me fully.
“You can put me down,” I murmured sleepily, rubbing a hand across my eyes. “I can walk.”
“Just hold on to me,” his voice rasped softly in my ear. “I’ve got you.”
So I did.
About the Author
A native of St. Louis, Missouri, Tiffany Snow earned degrees in education and history from the University of Missouri-Columbia, before launching a career in information technology. After nearly fifteen years in IT, she switched careers to what she always dreamed of doing—writing. Tiffany is the author of romantic suspense novels such as the Kathleen Turner series, which includes No Turning Back, Turn to Me, and Turning Point. Since she’s drawn to character-driven books herself, that’s what she loves to write, and the guy always gets his girl.
She feeds her love of books with avid reading, yet she manages to spare time and considerable affection for trivia, eighties hair bands, the St. Louis Cardinals, and Elvis. She and her husband have two daughters and one dog, whose untimely demise Tiffany contemplates on a daily basis.
You can learn more at:
TiffanySnow.com
Twitter @TiffanyASnow
Facebook.com/TiffanyASnow
Sage Reese is caught between bad-boy detective Ryker and sexy power player Parker. But when a brutal mobster wants to use her for the men’s mistakes, Sage must play to win—even if it means getting dirty…
Please see the next page for a preview of
Playing Dirty
Playing Dirty
Prologue
Parker watched as Ryker’s truck rolled to a stop in front of the building. Sage emerged from the entry, scurrying across the sidewalk barefoot before climbing into the passenger seat. The truck pulled away from the curb, lost to sight in moments down the avenue.
He’d heard the door close when she’d gone, leaving him alone in his bed without so much as a word of farewell.
Not that he could blame her.
She’d nearly died tonight. Had been moments away. Viktor hadn’t cared if he killed her or not. He’d put a fucking plastic bag over her head and slowly suffocated her.
Parker’s hands balled into fists just remembering how she’d looked when he’d pulled her out of that car. Deathly pale, her mouth bleeding from where Viktor had hit her, mascara smeared by the tears soaking her cheeks…
Sage deserved better. Far better. But Parker needed her in his life…in his job. No matter how tempting it was to want to slip into a more personal relationship with her, he knew he couldn’t. Relationships never lasted, and just when you thought you’d found the forever kind of love—it would end. And when it was over…she’d be gone. Permanently.
Better to let her go with Ryker, a man who’d wanted a wife and kids—a family—for as long as Parker had known him. Maybe it had been because he’d been raised by a single mom, but Ryker had talked of nothing else but wanting to fall in love and get married. Why he wasn’t married already, Parker had no idea.
Maybe he’d marry Sage.
That thought was like a kick in the gut.
Unable to stand the bedroom anymore and unwilling to climb beneath sheets still warm from Sage’s body, Parker walked into the living room. A faint glow from a dim light under the kitchen cabinets filtered in through the space, providing enough illumination for him to pour a healthy shot of scotch.
Memories assailed him as he stood in the silent apartment, staring blindly out the window. Memories of Sage and the day they’d first met.
“How many applicants do we have?” he asked the HR rep in charge of helping him find a new secretary.
She set a half-dozen files on his desk. “These were the ones I thought were the most qualified.”
He glanced through the stack, flipping one open at random, then frowned. “An art history degree qualifies someone to be a secretary?”
“Executive administrative assistant,” she corrected him. “And that’s the least qualified candidate, but she had a solid 3.8 GPA and her application was very well done. I thought an interview couldn’t hurt. I can cancel it, if you’d rather. She’s scheduled last so—”
“No, it’s fine,” Parker interrupted, tossing aside the files. “Just send them in when they get here.” Surely one of them would work out. And could start immediately. He was drowning under the pile of work and the incessant phone calls.
“Yes, sir.” She left the office, but Parker barely noticed, already plowing through his inbox, currently cluttered with over two hundred unread emails.
The first applicant was Joanne, a no-nonsense woman who’d spent the last twenty years as assistant to some Wall Street hedge fund manager. He’d retired and she’d moved to Chicago to be closer to her grandchildren. Parker was bored before she’d even gotten to the name of the third one.
The second applicant chewed gum. In an interview. Nope.
The third wore a blouse two sizes too small and a skirt so short he had to look away when she crossed her legs or it would go all Basic Instinct on him. She had a predatory look in her eye and Parker would swear she eyed his crotch when he stood to shake her hand.
The fourth and fifth were both bland possibilities, neither one standing out as particularly ambitious or enthusiastic. Parker wouldn’t want to stereotype—that would be politically incorrect—but if he did, he’d say they both seemed like women biding their time in a temporary job until they married and quit to pop out babies.
By the time the last one—the art history major—was due, Parker had had about enough. This interview shit was putting him even further behind. Accounting had just delivered a stack of billables he was supposed to check, he had a meeting in less than thirty minutes that he hadn’t had enough time to prepare for, and he was starving because he’d had to work through lunch. Irritated didn’t begin to describe his current mood.
A tentative knock sounded on the glass door and he didn’t even glance up as he called out a “Come in.” He heard the door open and he shifted a stack of folders. That Carlson file had to be around here somewhere…
“Just have a seat,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a mo—” Glancing up, his words abruptly cut off.
The woman who’d entered his office was drop-dead gorgeous. Not pretty. No, way more than that—curvy and sexy, with legs up to there and thick, chestnut hair down to there. Her body looked like it had been made for sex, lovingly encased in a peach dress that hugged every delicious curve. The neckline was demure, scooped and only hinting at what lay beneath. The hemline teased, hitting right above her knees. The skin of her legs was so perfect, Parker couldn’t tell if she was wearing nylons or not. But then he caught sight of her shoes, bronze sandals that wrapped around her ankle on top of a three-inch heel.
And her toes were painted the exact shade of her dress.
“Hi, I’m Sage Reese.”
The voice was throaty and smooth like twenty-year-old scotch, and made Parker jerk his gaze up to her face. She was smiling, a warm, open smile that showed perfect white teeth. Her eyes were the same shade of mahogany as her hair, framed in lush, dark lashes.
She was holding her hand out expectantly and Parker jumped to his feet, thrusting his hand toward her and knocking over the entire stack of accounting files in the process.
Shit.
“Oh no!” she exclaimed. “That was totally my fault.” She dropped down and started picking up the scattered files, treating Parker to first, a view down her cleavage, then of the fabric of her dress stretched tight across her hips and ass as she bobbed up and down.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said hurriedly. “Just leave it.” This time he grabbed her wrist when she placed a file back on his desk. Her bones felt fragile beneath soft skin and he quickly let go. He gestured to one of the two chairs in front of h
is desk. “Have a seat.”
Her smile wasn’t quite as wide now, but she sat down. Parker fished through the disaster on his desk looking for her file while the silence grew long and awkward. He felt incompetent and unprepared, her appearance throwing him off, which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as though he’d never been with a beautiful woman before.
The phrase “been with” provoked all the wrong kind of images for a work setting and he cleared his throat, banishing those thoughts as he finally laid hands on her file and flipped it open.
“Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Sage?” he asked, trying to recover what was left of a first impression. She probably thought he was a disorganized, unprofessional klutz.
“Um, sure. Well, I graduated magna cum laude from the University of Chicago with a degree in art history. I interned at the Art Institute of Chicago—”
“And why didn’t they hire you?” he interrupted, glancing up from the pages.
Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think there was an open position.”
He’d embarrassed her, and he could have kicked himself for the tactless question. It wasn’t like they would’ve told her a reason for not hiring her even if they’d had a job available.
“Do you have any experience with investment banking?” he asked, hurrying to change the subject. Her eyes were focused on him, deep and fathomless, and he had to look away. He flipped through her application and resume, barely seeing the words.
“Um, no.”
“Any experience with the stock market? Hedge funds? Economics? Finance?” She shook her head after each one, her cheeks growing redder with each word. “Ever been a secreta—administrative assistant—before?”
“No.” Her voice was quiet and even the small smile she’d had earlier was nowhere in sight now.
Parker felt like a schmuck now, but what the hell was he supposed to do? It was an interview, not a date.