“Flowers aren’t really your thing, but I couldn’t exactly send a pair of leather cuffs.”
“Cuffs are no fun when you’re by yourself anyway.”
“And are you?”
“Of course I am.” Does he think I’d be with someone else? I’m more than offended. Whatever else I may be, I’m faithful. How could he—
“I didn’t mean it like that. But I thought you might be stressed from your long day and the press conference. Not that you showed it. You were brilliant. Anyway, I thought I might be able to help you unwind.”
“Oh? And how might you suggest doing that?”
“Well, you’re in the tub, right? I can hear the splashing. That’s a good start.”
I sink down further into the bubbles, the water drifting around my shoulders. “And where are you?”
“In my room at my parents’ house. I’m supposed to be packing some clothes for my mom and picking up food on my way back.”
“I guess we’d best get this show on the road then.”
“I’ll be the one calling the shots here, pet.”
His words and the change in his tone send a bloom of desire through my body, and I trail my fingers over the water, carving canyons in the mountains of bubbles, anticipating what kind of orders he has in mind. “Yes, sir.”
“Hook your ankles over the sides of the tub. I want to picture you wide open for me.”
I slip my feet over the cool ceramic, and my hips buck of their own accord. I want to think about that, too.
“Slide your hand up to your neck and tip your head back with your thumb.” He pauses, giving me time to follow his commands. “Can you feel the pulse in your throat?”
“Yes, sir.” My voice is already squeaky and my breath heavy. I don’t need to worry about him being late. This is going to take about as long as the Kentucky Derby. I could probably use a mint julep afterward.
“Well, I’ve got my fingers wrapped around my cock, wishing it was your throat instead.”
I squeeze and for a second, it is his, but then the illusion’s dispelled. “I wish that, too. I want to touch you.”
“I know, kitten. But you’ll have to make do knowing I’m rock-hard for you, thinking of you sprawled out in that tub, panting for me. Now drag your hand between your breasts and slide it down your stomach.”
Through some freakish connection, when I’m about to slide a finger into my folds to find my throbbing clit, he says “Stop.”
I squeal in protest, but the heel of my hand brakes into my mound and Crispin snorts. “You’re such a bad girl when I’m not there to mind you. Not yet. I want you to think about what I’d be doing to you if I were there. Tell me.”
I grind against my palm, not getting the contact I want. I’m tempted to go ahead anyway. What will he do, punish me? By the time I see him, I’ll be so desperate that whatever he throws at me will be mouthwatering. My eyes dart around the room, and I take a mental inventory of the rest of the suite’s contents, recalling Crispin’s expertise with pervertables. There’s a towel hook screwed into the wall above my head and a ubiquitous terry robe hanging on the back of the door.
“You’d bind my hands over my head with the sash from the robe, gag me with… Oh, no. There’s a nice set of solid wood hangers with those pinchy clips in the closet. You’d use one for a makeshift pair of nipple clamps and have me hold the hook between my teeth.”
“Christ, mili, you’re killing me.” The words are ground out between his teeth, and I feel better for having made him as desperate as he’s made me. Though I’m squirming, my nipples hardening at the thought, aching for the tight grip of metal. I doubt he’d actually do it—would likely deem it unsafe—but it’s a nice fantasy and we both allow ourselves to indulge. I picture him lying back on the bright white pillows that grace his double bed, an old surf T-shirt rucked up below his pecs, his jeans unzipped, holding himself in a rough grasp.
“Please, sir.”
“Go ahead, stroke your clit.”
My eager fingers find their target, not wasting any time, and I touch myself the way he would, not how I do when it’s just for me.
“Are you good and wet for me?”
“God, yes, sir.” If I were any wetter, the tub would overflow.
“I want to be inside of you. But since I can’t be, you’ll have to do it yourself.”
I take my cue and slip a finger inside, sighing in pleasure at the penetration, and add a second and then a third.
“Inside all of you.”
I whimper, wishing it were his fingers, his body manipulating me, but his words will have to do. I withdraw my ring finger, slick with my desire for him, and relax to accept the slim digit into my ass. I let loose a small moan when it’s seated and clutch the phone to my ear.
“Please, sir.”
“Not yet. I’d make you wait if you were here. Keep you on the edge, toy with you.”
He would, the clever bastard.
“Please?”
He makes me beg for a few more minutes, relishing my desperation at a distance and probably finding a great deal of satisfaction in my obedience. Even without the threat of imminent punishment, I want so badly to please him.
Finally, he takes pity on me. “Go on, pet. Come for me like you would if I were there fucking you.”
I choke out one last desperate mewl, my fingers buried as deep as they’ll go, pumping in time to my thrusts, in time with Crispin’s ragged breaths. It’s all I can do to not drop the phone in the still-hot water when my orgasm overtakes me, my toes curling against the smooth surface of the tub.
The unmistakable blunt groan of Crispin finding his own release comes through the phone, and a smile spreads over my face as I wrench the last of the aftershocks from my body. I let my knees fall together before dragging my legs back into the tub with a sigh. I’d give anything to have his body surrounding me instead of these piles of bubbles, but for now…
“Consider me unwound, Mr. Ardmore.”
I laugh when all I get in reply is a muffled grunt.
Chapter Nineteen
‡
It’s been over a week since I arrived in New York. Crispin is still in Kona. His dad woke up yesterday, but Mal’s confused and his speech isn’t great. He needs to stay in the hospital for a while longer. They’re hoping he’ll improve over the next several days, but there are no guarantees. There’s an ache in my chest at the thought I might never get to have another public policy throwdown with him, and Crispin and Mary must feel exponentially worse to think they might not get him back.
Crispin’s going to stay in Kona until Mal can come home. He’s offered a few times to come here, and I’ve turned him down, as he has when I’ve offered to go out there. After getting over the initial hump—setting foot in Manhattan and being in front of all those cameras—with no consequences, my anxiety has leveled out, and I love being back in the city. The bustle and the noise and the rude-ish, go-about-your-business attitude of the people make me feel at home. I’m still nervous that my mother will show up unannounced at my offices with a designer pitchfork, but the constant low-level disquiet isn’t much higher than normal.
I’d love to have Crispin here, but his family needs him more than I do and he wouldn’t get much of my attention anyhow. I’ve been working sixteen-hour days.
At the start of another one, I’m slaving over my laptop. Whoever’s behind this has got serious technical chops, better than mine. That expertise is going to make this tough to crack, but it also narrows my list of suspects. I consider asking Toby to help with some of the details, given his understanding of all of their systems, but for all I know, he could be my guy. Anyone could be. I haven’t even dismissed David Garcia as a possibility. What a neat cover-up that would be.
Toby drops a welcome mug of coffee on my desk. His hair’s askew today, and his tie isn’t quite centered either.
“Thanks, Toby. I appreciate it. Is everything all right? You look a little worse for wear.”
H
e smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, fine.”
“Are you sure? Do you need to go home? I don’t think I’ll need—”
“No!” His snapped-out answer sets off an alarm in my head. Methinks someone doth protest too much. But he shrugs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m having a fight with my girlfriend. We live together, so going home wouldn’t be helpful.”
“Sure.”
He wanders back to his desk, and I turn my attention to the screens before me that look like the fricking Matrix. But now I’ve got a thread I’m interested in following. I’ll have to be careful about doing it with my suspect right outside my door, probably monitoring my every keystroke.
I take a sip of my coffee and sink back into the graphs and spreadsheets on my screen. I get so engrossed that I startle when there’s a knock at my door. Not taking my eyes off the screen, I mumble a “come in,” expecting Toby. But instead of his eager-beaver face, it’s the big frame of David Garcia that fills the doorway.
“Good morning, India.”
“David, hi. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Not a problem.” He folds himself into one of the chairs in front of my desk, and I have to shake the numbers from my head to give him my full attention. His friendly, sonorous voice isn’t as effective at snapping my focus back and forth as Jack’s manic shouting. I haven’t decided whether I prefer it. “Do you have a minute?”
“For you? Always.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the contract.”
My heart clenches and then runs wild. I knew this was coming. We’re getting close to the two-week mark, and though David’s been pleased with my work, I know I don’t come cheap—and the subterfuge involved in my presence is tiring. I hope he’s been getting the bang he expected for his buck. “Of course.”
“I’ve been very impressed with your efforts. You’ve made more progress on this case in two weeks than any of us has in months. Not that I expected any less, but I thought you should know I’m going to call Jack after I leave here to extend your contract for another month, if it even takes you that long to sort this out.”
Relief fills my lungs. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re happy.”
“No, thank you. I also wanted to speak with you about another matter.”
Just as quickly, I’m deflated by his stern tone. Though I’ve done my best on the side projects David assigned me for cover, the learning curve’s steep. “Of course.”
“I know you’ve been focused on the embezzlement, as you should be, but your work on the other projects has caught the attention of some of the higher-ups. They’re as impressed with you as I am. And I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you I had my eye on you before I asked you here.”
Oh?
“This has been an audition of sorts, a trial run. The city’s been dragging its feet on filling the deputy position because they haven’t felt they’ve gotten a good return on their investment in the past. But your presence has changed that. They’re willing to make room in the budget to hire on an actual deputy on one condition. That it’s you.”
“I—”
David cuts me off with a raise of his hand. “Don’t answer me now. Think about it. I know this is unexpected, and it would be a big change. Moving across the country, working in the public sector instead of the private. I can’t offer you as much money as you make at JVA, but you’d be providing a much-needed service, making a big difference, and I think that appeals to you. Your city would welcome you back with open arms.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’ll consider it.”
In truth, I’m already decorating the shoebox apartment I’ll be able to afford on a municipal salary. Nothing like the palatial co-op I grew up in, but it would still be home. Home. I could have the job I’ve always wanted, walk down sidewalks teeming with people, sink my boots into four inches of slush as I rush across city streets in the dead of winter. I could ignore the hordes of tourists with eyes to the sky as I elbow my way through crowds and fight off other natives for a cab in the rain. I could come back to New York.
I could come home.
David excuses himself, and I mumble a distracted goodbye because my head and my heart are filled with the possibility of coming back. A huge “fuck you” to my parents and Hunter who chased me away from where I was meant to be, what I was meant to do. I could do it. I could have everything I’ve ever wanted.
I dig my cell out of my bag and dial Crispin.
“Mili?” His sleepy voice muddles across the ocean, across the continent, and I picture him lying sleep-tousled and groggy in his bed at his parents’ house.
“Sorry, sorry. I forgot about the time difference. I’ll—”
“S’okay. What’s going on?” He sounds more awake, and urgency has crept into his voice.
“Nothing bad. The opposite, actually. David Garcia just offered me a job.” There’s silence on the other end. “Crispin?”
“Yeah.”
My chin draws into my chest, and my brows knit at the heaviness in his tone. “Aren’t you happy for me? This is huge. They can’t pay me as much as Jack does, but I could come home. I’ve always wanted to work for the city. And David doesn’t yell hardly at all, not like Jack, and…and…”
My words trail off, and I wait for his response. Some enthusiasm, for god’s sake. Crispin’s always been supportive of my work, listening to me rail about my clients, following my projects in the news so he can talk to me about them, being relatively gracious when I have to put off trips to see him because of an urgent deadline. But for this, possibly the biggest and best thing that could’ve happened, I get dead air. What the hell? “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“I’m ecstatic for you, India. I’m less than thrilled for us.”
The giddy balloon I’ve been bouncing on deflates. Right. San Diego to Kona is one thing; New York to Kona is a different matter entirely. Irritation makes me sound prickly. “This is what I’ve always wanted. I’ve dreamed about this since I was a little girl. I didn’t want to be a princess or a firefighter. I wanted to do press conferences.”
“I know,” he placates, “and I really am happy for you. I just… I don’t know how this is going to work.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You promised.” I have a contract sitting in the drawer of the desk back at my hotel that says so. I’ve done my level-best to be more for him, but this degree of selflessness—it burns. Counting on me to be altruistic is delusional, but believing I’ll abide by a contract would be sensible. If he wanted something in return, he should’ve gotten it in writing.
“And I’ll keep my word, but you can’t honestly expect me to be jumping up and down at the idea of having to spend a whole day on a plane to be with you. And that’s what I’ll have to do because I doubt the Department of Transportation is going to be as flexible about your time off as Jack is. You’re ticked off because I’m not crazy about the idea, but could you think about someone other than yourself for a minute? I don’t expect you to be some kind of martyr. Your job’s important to you, and I respect that. I’m not telling you not to take it. I’m just trying to tell you how I feel.”
Obligation and expectations crawl over me until the last whiffs of buoyancy are gone. This is one of the times I’m less than thrilled about being part of a couple. If he wants me to be happy, if he really wants to hold up his end of the bargain, then maybe he’ll have to get off his goddamn island once in a while.
“I don’t have time for this right now.”
“India—”
“No. I’ve got work to do. I’m not going to sabotage this, even if you’d like me to. I don’t have to decide right now. David told me to take my time. We’ll talk later.”
I hear his faint good-bye as I pull the phone from my ear to press end call. Angry tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I have to put my head in my hands to divest myself of them. Get your shit together, Burke. Your dream job is within your reach. Don’t blow it on some guy now. I shake my head, blow
out a deep breath, and get back to work.
*
Much later, I’m walking back to my hotel from the Transportation Department’s offices. I have a lot to mull over because, after I shook off my tiff with Crispin, I fell down a rabbit hole. I’m more and more certain Toby is my man—or, at least, involved somehow. There’s no one else at the department with the same level of systems access.
On a hunch, I went down to HR—ostensibly on my lunch break—and requested to see his paper file. He’s applied for and been denied a few promotions to policy-establishment positions; he’s bright, but young and inexperienced in the ways of city politics. I can understand how the lack of advancement might make him angry. Fucking with their systems, showing how it’s possible to manipulate them, would be a sociopathic way to show he “deserves” the job. That would explain the increasing amounts of money taken when no one noticed at first. But how I’m going to prove his involvement without him realizing I’m onto him is problematic.
I’m lost in thought as I make my way down the sidewalk, paying only enough attention to my surroundings to avoid crashing into the occasional fellow pedestrian or a fire hydrant. It’s not the nicest neighborhood, but it’s not the worst either, and as a city girl I don’t think too much of being out at this time of night. The weather is cool after a heat wave, and there are a few stray people around, enjoying the fact that you don’t break into a sweat as soon as you step outside. That’s why I’m walking instead of taking my car service.
My heels are clicking along the pavement when thick fingers grab me by the shoulders and push me down into a stairwell. I cry out as I fall and land hard on my back. I can’t breathe. And if I can’t breathe, I can’t scream for help. A kick lands in my ribcage, and the rising yelp of panic is sucked back into my lungs.
“Take it, take it,” I gasp, trying to disentangle my bag from my shoulder, but no one reaches for it. It’s dark in the stairwell, and what I thought was one attacker turns into at least two, judging by the several places on my body exploding in pain. I try to recall the self-defense lessons Rey made me take, but in the face of my panic and all the blows falling, my thrashing is doing more harm than good. But hell if I’m going down without at least one of these fuckers getting his eyes clawed out or getting kicked in a very unpleasant place.
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