by M. Leighton
“But he did let you go.”
“Yes.”
“And then he moved on.”
“Yes.”
“Which means he didn’t love you enough.”
“Yes.” After a few seconds, I add, “But that wasn’t all that was making me upset tonight.”
“What else?”
“I . . . I felt selfish and stupid for wanting him to love me like that when I didn’t love him enough either.”
“Explain,” he says again.
“If I’d loved him as much as I thought I had, I wouldn’t have kissed you like I did. I wouldn’t have had any trouble putting you out of my mind and staying focused on Dad. If I’d loved him enough, I—I wouldn’t want you.”
“And that makes you feel guilty?”
Perceptive as ever. “Yes.”
I feel Jasper lean up. I feel the scruff on his chin at my temple. It softly abrades my skin when he speaks. “Don’t. If he’d loved enough, you wouldn’t be here. Alone. With me. He’d be with you.”
I sigh. What he says is true. “I know, but—”
“No buts. Be glad that he didn’t chase you. I am.”
The next words I say are the absolute truth. “Right now, I am, too.”
That’s the last thing I remember.
TWELVE
Jasper
I hear Muse stir. I hear her groan and I have to smile.
I don’t try to be quiet as I roll the room service cart into her bedroom. I wasn’t trying to be quiet when I answered the knock, spoke to the waiter and let the door slam shut either.
“Time for some breakfast. We need to get on the road.”
Muse raises her head and glances at the cart, frowns and then lays it back on her pillow. “Not hungry,” she mutters.
“You need to eat. You’ll feel better.”
She opens one eye and glares at me. Pretty effectively, too, I might add. “Why the hell are you so chipper?”
“I’m not chipper. You’re just hungover.”
I take the silver covers off the two plates of food.
“You didn’t order eggs, did you?” she asks, her words garbled like she might be getting sick.
“No. Lots of bacon. And water. And coffee. Some fruit, too. Now sit up.”
Reluctantly, she pushes back the covers, kicking at them with her legs when they tangle around her feet. I watch her naked breasts bounce, the nipples puckering against the cool air. Blood rushes to my cock. Evidently, I’ve found the one thing I can’t completely control myself against.
Muse Harper.
A woman, for God’s sake. But not just any woman. She’s a woman who makes my blood blaze and my body ache. She’s a woman who has enough fire to thaw a small piece of what’s been frozen for a long time.
In a different situation, that might be cause for concern, but right now it’s not. She’s got a father to find. I’ve got answers to obtain. And then, we will come to an end. An unfortunate end. She deserves better, but it is what it is. I have a job to do and it has to come first. Always first.
Muse finally sits up and rubs her hands over her face. Her hair is dried in thick clumps that fall down over her shoulders like flames, licking at her pale flesh. My mouth goes dry as I watch her unabashedly. It’s her gasp that brings my eyes back up to hers. They’re wide and round, and her lips are parted like they were last night. Last night when she came in my arms. Her cheeks flood with color and she crosses her arms over her chest to cover her nudity. The action only makes her look sexier. More forbidden.
I’ve never wanted her more.
“A little late for that, don’t you think?”
More color rushes into her face. More blood rushes to my cock.
“Oh God,” she whispers, closing her eyes as though the memory is painful.
I step around the cart and take one of her hands from where it’s nestled in her armpit. I press her palm to the bulge that strains toward her from behind my zipper.
“This is what you do to me. Don’t be embarrassed. Be proud.” Her eyes are fixed on mine now, the pupils eclipsing almost every speck of her green irises. “Now eat before I change my mind about being a nice guy.”
I release her hand and she lets it fall slowly into her lap. She glances away as she drags the sheet around her where she sits, covering up what I’d much rather look at. Disappointing, but probably for the best.
She clears her throat before grabbing a fork.
I move back around to the other side of the cart, taking a strip of bacon from the second plate and downing it in one bite.
“Since when are you a nice guy?” Muse asks, peeking up at me from beneath her lashes as she stabs a grape with her fork. Her lips are curved into the hint of a smile. It does nothing for my raging hard-on. Then again, it seems that my body is determined to react to nearly everything she does with a massive erection.
I sigh.
Until I get inside her, I don’t suppose that’s going to change.
“Good point.” We eat the rest of our breakfast in silence. When Muse finishes, wiping her mouth on her linen napkin, I ask, “Feel better?”
She nods. “Actually, I do. Thank you. I’ve never had a hangover like that before.”
“Are you a good girl, Muse Harper?”
She shrugs. “No, not really. I just usually stick to wine.”
“Red or white?”
“Red. Why?”
“Just curious. When this is over and I come to collect, I wanted to know what kind of wine to bring.”
“You bring wine when you collect your money?”
“I wasn’t talking about collecting money.”
The bloom of pink in her cheeks assures me that she knows exactly what I was talking about.
THIRTEEN
Muse
I’m a bundle of nerves by the time we reach Treeborn early the next afternoon. Being back on the familiar streets is both comforting and unnerving. As we near my father’s house, I reach into my purse for my sunglasses and the hat I brought. The sun is setting, but I still can’t risk being seen.
“If you’re going for incognito, you might want to pull all that red hair through the hole in your hat. It draws attention.”
When I was younger, I used to be very sensitive about my locks. Gingers don’t exactly have it easy, but I grew into being okay with it. “Are you making fun of my hair?” I ask teasingly.
Jasper glances over at me as I grab handfuls of red and wind it into a tail that I can pull through my cap. His eyes, as always, are unfathomable. “Not at all. I love your hair.”
I stop what I’m doing and stare. “You do?”
His comment is matter of fact. His expression is as unreadable as ever. But something about his words, words that he chooses carefully and doles out sparingly, pleases me right down to my toes.
“Very much,” is his short answer. Although it’s given when he’s already looking back at the road, that doesn’t lessen the impact. I tuck the compliment away into a pocket somewhere on the side of my heart, where it can warm me right on and on.
I try to act casual as I finish my disguise, but for some reason my fingers are shaking. This man . . . God! He just does something to me.
Jasper parks across the street from the Colonel’s brick ranch. We sit in the quiet as he looks around. What he’s searching for, I don’t know.
I slump down in the seat and angle my body toward Jasper when I see Millie, my father’s nosey neighbor, come out the front door with Eli, her springer spaniel. She usually walks him just before dark, which makes me think she must’ve noticed us parked here because it’s far too early for her to be out.
“Oh shit! Here comes the neighborhood watch committee,” I whisper.
“Does she have super powers?” Jasper asks in a hushed voice.
“Of course not. Why?”
“Then why are you whispering?”
“Because I’m scared. Why are you whispering?”
Jasper doesn’t respond because his
eyes are focused on something just behind my head. I can almost picture Millie making her way across the street to us in her comfortable shoes and blindingly floral blouse, nose wrinkled in that annoying way she has.
“Here she comes,” he warns in his scratchy voice. For about ten seconds, my mind spins with what we could do other than just drive away, which would defeat the purpose of coming here in the first place. That’s as far as I get before my brain is scrambled, though. All thoughts flee my mind when Jasper reaches behind my head, grabs my ponytail and pulls me to him.
Our lips meet just before there’s a sharp knock on the passenger-side window right behind me. Jasper holds me still as he peers around at what I can only imagine is Millie’s disapproving face.
“Get lost, lady!” he calls without rolling down the glass.
“You can’t park here,” she declares in a voice that’s as pinched as her features.
“You don’t own the street,” he rebuts just before returning his attention to me, effectively dismissing Millie.
“I’ll call the police!”
Jasper ignores her and bends his head to mine again. Slowly this time, with our eyes locked until the moment our lips touch. This kiss is different from his first. That one said wanting me was an inconvenient truth. This one says having me is an inevitability.
His mouth is soft and coaxing, yet firm and demanding. It seduces. It devours. It tells me that he will not stop until I’m all his, until he is all that I can think about. He wants to consume me. And he’ll settle for nothing less.
When he releases me, he still holds my head, our faces only centimeters apart. His breathing is as heavy as mine, and his eyes are that dark whiskey color.
“I’m one sick bastard,” he mutters. Of all the things I might’ve expected him to say, that was nowhere close to any of them. His voice is both self-deprecating and remorseful. Before I can ask for an explanation (one he would undoubtedly refuse to give me) he’s pulling away.
He glances over my shoulder. “Okay, she just went in to call the cops. Give me ten minutes and pick me up on the street behind this one.”
He’s out the door and across the street before I can even process what he just said and act accordingly. Finally, once I collect myself a little, I climb across the console and into the driver’s seat.
I can barely reach the pedals, as Jasper is probably a foot taller than me, and it takes me a few seconds to find the controls that will move the seat closer. When I finally shift into gear, I make a mental note of the time, subtracting a minute just to be on the safe side.
I drive around Dad’s neighborhood, grateful for the deeply tinted windows of Jasper’s car. They give me some amount of anonymity. As I inspect the passing scenery, I wonder vaguely what my highly educated, quietly competent, probably dangerous bounty hunter is looking for at the house. I also wonder what he might find. I don’t get far with either line of thought, so I abandon them both.
I’m in so far over my head that I have nothing except a whole slew of unanswered questions. At this point, I don’t even have any theories as to what might be going on. But maybe Jasper will return with something useful.
When the ten-minute mark is nearly upon me, I head back toward Alton Street, the one directly behind my father’s. I cruise slowly past each of the modest homes, noting toys in yards and dogs in driveways. I smile when I see Jasper pop out onto the sidewalk a few houses down. He’s walking casually, hands stuffed in his pockets like he might be going to the neighbors’ for a barbecue. All that’s missing is pursed lips as though he’s whistling. But on Jasper that would be overkill. He doesn’t have to say a word for it to be clear that he’s not the carefree whistling type. He’s too intense for that. Too alert and guarded and . . . dark. It’s something he exudes like Marilyn Monroe exuded sex appeal. It’s not something he works at. It’s just something he is.
I slow as I approach. He smiles the polite smile I’ve seen him give others, the one that says I’m pleasant, but I don’t want to be bothered. It’s very effective. And it’s very intriguing. I’m sure that nearly everyone who sees it wants to know more about the man who wears it. I’m equally sure that not one of them dares to ask.
He slides into the passenger seat and I accelerate down the road. At the stop sign, I make a right, turning away from my father’s street. I pause at the yield sign and bear left. It’s then that I see a police cruiser heading toward my father’s place. Jasper timed it perfectly. Not that I’m surprised.
“What did you find out?”
Eyes locked on the road, Jasper points to a gas station up ahead. “Pull in there. We need gas.”
I swallow my sigh and do as he asks. While he’s pumping the gas, I push his seat back to its previous position and walk around the front of the car to climb into my side. I wait patiently as he goes into the convenience store and I wait patiently as he unpacks a small plastic bag of snacks upon his return.
“I got you a bag of those chips you like. And the water you drink.”
I ignore his thoughtfulness. I overlook how observant he’s been. I have one thing on my mind.
“Thanks,” I say, biding my time until we are back on the highway and he can’t put me off any longer. And as soon as we are, I find that I can hold my tongue no longer. “Tell me, Jasper.”
As the seconds stretch between us, thin and fragile, I feel my throat constrict and tears burn the backs of my eyes. He’s stalling. And the only reason he’d stall is because he has bad news.
My chest feels like it might collapse, crushing every vital organ behind it. I press the heel of my hand into the center to ease the panicky discomfort.
“Are you okay?” Jasper asks, a frown on his face and a small thread of concern in his voice.
“Not really. Just tell me. Don’t sugarcoat it or beat around the bush. I have to know and I have to know right now.”
“Your father is fine,” he says, unscrewing the cap of his own water and taking a long sip like we’re discussing nothing more important than the weather.
My heart stutters for a few beats before it picks back up at a rapid pace. I’m almost afraid to get too excited, certain that I must’ve misunderstood him.
“Wh-what?”
“I said I’m sure he’s fine.”
“How do you know?”
“Well, to most people, it looks like he’s just out for the day. Working, running errands, whatever he does. Bed’s made, toothbrush is in its holder, mail’s on the counter, coffee cup’s in the sink. But to someone who looks more closely, it seems like he left with no intention of coming back right away. Yes, his toothbrush is there, but his razor is gone. Men can use any kind of toothbrush, but a good razor is hard to find. There’s a gun safe on the top shelf of his closet that still has a revolver in it, locked up tight. But there’s another one behind a box of pictures in the back corner that’s empty. He left the obvious one and took the hidden one. As for how he left, the vehicle’s gone, but the automatic garage door opener cable has been disabled. There are no signs of him being forcibly taken from there either. So I’d say he left for good reason and that he’s holed up somewhere.”
“You don’t sound surprised.”
Jasper shrugs. “I’m not. There’s a reason he’s juicing up that apartment in Atlanta.”
I feel overwhelming relief. That would explain why he wasn’t there when I called. And maybe why he hasn’t called me either. If he’s hiding out, he’d want to keep me out of danger. A giddy laugh bubbles up in my throat like a Halloween concoction might bubble in a witch’s cauldron. I’m afraid to get too excited, though, to let my guard all the way down. “And you’re sure?”
“Well obviously I can’t be one hundred percent certain until I knock on the door of that apartment and he answers the door, but I’m reasonably sure.”
I digest his words. I consider them carefully. I consider the source, too. His expertise, his confidence, his calm demeanor. And without really making a conscious decision to do it, I take
the leap and I trust Jasper. Trust his judgment, trust his words. Trust him.
It’s not until later that I realize just exactly what I’ve done. And how much it would hurt me.
FOURTEEN
Jasper
Muse is quiet on the drive to Atlanta. Her nervous energy, however, fills the cabin with so much silent noise it’s hard for me to think. She’s tapped her foot, twirled her hair, clicked her fingernails and probably rubbed a raw spot on her palm with the thumb of her other hand. She hasn’t made much actual sound, but I can hear her nonetheless.
If I could ignore her, I’d be much better off. I could think. And plan. But I can’t. Somehow, she got under my skin and that’s screwing up everything. I have a job to do. Right after I get some answers that I need. And for the first time in my adult life, I find myself putting off the inevitable rather than just embracing it.
I’ve always put duty above all else. Some people are just built that way. I’m one of those people. You can imagine that the first time I’m tempted to veer from the straight and narrow path I follow comes as somewhat of a surprise. And very little surprises me.
Three and a half hours later, I’m pulling into the gravel lot of a club named Dual. I left a message on Gavin Gibson’s cell phone. There’s a possibility that I might need some help and I wanted to talk to him. He’s a good resource and I trust him to some degree. More than I trust most people, I guess. We have an . . . understanding. The kind of understanding few people would comprehend or approve of. We lend a hand in certain types of situations. The next time he needs a favor, he’ll call and I’ll do my best to help. It’s sort of like an unspoken pact.
Usually I find that making final plans for one of my jobs gives me a peaceful edge, a clinical nonchalance about death that keeps me calm and rational and quick. Deadly quick. I’m making them early this time. Why? Because for the first time that I can ever remember, I’m thinking of stalling, so I’m making it harder. For me. Harder for me to stall, to reconsider following through. I’ve never had to thwart myself before, never had to tie my own hands. But I can’t trust my own intentions anymore. They’re too wrapped up in a fiery redhead that I can’t stop thinking about.