“I’ve been there since Jules opened it three years ago,” she told him. “Outside of a brief falling out in high school, we’ve been besties since childhood.”
“What happened in high school?”
“Just typical, cliché teenage stuff, you know? We found different crowds for a while. Juliana started hanging out the snobby, rich kids, and Azura fell in with a bit of a rougher crowd, but she really doesn’t like to talk about it.”
“And you?”
“Well, I found two best friends in Ben & Jerry. I put on weight, my self-confidence was at an all-time low, and I alienated myself from all of my friends.”
Peter frowned at the sadness in her voice. He knew how it felt to be lonely. He only had his team, no other friends or family. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge up all of that.”
“Don’t be. I got over it. I started working out, I’ve got burlesque, and my friends back in my life. And we all work together at a pretty fun job. Life is good.”
Peter recognized her attempt to change the subject and he went with it, resuming to his original line of questioning. “And you like working at Brewed Moon?”
“I do,” her smile faltered, just a little. “Except sometimes I wish there was something else. I mean, it’s a good job, but pouring coffee isn’t exactly my passion. I’ve always wanted some sort of adventure, some kind of excitement in my life.” She took a large sip of her wine. “And I used to, you know? I’ve travelled by myself, done some crazy things. But my adventurous nature has sort of waned. I’m just trying to get it back.”
Peter knew all about adventure and excitement in his life. Sometimes, it was too much for him. Living in secrecy. Not able to form any relationships outside of the team. He was well into his thirties and all of the adventure and excitement of his life was beginning to wear on him. But he considered the woman in front of him. Was her wish for excitement reason enough for Erica to fraternize with local kingpins? Was it a way to reclaim the adventurous spirit that she lost? He frowned.
With every question he asked her, grilling her, he tensed, waiting for her sharp eyes to narrow suspiciously, to ask him why he was interrogating her. He hated having to do this to a woman that he liked. And he liked Erica. A lot. But he needed to continue on with the investigation, for the team and for himself.
“So, do you get to know many of your regular customers?” he asked. An innocent enough question. But there was nothing innocent about why he asked it. He was referring to the Irishmen, the O’Connell brothers who regularly frequented Brewed Moon.
“Oh, yeah,” she answered enthusiastically. “Absolutely. We get to know the people we see every day, what’s going on in their lives. We know very specific information about one small part of what they’re all about - their coffee and treat preference. But I always wonder what else they’re into, what they do for a living, what kind of hobbies do they have? We’re pretty proud of our own special touch.”
Peter nodded. He was more than familiar with her special touch. “St. John’s is a pretty diverse city. So, the customers, they’re people of all ages, nationalities?”
Her eyes did narrow then. “Yeah, I guess. Our customer base is pretty varied.”
She’s on to me. Peter coughed and tried to cover his strange line of questioning. “Yeah, it makes sense, there’s a real cross-section of people here in St. John’s.”
She nodded. “There definitely is.”
“Hardin,” he pondered her surname. “What’s your ancestry?” Not smooth… Peter cringed. He was normally better at this, and he’d always prided himself on his interrogation skills. But once again, in Erica’s company, he couldn’t seem to focus at all on his job. He was eager to get back to their date, and put the investigative part of the evening behind them, but he had to carry on.
“So many questions,” she laughed.
“I’m a curious guy.” His shrug was far more casual than he felt.
“My name…” she trailed off as she thought about it. “I don’t really know. I think it’s English, but that’s about it. Not sure how that would explain my red hair, though,” she laughed. “I don’t know much about my roots, I guess. Why don’t you tell me something about you now?”
“What would you like to know?”
“Where are you from?”
“Ottawa. Born and raised.”
“Nice city.”
“It’s okay. It certainly doesn’t have much of the character that St. John’s does, but I liked it well enough.”
“Ottawa’s a pretty buttoned down city I’ve heard. So how long have you been living here?”
“A couple of years now. I came for work,” he told her. He’d moved to St. John’s when Mitch had formed the team. It had been a good move for him, and he did love the city.
“You moved here for a security job?”
Peter’s eyes widened. Right. He’d told her he was in security. God, why couldn’t he keep his shit in order around her? “Yeah,” he covered. “In this this economy, you’ve got to go where the work is, right?”
He needed to take the attention off of himself, and get it back on her. “What about dancing, though? Is that something you would or could do for a living? You’re really good. Do you make any money from that or is it just for fun?”
“I would dance every day of my life and live happily ever after,” she said wistfully before a frown appeared. “Money? Unfortunately, not much,” she frowned, a flash of something like regret covered her face for a brief second. “And any money we do take in goes to renting a studio for practice or a venue to perform, or to help pay for costumes and props. It’s just something that I like to do. It’s like my artistic outlet. I teach classes, and I get some money from that. Not a lot. I wish I could make it my career. That’d be ideal.” Her eyes danced in excitement and she came alive as she talked about dancing. “My dream is to open my own studio, but that kind of thing would take some major scratch, and I just don’t have it.”
Peter considered what he’d learned so far. The money that O’Connell passed over to her would undoubtedly help pay for her studio. Was she working with Dylan O’Connell to bring in some extra money for her future? It was a viable motive. He continued the conversation and realized that he was already treating her like a suspect in the interrogation room. He asked quick questions in rapid succession and changed the topic quickly to keep her off balance. He felt like a heel, but it was his job. It was what he had to do.
But soon it was clear that this tactic was getting too suspicious to continue. Erica was too smart, and she would eventually catch on that something about him was amiss. He’d made no real progress beyond what he already knew. Peter had had enough. He was tired of the games, and he wanted nothing more than to drop the interrogation, even though his brother and teammates would probably like to hear more.
This was getting tricky for him. The investigation was the reason that he started seeing Erica, and it was also the reason he was once again wearing a recording device hidden in the band of his boxer briefs. But at that moment, watching Erica as she sat across the table from him, it was something else in his pants that guided his thoughts. The more time he spent with Erica, the more he wanted her. He found himself thinking about her during the day. When he should have been concentrating on his work, she invaded his thoughts and he couldn’t fight her off. But, more dangerously, he felt his resolve to keep her at a distance crumbling. She was affecting his judgement, and in his line of work it was imperative that he be fully cognizant of his surroundings.
All the while, he felt like an ass for lying to her, for perpetuating this relationship with ulterior motives, for recording their most intimate moments for his partners to hear, and for knowing that his brother followed her with a camera.
What is she doing to me?
“Hello, Earth to Peter?” he heard her giggle. She was looking at him, an amused smile on her face.
“Oh, sorry, the desire for more chocolate cake must have me distracted,” he joke
d, referring to the empty dessert plate in front of him. Yeah, the cake. Not the ravishing, possibly criminal woman sitting across from me.
Erica laughed. “Oh?”
“Yeah, that must be it. It was really great cake,” he said, playing with her with a straight face.
Erica reached across the table and swiped her finger across the plate, catching the chocolate crumbs, as she dragged it across the china. His eyes darkened and his nostrils flared when she pulled it back and parted her red lips. She brought the tip of her finger to her tongue. He exhaled roughly when her lips closed around the digit and she slowly pulled it from her mouth.
“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes closed with pleasure at the decadent chocolate. “You’re right, Peter, this is really great cake.” She leaned in and turned suddenly serious, pushing his plate to the side. “Listen, do you remember last night? At my show? When we were in the alley?”
“Do I remember last night?” he asked, teasing, leaning in to meet her at the center of the table. Do I remember? Of course, he remembered every single second of her performance and their little rendezvous in the back alley. If they hadn’t been interrupted, he knew that he would have taken her there. His pulsed thrummed throughout his body at the memory. He nodded, trying to remain cool, unaffected. “I think I do.”
She leaned in further, and lowered her voice. The way her cleavage plumped against the table, put his desire into overdrive. He licked his lips to force away the urge to press them to her fine, white skin. “And do you remember what you told me afterward?”
Peter closed his eyes. He remembered, as well, every word he’d said when he had told her how she’d made him feel. He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. Her fingers seemed to anticipate his touch, and they rose slightly, letting the curve of his palm cover the tops of her fingers. “I told you that it felt like you were dancing only for me.”
Erica flushed slightly and lowered her gaze, peering at him under her long eyelashes. “You know what?” she asked, her voice a sultry whisper. “I’ll let you in on a little secret: I was performing for you. I knew you were there, watching me as I danced, as I took off my trench coat, showing only you my red corset, which I knew you would love, by the way.” She raised her other hand and her fingernails scraped a light trail over his jaw. “I was imagining that you were the only person there.”
Peter looked conspiratorially around them. ”I’m glad we’re alone now.”
“Peter, we’re actually in a crowded restaurant.”
“Strange,” he frowned, bringing his fingertips to her cheek. “It feels like it’s just the two of us.”
She was quiet for a moment, and she peered into his cool blue eyes, that somehow still burned with passion. Then she laughed. “That was pretty corny.”
He laughed and nodded his head. “I am well aware that it was.”
Erica licked her lips. “Why don’t we get the cheque? I’ve got a little surprise for you back at my place.”
Peter sat back, coolly, and threw back his glass of wine, finishing the remainder in one gulp. He looked around the dining room, until he saw their waiter approaching. He rose his hand, locking eyes with Erica. “Cheque, please.”
Chapter 11
Erica led Peter into her apartment. Once inside, she turned and discovered that he had quickly closed the short distance between them, when she slammed against the hard wall of his chest, and his strong arms encircled her waist. She looked up at him and his head dipped. He touched his lips to hers. At first, a gentle touch, but then his mouth took complete control over hers. She could taste the wine and chocolate from their meal on his tongue, and she savored him greedily before she pulled away, her eyes staring straight ahead at the outline of his pecs, that she could see under his shirt and she yearned to run her tongue over the well-formed muscles. She shook her head, still not believing the ridiculously sexy way he was built.
When her breath steadied, she cautioned a look up at him, at those blue eyes and unruly hair, and she nearly melted into a puddle at his feet. She wanted him at that moment in the front porch of her apartment. He almost made her forget all about her plan for the night, the special surprise that she had arranged for him. She stepped away from his embrace and took a deep breath. She looked at the floor, because she was afraid that if she looked in his eyes, they wouldn’t get any further than the foyer.
She pressed her hands to his chest, her fingers curled over its firmness and she pushed him away. “Just give me a minute and then follow me into the living room when I call you.” She moved past him, with swaying hips and a wink over her shoulder, she dropped her purse on a nearby table, before she disappeared around the corner.
Erica’s heart was pounding as she looked around the tableau she had set in the living room. She had danced burlesque for more than five years, and she had no problem performing in front of large crowds in her undergarments, but this was different. It was intimate. She had never given a man a private dance before. Sure, she had taken striptease and pole dancing classes, for exercise and to help in her own burlesque choreography, but she had never given a one-on-one performance. Nor had she thought she would ever want to. She danced for exercise, for fun, to boost her confidence, but despite the fact that she wore lingerie on stage, she never equated her performances with sex. She had never danced with seduction in mind.
Everything was laid out perfectly, and she started lighting the candles she had scattered around. She stopped and turned when she heard his footsteps behind her. She should have known that he would never follow her instructions. His chuckle was low and she shook her head. She didn’t think that a sexier sound had ever existed than his throaty laugh. She watched him closely as his eyes roamed over the room, taking it in.
The lights were off and most of the candles were lit; flames flickered from every surface and the orange light danced in shadows over his features. She had placed Azura’s vintage, oversized leather armchair in the center of the room.
“What’s all this?” he asked her, a crooked smile on his lips.
She scowled playfully. “You didn’t wait for me to call you.”
“I’ve never been one for following directions,” he responded, his voice a low, dangerous murmur.
She nodded. “I should have known that, huh?”
“Probably,” he shrugged. “So what are we doing here?”
She extended her arms and presented the room with a flourish that she hoped wasn’t too reminiscent of a game show presenter. “I just wanted to thank you properly for coming to my show last night.”
He scoffed, walking to meet her in the middle of the room, next to the chair. “The pleasure was absolutely all mine.”
“How could it have been all your pleasure? We were interrupted in the alley, weren’t we?” she asked him, running her palms over his chest. His muscles flinched under her touch. “I haven’t been able to think of anything but you all day. And it might not have been all your pleasure last night, but it certainly will be tonight,” she purred, her hand dragged down the front of his shirt and it settled at the growing bulge behind the zipper of his pants.
Peter exhaled roughly. “Erica,” he whispered, and reached out to touch her.
She stepped out of his reach, and pointed to the chair. “Sit down,” she ordered him.
Peter walked to the chair, but he paused. “I’m sorry,” he smiled uneasily. “I hope this doesn’t kill the mood. But can I use your bathroom first?”
“Oh. Sure.” She was a little taken aback. I guess when nature calls…
“Sorry. It’s just-,” he started to explain.
Erica put up her hands. “Yeah, go on. It’s fine. First door on the right,” she directed him, pointing down the hallway.
Peter closed the door quietly behind him. He looked around her washroom, all girly and floral. His police instinct had finally kicked in and plowed through his libido. He knew he had limited time in her apartment before she thought something weird was going on. He quietly opened
drawers and the medicine cabinets, doing a cursory check for any contraband-just to make sure. He found nothing that would be out of place in the bathroom that two women shared: tampons, condoms, perfume, razors, bubble bath, etc. A peek behind the shower curtain and under the sink proved nothing besides the fact that the girls kept a neat and tidy bathroom. When she had disappeared into the living room, leaving him near the kitchen, he had also gotten a look inside of her purse when she dropped it on her way to the living room, and he saw that it contained nothing from O’Connell, neither his card, a substantial amount of money, nor anything else incriminating.
He put his palms on the sink, and leaned over it. This isn’t the way I want to do this. He pictured her in the living room, waiting for him, while he searched her bathroom. Turmoil raced through him. Sure, he felt like a horse’s ass, betraying her like that, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to sit in that chair in her living room, but he still had a job to do. He had needed to get away from her. At least for a minute. He took out his cell phone and sent a message to Mitch.
I’m killing the wire.
Are you sure? Mitch responded immediately. He obviously didn’t like it, and Peter pictured him scowling at his phone.
No other choice. She’ll find it. He knew that Mitch would interpret the meaning behind it, that there was no doubt that Peter was spending the night with Erica.
I saw Joe outside when we came in. He’s still with me in case anything else comes up.
I don’t like it.
I know you don’t.
Everything cool?
Right as rain.
Okay. Just don’t destroy this one. Steve will be pissed. Be careful.
I will.
Peter quickly pulled the recording device from the waistband and rolled it up. Luckily it was small enough to fit inside his wallet. He considered for a moment the possibility that she might go through his wallet. But if he didn’t want to destroy it, stashing it was his only option. He would just have to keep it in sight all night. He was about to pocket the leather billfold, but he stopped, and plucked out the condom he’d put there earlier and dropped it into the front pocket of his pants. Gotta be prepared. He flushed the toilet, and ran the water in the sink, and quickly exited the washroom.
Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1) Page 11