Breaking the Rules

by Suzanne Brockmann

  Okay, that was something he was going to have to fix, as soon as possible. A gaping hole in the place of a driver’s-side mirror was far more common than a mangled mirror with a bullet hole. The good news was that it would be easy enough for him to make that change—from mangled to missing—as soon as they stopped.

  But it wasn’t until after he’d put a few miles onto the car’s odometer that he started to breathe easier. He realized then that Eden was a little too quiet—and that she was shaking. And yeah, she wasn’t the only one. That entire incident had freaked him out. Big-time. It was one thing to get fired on when he was with his very capable and highly trained SEAL team. But it felt very, very different when he was unarmed and alone with Eden.

  Who could have been killed.

  “You okay?” he asked her as he took an exit off the highway. “Because I am jangling from that adrenaline rush.” There was a traffic light that was red and a few cars waiting for it to change at the end of the ramp, and he purposely stayed back quite a bit from the last car in the line. He wanted the extra space to maneuver, should he need to. “You can sit up now, if you want.”

  She did just that as she swept her hair back from a face that was much too pale, and she looked at him with eyes that were brimming with unshed tears. “Are you okay?” she asked.

  And she didn’t wait for him to answer, she just launched herself at him and kissed the holy bejesus out of him.

  Which was not unpleasant. Not even close. And Izzy knew without a doubt that all he had to do was find a deserted little street or the dark corner of a grocery-store parking lot, and she was going to rock his world. Which was exactly what he needed right about now—a little thank God we’re alive sex to calm his ass down.

  Still, he had to keep one eye on the rearview, just to verify that they still weren’t being followed as the light turned from red to a brilliant and glorious green. And then, hallelujah, they were moving again, and driving while he was being kissed was harder than it looked in the movies, but compared to having Eden get shot at, it was a walk in the park.

  All of the cars took a left at the end of the ramp, so Izzy defied convention and went right. And … would you look at that. They were in corporate headquarters land.

  They were completely surrounded by office buildings with impeccably landscaped grounds and acres of neatly paved parking lots—nearly all of them empty and dark at this time of night. It was, without a doubt, a sign from God—a giant thumbs-up from the Big Guy—to have some happy-fun.

  Izzy killed the headlights before he pulled into the least well-lit lot that he could find. He made his way to the darkest corner, where he jammed the car into park and gave his full attention to kissing the holy bejesus out of Eden, too.

  She wasn’t shy about what she wanted. She didn’t try to be coy or cute. She just put her seat back as far as it could go and then lifted herself up so he could clamber over the parking brake and assume the position to deliver. She was a multitasker, so she helped him unfasten his shorts at the same time, which freed him up to find one of the condoms he’d pocketed before leaving her apartment early this morning.

  She must’ve ditched her panties somewhere along the way, and dear sweet Jesus, he now loved her sundress even more than he did before, because all she had to do was straddle him and …

  “Oh, yeah,” he said on an exhale as she took him, hard and deep, as she moaned his name, which was, as it always was, a total turn-on. Except yes, that was still the condom that was clenched in his hand instead of covering his penis, where it was far more useful in terms of its efficacy.

  But Eden wasn’t thinking about anything but right now as she moved atop him. She was caught up in the moment, and Izzy knew he had to be the one to call the time-out, except damn, it felt undeniably fantastic to be alive. And without the rubber between them, he was feeling alive to the mega-nth, and it probably felt the same way to her—but shit, that was selfish-asshole thinking. Let’s take a risk and not use a condom because it’ll feel so much better for you, sweetheart …

  He couldn’t get her pregnant. Except he could, quite easily—just by doing what they were doing. Even if he gritted his teeth and kept himself from coming while she climaxed, it could happen. Sperm escaped. Pretty damn regularly. So he gritted his teeth for an entirely different reason and lifted her off of him, saying, “Hang on, sweetheart, let me, I gotta …”

  “Oh, shoot …”

  Reality penetrated her desire-filled fog as he quickly covered himself, even as he tried to make a joke, “No actually, shoot is what I shouldn’t do until this thing is on.”

  But Eden either didn’t hear him or didn’t find him funny because she said, “I didn’t … I wasn’t trying …” She was afraid he thought that she’d jumped him, condom-free, on purpose.

  “Shh,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  But she was still distressed, so he kissed her, which always seemed to bring it down to the bottom line for her. He also used the opportunity to slide the barely-there straps of her dress down her arms, which caused the triangles of fabric that covered her breasts to fall a tantalizing bit. And when she took it further and pushed the straps completely off her arms, it had the effect of a cloth cover being pulled from a masterpiece. Ta-da.

  And Izzy knew he must’ve made some kind of noise of appreciation at the marvelousness of the beautiful, deliciously full breasts that were directly in his face, because she laughed softly, and then moaned as he kissed and licked and tasted and touched.

  And she shifted then, reaching between them, and just like that, he was back inside of her, but not with the near-frantic, mindless urgency with which they’d started, but with something even better. Full awareness of what they were doing. Together. To each other.

  Which wasn’t to say he didn’t miss the mind-blowing sensation of going without a rubber. Because he did. How could he not?

  Eden was thinking along the same lines, because she spoke, her voice breathless in the stillness. “If I went on the pill, we wouldn’t have to use condoms.”

  He lifted his head from his worship of her breasts just long enough to say, “True.”

  But if she went on the pill, it would take a month to get up to speed, so did that mean she was intending to stick around for at least that long? God, he hoped so.

  “I’d like that,” she breathed. “Oh, Lord, that feels so good …”

  “This?” he asked as he used his lips and tongue to suckle her, gently at first and then harder.

  Her moan may have been a yes, and it was emphasized by her pushing him more deeply inside of her, and jay-sus, he felt his eyes damn near roll back in his head, too, as she gasped, “Oh God, it’s too good, but I still want more …”

  And he knew what she meant, because he did, too. And that more was damn near impossible to deliver, here in the confines of this little car. For what he wanted, he needed a bed. And a lot of mirrors. And maybe a sex chair that hung from the ceiling by ropes. And then about fifty years of privacy to give Eden all the more she wanted, whenever she wanted it.

  She was on the same page. “I want to do this on a bed,” she told him. “I want to do what we did last night, all night long. I don’t care if Danny and Jenn are in the bedroom. We can be quiet. You can be quiet, right? Because I can be quiet. I can …”

  She kind of blew the point she was making by coming with a not at all quiet “Oh, Lord! Oh, yes! Yessss …”

  Izzy couldn’t help but laugh, and it was one of those extremely in-the-moment moments where he, with full cognizance, made note of the fact that yes indeedy, he was giving Eden an Orgasm with a capital O, and that she was clutching his T-shirt with both hands as he got to look up at her beautiful face and her gorgeous, tightly peaked breasts, as she continued to stroke his pole with her most intimate parts not merely because doing so made her feel so good, but because she wanted to send him into orbit, too.

  And it seemed impossible that he could enjoy this more than he already was, but since he was right th
ere, eyes open both figuratively and literally, he saw her open her eyes, too, and he saw her smile at the fact that he was laughing. She looked into his eyes and whispered his name like he meant something special to her. And he knew that, at least for the next few heartbeats …?

  He absolutely did.

  * * *

  When Neesha saw how it worked, she faltered.

  Girls would linger on the street, and men would pull up in their cars. The girls would get in. The cars would drive away.

  On the bright side, being in a car limited the amount of violence that any potential client could deliver to her. It also limited the type of sex she could deliver in return, unless, of course, the client drove the car to a deserted part of town.

  And wasn’t that a terrifying thought.

  Although the thought of merely getting into a car with someone was a terrifying one, too. It gave the client the ultimate power, since they could use that car to take her not merely to a deserted part of town, but also back to Mr. Nelson or Todd.

  So Neesha hung back, ducking into a hamburger joint to use the bathroom and check to make sure the scanty, sequined top she’d taken from Eden’s drawer covered her, heart pounding, already ashamed of herself for choosing to do that which she’d vowed she’d never again do.

  But her choices were limited, and she’d latched onto the idea that she’d be safe—safer—in Los Angeles, with a burning determination to get there.

  Or die trying.

  “Customers only,” the man behind the counter said sharply, and sure enough, when Neesha looked up, she saw he was talking to her as he handed a bag of food to a tired-looking blonde in high heels and a very short skirt.

  She didn’t know what he meant.

  “The bathroom,” he said, with plenty of attitude, “is for customers only. You want to use it, you buy a burger or fries. Otherwise, get your whore-ass outta here.”

  Neesha turned to leave, but the blond woman spoke. “She’s with me,” she said in a raspy heavy-smoker’s voice that had the same kind of drawl that Neesha had heard when she’d watched Dallas. “Give me another cheeseburger, Richard, and supersize the fries. Honey, come on over here. You’re new in town, aren’t you? You working with anyone yet?”

  Neesha nodded yes, then shook her head no.

  “Looks like my latest girl blew me off,” the woman said. “Probably too stoned to lift her head offa the bathroom floor. But I got a gig lined up. A private party not far from here, and I sure could use some help. I’ll give you … Hmm. Twenty-five for the night, plus a five-dollar bonus for each gentleman you take into the back room.”

  “You taken up highway robbery now, too, Clarice?” the counter man said.

  “Hush, you.” The woman didn’t even look back at him as she held out the bag with the food to Neesha. “I’ll have you back here in two hours, hon, tops. With cash in your pocket.”

  Neesha looked from her to the counter man, who was shaking his head.

  “What’s a private party?” she asked Clarice, who smiled.

  “Why don’t you come on over here,” the woman said, clicking over to a table in those heels, “and sit down. Have a bite to eat and I’ll tell you exactly where we’re going and how it all shakes down.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Izzy came, hard and fast. Without making a sound.

  Which was a whole lot more difficult than he’d thought, but definitely doable.

  Eden kissed him then, still laughing, because—as she nearly always was—she was on his wavelength, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. Yes, they would definitely be doing this again, later.

  Her kiss was impossibly sweet and almost unbearably tender—the kind of kiss two soulmates share at the end of a movie about them finding each other again after ten years apart. It was the kind of kiss that would happen right before the credits rolled and the happy-ever-after was solidly in hand.

  And as Eden pulled back to look at him in the dim light from the rental car’s dashboard, he saw tears in her beautiful eyes and he found himself—rather suddenly, as if he’d fallen out of his bunk onto the hard, cold, metal deck in the middle of a deep REM sleep—pulled out of what should have been the afterglow of a truly magnificent moment.

  His body was still humming from his recent release. She was still warm and soft around him, and her breasts were still tantalizingly bare.

  She was so fucking beautiful. But Cynthia was beautiful, and Maria was beautiful, and Tracy had been beautiful, and Renee had been, too. Izzy had bumped into beautiful often enough in his life to know that mere beauty wasn’t enough. It was the brain clicking away in Eden’s gorgeous head that had brought him running back for more.

  And when Danny’s credo popped into his mind—Is the fucking you’re getting worth the fucking you’re getting?—Izzy’s current answer was an immediate Hoo-yah, yeah.

  But that didn’t make it hurt any less when she whispered, “You know, I never stopped loving you.”

  And he knew how to play the game. He knew that was his cue to embrace the lie and to kiss her back with that same Hollywood tenderness while he murmured, “Ah, baby, you know, I still really love you, too.”

  But he was tired of it—of her revisionist history. And even though he knew that in this moment she believed it was true, it goddamn wasn’t. If she’d really never stopped loving him—if she’d ever really loved him in the first place—she would’ve let that love give her strength and comfort when Pinkie died instead of running her ass away and hiding from him all those goddamned months.

  So he hesitated and some of what he was thinking must’ve flickered in his eyes, because she got very still and asked, “Do you believe me?”

  Of course I do. Izzy knew he should say it. It was his ticket to getting his rocks off again later tonight—which he already wanted to do, pretty freaking desperately.

  But he was also filled with an overwhelming urge to be honest and just say no.

  And in the end, he didn’t have to say anything, because she said it for him, as she pulled herself off of him, as there was nothing for him to do but lift himself over the parking brake and back into the driver’s seat.

  “Of course you don’t believe me,” she said quietly as she pulled up the front of her dress and got her straps back into place. “I don’t blame you, I really don’t. And it’s okay. It is. I always do this—too much, too soon. It’s just … what I do. I get scared and …”

  She shook her head and didn’t finish her sentence, and yet it was the most honest thing she’d said. She got scared. No shit, Sherlock. And when she was scared, she tried—any way that she could—to make her future less of an unknown and as secure as possible. And if she had to do that by making herself indispensible via copious amounts of sex …?

  So be it.

  “I’m going to be honest with you here,” Izzy said, just as quietly as he set to work cleaning himself up. The condom went in a plastic grocery bag because tossing it onto the pavement of the parking lot wasn’t merely nasty for poor Ferd Quertmansonton, who was going to be late for work tomorrow morning, and therefore he’d get stuck parking here in the distant reaches of the lot. Which meant he would be even later because he’d have to make the hike to the office building through the blistering heat, so he’d hurry and wouldn’t look where he was stepping as he got out of his car, which meant he’d skid on the used condom, which wouldn’t just gross him out, but would give him an excuse for his tardiness as he’d stop to make a call to security, who clearly wasn’t patrolling the lot as often as they should at night, the negligent bastards. And that—the potentially stepped-up security—would be très nasty for Izzy, who had already marked this location as a place to return for some desperately needed privacy, should the five-people-living-in-a-tiny-one-bedroom-apartment thing become temporarily permanent. Of course, that was also dependent upon Eden still wanting to continue getting jiggy after they had this conversation, in which he was going to be honest.

  “But I
want to start out with us both in the same place, okay?” Izzy continued. “So you have to be honest, too. Here it comes, ready?”

  Eden wasn’t looking at him, and it was possible that she shook her head no.

  He said it anyway. “The sex? Me and you? Is freaking unbelievable. I mean, I’m talking fan-fucking-tastic.”

  She smiled at that, but she still didn’t look at him. She was giving her full attention to turning her panties—white, but not at all virginal—right side out.

  “Do you agree?” he pushed her, as he tucked himself in and zipped his shorts back up. “A simple yes or no will suffice.”

  “Yes,” Eden conceded.

  “Good,” Izzy said. “It’s now an established fact that we both think the sex is great. Let’s put another indisputable fact into our little world. Because I think we can probably also agree that you didn’t marry me because you loved me.”

  “What if I did?” she said suddenly, turning to face him. “You don’t know what I was feeling.”

  Eden could be pretty freaking convincing when she wanted to, but …

  “Ah, come on,” Izzy said. “You still barely know me. I’m just some teammate of your brother’s that you collided with once, when you were having a really shitty night.”

  And then, six months later, she’d made the mistake of implying that the not-entirely-shitty night she’d spent at Izzy’s place had resulted in her being six months pregnant. And instead of denying that it was impossible, that the baby couldn’t be his because they hadn’t had the kind of sex where essential baby-making body parts had connected, Izzy had gone with Dan, to see Eden, who was back with her mother and stepfather in Vegas. And he’d been so charmed by and enamored with her all over again that he’d offered to marry her—to give her health care for her pregnancy and delivery, and to give her someplace to live besides that crappy house with her fucking lunatic stepfather—the same fucking lunatic stepfather who was now breaking their balls about Ben.

  It hadn’t been about sex—Izzy and Eden’s legal arrangement—or so he’d claimed. But they both knew that it had been about sex at least on some level, because Izzy’d been as hot for her then as he was now. Except back then, he’d kept his distance as much as he could, because he’d been stupid enough to believe that he was courting her. He’d stupidly believed that if he took his time and tamed her, like some wild animal, she would come to trust him, and maybe even love him, too.