by Ella Frank
“I’m here,” Bailey said in his most professional tone. “I need to ask you a few questions, if you have a minute.”
When a long pause followed, he shut his eyes and waited.
“Of course. Is everything okay? You sound…different.”
No shit. Usually, he was calling as a friend or colleague, not to see if Priest’s ex had stolen his car. The same ex Bailey had wanted to see naked in bed, and was annoyed at because he hadn’t.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to alarm you. I’m calling because I pulled Henri over tonight, and when I—”
“Wait a second,” Priest interrupted. “Did you just say you pulled Henri over? As in, my Henri?”
His Henri? Bailey thought, as the rain began to ease and the car ahead was easier to see. Is that how Priest sees him? Is that how Henri sees himself? As Priest’s?
Then he heard his name repeated in his ear. “Uh, yes. That Henri. I pulled him over tonight for running a red light and speeding.”
Priest muttered something that Bailey didn’t quite catch, and when nothing else followed, Bailey continued.
“When I ran his plates, the car he’s driving—an Aston Martin?—came back registered to you.”
“I’m going to kill him.” Priest’s voice was so calm, so sure, that for a second, Bailey actually believed him.
“So he did steal it?”
“What?” Priest said, as if what Bailey had just said made no sense at all.
“Your car? The Aston Martin? I’m trying to find out if Henri stole it or—”
A raspy chuckle filtered through the phone. “Would serve him right if I said yes.”
Bailey frowned. “So…he didn’t steal it?”
“No, he didn’t.” Priest let out an aggrieved sigh. “He’s, uh, borrowing it.”
Priest wasn’t at all convincing in his answer, and for a man who was usually so sure, Bailey found himself doubting his friend. “Look, I get you two have a history, but if he stole your—”
“He didn’t, I promise. But can you give him a message for me?”
Bailey nodded, and when he realized Priest couldn’t see him, he said, “Yes, of course.”
“Can you let him know that I’ll be in touch to discuss this little incident further? Very soon.”
Priest’s tone told Bailey that whatever he was going to say to Henri about all of this would likely be worse than anything Bailey could do to him. So he let Priest know that he would pass the message on before he said, “I hope you three had a good time on your honeymoon.”
Bailey could all but see the smile in Priest’s voice as he said, “Oui. Paris was parfait. We didn’t want to come home.”
“I bet. Say hi to the guys for me, would you?”
Priest assured him that he would, and after they said their goodbyes, Bailey eyed the Aston Martin and took one last look at the license in his hand.
He needed to nip this in the bud, let Henri go with a warning this time around, but as he made his way toward the vehicle, he couldn’t help but wonder what Henri would be doing in an hour or so.
No, Bailey reprimanded himself.
What was that old saying? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. And Bailey quickly reminded himself that he was raised to be nobody’s fool, least of all Henri Boudreaux’s.
Chapter Seven
CONFESSION
Tell me something’s off-limits,
and I’ll want it even more.
HENRI FELT AS though he’d entered the Twilight Zone, an episode where everything had been turned on its ass, as he focused on the patrol car a couple of feet behind him where Bailey—Officer Bailey—had just disappeared to.
Christ, as if the fact that his Blue from two weeks ago was a cop wasn’t bad enough, that last name and whom Henri had just been meeting up with this morning somehow made this all feel a little…coincidental, somehow. What were the odds that there were two Baileys on the Chicago police force that shared blue eyes, a desire to fight crime, and an unfortunate penchant for the truth?
It might’ve been a coincidence, but Henri was starting to think that when it came to him and this particular guy, there were no coincidences. Just the universe having a really good laugh as it continued to throw the two of them together to see how they’d handle each new fucked-up situation.
So far, he hadn’t handled it very well. It was just his luck that the first guy his dick was interested in had to wield a gun and a badge, because life would be too simple if Bailey worked in an office behind a fucking computer, wouldn’t it?
But when the door of the patrol car reopened and Bailey climbed out, Henri wondered how much convincing it would take for the man of his dreams to come home with him for a night after the stunt he’d pulled. A lot, he was thinking, as Bailey made his way back to him with sure, steady strides that said the likelihood of that happening was nothing more than wishful thinking.
That was probably for the best in the long run, though, because Henri getting involved with a cop would be a really stupid idea.
“Officer,” Henri said as he rested his forearm on the open window frame, and glanced out at Bailey, who was looking down at him with a frown that did nothing to detract from his appeal.
If anything, it just made him more attractive, more off-limits—which, of course, made him all the more tempting.
“So,” Bailey said, and tapped the documents he held on his palm. “I called Priest, and—”
“Shit. I was hoping you wouldn’t do that.” Henri could only imagine what he’d had to say about all of this.
“Well, I did, and he told me you didn’t steal the car. So I would say it went better for you than it could have. He also told me to let you know that he’ll be in touch.”
Henri opened his mouth to respond, but then shut it again as he thought over Bailey’s words. “You really thought I stole his car?” When Bailey said nothing to disagree, Henri added, “I told you I didn’t.”
Henri couldn’t be certain, since it was still dark outside, but he was almost positive Bailey’s lips twitched as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“If I believed everything a person said to me when I pulled them over, I’d be out of a job.”
Good point, Henri supposed, but… “I doubt you’ve invited every single person you’ve pulled over to spend the night with you either, have you?”
Bailey’s lips went from a grin to a scowl in less than a second. “Something you decided you weren’t interested in, if I recall.”
“Oh, I was interested,” Henri said. “It’s just…something came up that night.”
Bailey said nothing, just held the license and registration out. As Henri reached for them, Bailey tightened his grip. “I should be writing you a ticket.”
“Then write me one.”
Bailey licked his lips, his fingers still tight on the papers between them, as a war between his body and mind played out right before Henri’s eyes.
Then he let go of the items. “Where were you going so early this morning, anyway? This weather is pretty bad for a joyride.”
Henri knew he didn’t have to answer that now that Priest had confirmed the car wasn’t stolen. The only thing Bailey had on him were the driving violations, and his answer here wouldn’t change those, one way or another.
“Maybe I spent the night at someone’s house.”
Henri wasn’t sure how Bailey would respond to that, but when he automatically asked, “Did you?” Henri figured things were definitely looking up—something his cock was in agreement with.
“No…I didn’t.” A smile slowly curled his lips at Bailey’s irritated expression, and Henri liked to think that just maybe the officer had been having the same difficulties sleeping lately that he had. “I’ve been too busy regretting a night from two weeks ago to go and look somewhere else.”
Bailey eyed Henri closely, obviously trying to decide whether to believe him. But just in case there were any lingering doubts, Henri added, “I’ve been dreamin
’ about you. About that night and what it would’ve been like.”
Bailey slowly nodded and braced a hand on the car roof. “Guess you should keep dreaming, then, because now you’ll never know. I’m letting you go with a warning this morning. If I stop you again, you won’t be so lucky.”
Bailey straightened and headed back to his car. Henri watched him go and couldn’t help but think he just might risk getting arrested if it meant getting a chance to talk to that man again—or at least risk a visit to a certain Priest to get that hot cop’s number.
“I’VE BEEN DREAMIN’ about you…”
Henri’s words had been on repeat in Bailey’s head ever since he’d left him back in the rain nearly three hours ago. But as he pushed through the front door of his mid-century home, he headed straight for the kitchen, determined to have a quick bite to eat before falling into bed and switching his brain off.
Switching it off to his tired body.
Switching it off to that night in Oshkosh.
And switching it off to the man with the sinful mouth and a bad habit of disappearing into thin fucking air.
Bailey still couldn’t believe that tonight—well, this morning, really—had actually happened. That out of all of the people in Chicago, he’d pulled over the only man who’d ever tempted him into a one-night stand. Not that that night had actually happened, Bailey thought, as he tossed his keys on the small table in the breakfast nook and walked over to the fridge.
A quick inspection of the contents revealed his serious lack of choices, and after he grabbed the orange juice and milk, he went and rummaged around for some cereal.
One bowl of Cheerios later, and he was back to doing what he’d promised himself he wouldn’t—thinking about Henri. Not that he had much to go on, and maybe that was the problem. Maybe if he knew more, this guy wouldn’t be such a mystery—he’d just be another guy.
But Bailey didn’t know more. All he knew was Henri’s name—first and last now—so that was a step in the right direction, at least. He knew that Priest was his ex, and that Henri lived in Chicago in a really nice area that Bailey may, or may not have, looked up after he’d let Henri go this morning.
He had a few misdemeanors here and there, but nothing recently, and certainly nothing to warrant a red flag, and that was it. That was all Bailey knew, other than Henri’s voice was like velvet when he whispered in Bailey’s ear, and he smelled incredible. Like sex and sin all wrapped up in one dangerous package. He was addictive and potent, and that thought had Bailey getting up from the table and dumping his bowl in the sink. The last thing he needed to do was obsess over a guy who had left him without a word the night of Priest’s wedding.
Why had he left like that, anyway? I was a sure thing for him that night. Something came up? Yeah…right.
It’d been embarrassing enough the first time around, wondering what he’d done to turn Henri off. But it had also been a stark reminder why Bailey didn’t do the one-night-stand thing in the first place.
Unlike a relationship you were actually invested in, a one-nighter meant walking out the next day and never looking back. Detaching from the situation, not giving a fuck how the other person felt. And regardless of whether they knew each other well, being left without so much as a word had left him feeling like shit. It had made him paranoid, pissed off, and, most of all, Bailey thought as he stripped out of his shirt and unzipped his jeans, it had left him frustrated as hell.
He drew the blackout curtains closed with a little more force than necessary, then he shoved his jeans off and climbed into bed. As his head hit the pillow, he closed his eyes and tried to drift off, but his mind once again circled back to Henri.
Shit. Maybe Xander was right and Bailey was working too hard. All these hours he’d been pulling lately had really kept him out of the dating loop, and maybe that was what was messing with him.
Maybe his own damn loneliness was the reason he was looking in Henri’s direction. But there was no denying it: Bailey was looking, and thinking, and craving Henri, even though he’d done everything he could to bury his reaction to him.
Bailey squeezed his eyes shut, willing his exhaustion to take over his obsession. Henri was nothing but trouble, Bailey knew it, could feel it. But there was no shaking him. Henri Boudreaux had weaved some kind of spell over him, and Bailey had to wonder what it was going to take to break it.
Chapter Eight
CONFESSION
The best way to stay out of trouble is
to not go looking for it, or so I’m told.
Pity I’ve never been very good at listening.
FRIDAY MORNING, HENRI made his way across the marble lobby of one of downtown’s tallest buildings and came to a standstill at a bank of elevators, where the morning crowd of suits all waited for one to arrive.
Damn lawyers—they always made him uneasy. They looked like a bunch of lemmings about to follow each other off the edge of the earth. But he needed to talk to one lawyer in particular, so Henri was willing to brave assimilation to get the information he was after.
He was on a mission this morning, one that he’d thought about a couple of weeks ago but decided it wasn’t worth the shit he’d have to deal with. But after his run-in yesterday with Bailey, and knowing he was going to have to deal with Priest sooner or later anyway, Henri figured, why not make it on his terms? That way, he held the cards.
Jesus, these elevators take forever, Henri thought, and it hadn’t escaped his attention that several of the others waiting were staring at him.
The woman to his right was particularly obvious in her disapproval. Not that he gave two shits. She was dressed in a black pin skirt with a white blouse and matching jacket. Her black stilettos, string of pearls, and Louis Vuitton bag screamed money for everyone to see. Just as her upturned nose and assessing once-over of him screamed snob for him to see.
Henri knew his height often intimidated people, as did his piercing and the fact he was wearing jeans and leather in a corporate building. But shit, lady, I showered and put a belt on this morning. You can stop clutching your pearls. She wasn’t his type anyway, and as the elevator dinged and the doors opened, Henri stepped forward and held an arm out to keep them that way.
The woman passed by quickly and scurried to the back—as far away from him as possible—and once it was full and the doors slid shut, Henri couldn’t help himself. He glanced over his shoulder and winked at her, and those judgmental eyes widened until they all but encompassed her face.
Henri shook his head. He would never understand people’s ability to judge someone before they knew them, and he couldn’t help but wonder what her reaction would’ve been if he’d been in a suit and holding a briefcase.
Twenty bazillion floors later, Henri reached the top level of Mitchell & Madison and stepped out into one of the most impressive lobbies he’d ever been in. Over the years he’d worked many different jobs, some legal, some not so legal, and while he hadn’t officially been on the books at any of the law firms in New Orleans—more like paid under the table—he’d been around enough lawyers to know that you only got an office like this if you were really fucking good.
So it was no surprise to him that this was where Priest had landed, because as far as Henri knew, Priest was the best.
Henri looked around the currently empty space and made his way toward the curved mahogany desk directly in front of him. There was a large, mottled glass divider that boldly announced the firm’s name to anyone who was unsure of where they were, and the soft strains of classical music that filled the area reminded a person they were in a place that required a certain amount of decorum—something he was surely lacking.
Henri glanced at the clock on the wall, and saw it was just about to turn eight thirty. He was early, but he also knew Priest, and if this place said it opened at eight, then that meant Priest would be here at seven thirty—if not earlier.
Just as he was about to shoot off a text to the princess asking where his grumpier half was, a man in
a navy suit, wearing black-rimmed glasses, walked around the divider with a coffee cup in hand.
“Tiffany, did you get the—” When he noticed no one was there, he frowned and was clearly about to go off in search for “Tiffany” when he looked up and noticed Henri standing there.
Henri waited for the usual once-over and dismissal from the man who was clearly someone important, judging by the tailored cut of his suit and commanding way he held himself. But instead, he stepped around the desk and walked over.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you standing there. I don’t know where Tiffany has disappeared to. Has anyone helped you yet?”
The man then held his hand out, and as Henri shook it, he was struck by what an incredibly good-looking person he was staring at.
“Are you here to see someone? Maybe I can help. I’m Logan Mitchell, one of the owners here.”
No shit, Henri thought, as Logan’s full lips curved into an arrogant grin. He was no doubt used to people being struck dumb by his face, and that was when Henri was hit with an image, a flash of recognition from Priest’s wedding, when a ridiculously attractive man had blocked his attempt to talk with his former friend.
This was that man. He was one of Priest’s work partners? Wonder how Julien and Robbie feel about that?
“Yeah, hi. I’m actually looking for Joel. He’s not expecting me, but—”
“You’re looking for Priest?” The intelligent eyes behind those glasses, which had been nothing but professional a second ago, were now giving Henri a very different kind of once-over. One that was both appreciative and…curious.
“That’s right. Priest,” Henri said. “I always forget that’s what he goes by around here.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed, but then he chuckled. “I thought that’s what he went by just about everywhere.”
Henri gave a tight-lipped smile, and when it was clear he wasn’t going to elaborate further, Logan turned and headed back to the front desk. Henri followed him across the lobby. Logan picked up the phone and hit a button, cradled the receiver between his ear and shoulder, and said, “Who should I say is calling?”