by Shayla Black
His heart drummed more than it should when he found her texts. She kept the device clean, had obviously deleted older messages. There were a few from Tower and Jessica that told him nothing except they messaged one another frequently. Her texts from Maggie were mostly pictures of wedding details. But the top message was from a private number. He clicked into it and scrolled down, knowing that once he traveled this road he couldn’t go back.
He couldn’t unsee her with another man . . . but leaving her vulnerable to a violent extortionist or two simply because he was feeling jealous or morally squeamish wasn’t an option.
The video had already been downloaded and with the tap of a finger it opened. In the very first frame, a big, buff guy with a tattoo of an eagle holding a flag that read SEMPER FI filled a muscled back. The bird’s talons held a globe, and an anchor trailed. Above the image sprawled a familiar script that read UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. The guy had backed Shealyn against the dressing room’s mirror and buried his face in her neck. He pulled at the yoga pants around her hips. Her eyes were closed and slightly red, like her nose, as if she’d been crying. Her shirt hung off one shoulder as she gripped his belt loops.
Before he hit the button to begin the video, Cutter already knew this would be hard to see. Hell, even this single image felt like a knife to the gut. But Shealyn wasn’t his—never would be—and time was limited. He couldn’t put this off.
He tapped the little forward arrow. The six-minute clip started rolling.
Panting breaths filled his ears. One of the guy’s hands plucked at the strings of her pants as he brushed kisses along her jaw. His other hand disappeared inside the front of the garment to cup her. She gasped. Her puffy red eyes flew open.
It was more obvious now that she’d been crying—hard. Had they gotten here because she’d asked for this guy’s “comfort”? Or had he seduced her in an unguarded moment?
“Foster!”
So that was his name. Cutter already despised him, though he admittedly knew zero about this stranger.
“Shh.” Once he finished unraveling the ties securing her pants, he lifted his hand to cover her mouth. “We can’t let anyone hear us. Just enjoy, baby. Let me make you feel good. It’s been a long time since anyone gave you pleasure, right?” He replaced his hand with his lips, nudging them apart and diving inside for a more intimate kiss. Finally, he pulled back. “Right?”
“We shouldn’t do this.”
“If we’re quiet, no one will know. It’s just the two of us. Let me touch you. I’ll make you feel so good,” Foster crooned as he changed the angle of his arm and seemingly delved deeper between her legs before leaning in to take possession of her lips again, cutting off Shealyn’s reply.
He wasn’t listening to her and he wasn’t giving her a chance to say no. Cutter wanted to punch the son of a bitch.
Slowly, Shealyn raised her arms to curl around Foster’s shoulders and gave in. Cutter wished he could stop her.
On the video, the douche moved in quickly, dragging kisses down her neck as he pulled away her shirt. Her bra was gone in seconds, and those pretty, plump breasts with the blushing pink nipples Cutter could still taste popped into view. Foster stroked her, pinched the hard tips, kissed her shoulders, then shoved her pants down her thighs. As he kicked them away, he tore into his fly and pushed his jeans low enough for his junk to spring free. At least that’s what Cutter surmised. He still hadn’t gotten a view of this guy from any angle except from the back or slivers of his profile in the mirror.
Had Foster intentionally chosen this position because he’d known the camera couldn’t capture his face?
As the guy fished in his pocket for a condom, he kissed her lips long and rough again. Shealyn’s eyes slid shut, her head lolling back. When he broke away, she looked between them, breaths soft and rapid as Foster apparently sheathed himself.
Then he hoisted her up, arms and shoulders bulging as he braced her against the mirror and wriggled into position. “I can’t believe I’m touching you.”
Cutter gripped the phone harder. Hadn’t he said the same thing to her not thirty minutes ago? Yep. No wonder she’d pushed him away.
Then Foster loosened his hold on her legs, letting gravity do his dirty work, while he pressed his hips forward. “Oh, baby. Yeah . . .”
Steeling himself against wanting to hunt this guy down and beat him spitless, Cutter forced himself to watch while Shealyn gasped and clung to his shoulders, as her legs rose above his hips, as something like shock crossed her face.
Once he was buried completely, Foster groaned, then immediately set a lightning pace, using his beefy arms and rapid thrusts to impale her over and over. Shealyn flushed and bit her lip to hold in a gasp, squeezing her eyes shut. Even when she scratched into his shoulders, leaving long, angry trails, her lover didn’t pause and didn’t relent. He simply drove one hard stroke after another, grinding against her until her body tensed. Until he growled low, clearly trying to hold in a moan.
“I’m fucking you, Shealyn. You like it? You gonna come for me?”
She tried to fling her head back, but against the mirror she could only arch and rock with him.
From the video, Cutter could tell that Shealyn had wanted pleasure with Foster. She had pursued it, writhing, breaths hard, nipples even more rigid. She whimpered. But her feelings for the man were less discernible.
“Get it, baby. Yeah . . . That’s so good. Come with me,” Foster said when he drove up into her one more time and all but froze except the shuddering of his body as he climaxed.
Cutter tried not to look at the asshole, tried not to think about what he was doing inside Shealyn in that moment. Instead, he focused on her face. When Foster was giving her his big porn-star finish, she wasn’t tensing and holding in a cry as her body shook with satisfaction. Not even close. Foster was losing his hold on her, so she’d braced her palms against the walls of the little stall. Frustration wrinkled her brow, turned down her mouth. As Foster withdrew on a long, satisfied sigh, she stiffly lowered her legs beneath her again and covered herself by wrapping her arms around her. Instant regret filled her face.
She was glad the sex was over.
As victories went, it was small for Cutter. But he was damn glad she hadn’t given her pleasure, much less her soul, to this dirtbag who pulled back and zipped up with a grin. His cocky expression, reflected in the mirror, said he was pretty proud of himself for a whole lot of nothing.
And Cutter finally had a face to go with the name and the tattoo. Gotcha.
He paused the video, took a screen shot of the guy’s mug, then texted it to his own phone. The second the message delivered and he felt his pocket vibrate, he deleted it from her messages and the image from her photos. Yeah, if she looked hard, she could find a record of what he’d done, but Cutter hoped by then this shit would be resolved and she might forgive him. If she didn’t . . . Well, he needed to remember that she was a job, not a commitment . . . even if she didn’t feel that way to him right now. If he exposed her blackmailer without her sex video going public, she would thank him. Someday.
Cutter thumbed the video again to watch the last few seconds and see if he could gather anything about the positioning of the camera or who might have been wielding it. But the video abruptly ended as if it had been cropped short. Son of a bitch.
Still, he knew ways to work this to his advantage.
When he tapped the screen to close the video, he realized the shower was no longer on. Abruptly, the pop music that had been bouncing in the background cut off. He couldn’t let Shealyn know that he’d seen the footage before he was ready to confront her. They didn’t need to argue about it; he just needed information.
Darkening the screen, he dashed across the room on silent footfalls and set the device on the kitchen counter, exactly where he’d found it on the marble surface. By then he could hear her approaching the door to he
r bedroom. She was probably looking for him, and he needed a cover story. So he flipped on the coffeemaker.
Warily, she made her way into the room, wearing the blue pajama top and shorts she’d been wearing earlier, but this time there was no escaping the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d twisted her hair into a messy bun. Her face looked freshly scrubbed. Though she appeared weary, he could also tell she wasn’t too exhausted to be suspicious.
“What’s going on?” She glanced between him and her phone on the counter, breathing an unconscious sigh of relief when she found it where she’d left it.
When she snatched it up, he pushed down his niggling guilt. “Hope you don’t mind if I have a cup of decaf.”
“Of course not.”
“You ready for bed?”
“Yeah. That four A.M. run is going to come early.” Shealyn turned back toward her bedroom.
Without a thought, Cutter went to her and cupped her shoulder. The instant he touched her, the anticipation of being near her all night wound into a knot of arousal. She gasped as if she felt it, too. Their stares collided. Tension hung thick between them. Slowly, he released her.
“I was just going to say that Barney isn’t foolproof. Nothing is. Until we’re sure none of your attackers will try to permanently implant you on the grill of his sedan, maybe running a predictable path around your neighborhood isn’t a great idea.”
She stepped back. “I love my outdoor runs, but I see your point. I have an exercise room downstairs. I can work out there for now. That way you don’t have to babysit me.”
He didn’t tell her that he intended to keep an eye on her every moment of every day until this was over because the threat of blackmail being upgraded to stalking and attempted murder changed everything.
He shrugged. “Are you okay to get into bed if I follow in a minute? I’ve got a boss back in Louisiana who gets cranky if I don’t check in periodically.”
“This late?” She glanced at the clock on the microwave. “It’s nearly two in the morning there.”
“Logan is used to it. I won’t be long.”
“Sure.” She sounded disappointed, but thankfully not afraid.
Cutter counted that as a blessing as he watched her go, then he unlocked his phone with his thumbprint and found the image he’d texted himself from Shealyn’s device. He couldn’t look at her tousled hair and red cheeks without remembering that Foster, whoever the hell he was, hadn’t sated her. Watching someone else touching her had made him grit his teeth, but seeing how unfulfilled she’d been made him burn. Cutter knew he could make her scream and put a satisfied smile on her face.
It wasn’t smart, but he ached for the fucking chance to prove it.
Reminding himself to focus, he texted Logan to see if the Edgington brother was still awake. You there? I’ve got more problems.
Hit me, came the quick reply.
Cutter saved a copy of the photo and cropped Shealyn out. What viewers saw on TV was fake, but the idea of anyone else seeing her in an unstaged moment of intimacy didn’t sit well with Cutter. If he had no past and no other responsibilities, every one of those moments from now on would be reserved for him. Though Logan was as married as they came and loved his wife, Tara, as well as their twin daughters, the image of Shealyn tousled and rosy cheeked, her breasts barely covered, could tempt any man.
Cutter knew he sounded like a stupid bastard. Why did he have it so bad for her? It wasn’t because she was famous. It wasn’t simply because she exuded this innocent sexiness that drew him. It was because she hit him on an instinctual level. It was because the second he’d met her, something inside him had seemingly clicked.
Find out the identity of this guy. His name is Foster. He’s probably a former Marine. I need answers yesterday. Rumor is he’s in a coma and he has a sister named Faith. Cutter sent the image of Shealyn’s ex with the accompanying text to Logan.
It will be tomorrow before I get started but I’ll work fast. He dangerous?
I don’t know.
K. I’ll work faster. Anything else?
About this case, no. Cutter’s lingering questions were more personal. How had Logan known when he was in love? The passionate, forever kind, not the sort Cutter felt for Brea. Had there been a defining moment? A sudden realization? Or a slow understanding? Cutter had no way of knowing if this epic lust twisting him up was the prelude to something more. And knowing he had to spend a whole night next to Shealyn without touching her was fucking with his head.
No. Thanks.
Logan sent him back a thumbs-up emoji. Cutter darkened his phone.
No putting off what he needed to do next. He’d promised Shealyn he would protect her while she slept. He’d sworn he would lie beside her so she could feel safe.
With a sigh, he rose, tossed on a pair of shorts, made a cup of decaf he’d probably never touch, and headed toward her bedroom.
* * *
—
Shealyn rolled over, cuddled up with her pillow. When had it gotten so hard? And so hot? She frowned and wriggled, trying to find a more comfortable spot.
She encountered another body instead, someone male and big—someone she’d wrapped herself around during the chilly night.
Cutter.
In the dim light, she slowly rolled away so she wouldn’t wake him and studied his strong features. He wasn’t classically handsome. His nose was perhaps a little too strong, his face too lean and sharp. But his broad slash of a mouth made up for that. He knew how to use it, too. She remembered the flash of heat that had scorched her veins the moment he’d kissed her.
Visually, she wandered down to wide, bare shoulders, bulging arms, and big hands. She swallowed as the burn of desire rekindled between her legs. Even being in the same room with this man made her ache, but lying beside him . . . She’d had a difficult time falling asleep when he’d returned to her room wearing nothing more than a pair of black athletic shorts. Now that she’d awakened to the feel of her skin against his, going back to sleep would likely be impossible. Visions of what they could be doing together right now racked her with the kind of urgent desire she’d often portrayed on TV but never actually experienced.
Holding in a sigh, she glanced at the clock. Three thirty A.M. She had to get up in thirty minutes anyway. And she should be thankful for the three hours of sleep she had managed. If Cutter hadn’t been beside her, Shealyn suspected she would have gotten zero. Tower had suggested that she needed a dog for companionship and protection, and she loved them . . . but it wasn’t fair to leave an animal more or less by itself for sixteen hours a day.
Forcing herself to close her eyes, she tried to focus on her lines for today’s shots. Work wasn’t holding her attention. She shifted to the baseball diamond, to the money drop. She’d barely glimpsed that car, had been far too blinded to see a face. She’d been too panicked to think of memorizing the license plate. And short of suddenly and cleverly figuring out who in her life wanted to do her harm, Shealyn didn’t see how anything she remembered could be of any use to Cutter. Maybe, if she told him the truth she didn’t want anyone to know, he could figure out who sought to extort money from her and wasn’t opposed to killing her or Cutter. Maybe . . . but after being in his arms last night, after feeling so desired, could she really show him the video of her moment of weakness with another man?
The regret wasn’t just that she’d had sex with Foster, but the way he’d made her feel. Like a trophy. Like what they’d done had been a cheap achievement for him. Like she had been irrelevant as a woman—as a person. Like only her fame had made the sex special. As if they’d never been friends . . . of a sort. And she probably should have seen that coming.
Cutter seemed different. Seemed being the operative word. Maybe he was. Maybe he didn’t care so much for her fame. But when she’d heard him echo the same sentiment Foster had in the dressing room, I can’t believe I’m t
ouching you, it had rubbed her the wrong way. Did he think a famous woman should feel any different than one who lived next door?
Tonight had proven she could trust Cutter with her safety. Trouble was, she wasn’t sure the same was true of her body . . . or her heart.
With a sigh, she rolled and turned her back to him. It didn’t matter. Even if he was the best guy ever, what kind of relationship could they have except a sexual one? If he solved her case quickly, he’d be leaving in four days. Did she really want to take on a lover? Run the risk of a tabloid scandal and possibly add another regret beyond the Foster mess?
Not so much.
Shealyn tried to clear her mind, told herself that if she slept through her workout this once it wouldn’t be the end of the world. She’d eat kale, celery, and baked chicken for a week, if she had to. After all the turmoil of the past few days, the oblivion of sleep would be so welcome.
She woke again with a start, surprisingly cold. How long had she drifted off? A glance at the clock told her it had been nearly two hours. Yet she didn’t feel rested.
Stretching, she groaned, knowing that she was going to have to drag her ass out of bed if she wanted to make it to the studio on time. On her right, she felt her way across a barely warm sheet. Cutter was gone.
With a worried frown, she sat up. What could possibly make him leave her side? He was a lot of things, but never irresponsible. Something as simple as the need for coffee? Or something as terrible as the need to fight off an intruder?
Easing off the bed, she crept toward the bedroom door to peek across the house at the coffeemaker in the kitchen when she realized the bathroom door was nearly shut. She usually left that open when she slept so she didn’t have to navigate a barrier if she had to answer nature’s call in the middle of the night. She also never left on the light, but a sliver of it escaped from under the door. In fact, now that she was awake and paying attention, the faint sounds of water pelting the tiles inside the shower reached her ears.