Among the Flames (Kisses and Crimes Book 3)
Page 4
Finally, I begged my childhood best friend for a part-time job—anything to put me back in the gossip mill, back to covering the tracks of the same unsavory characters I’d made my name off of.
My greatest collar? Marco Morelli.
My childhood boyfriend. And the first real bust I’d ever made.
Just thinking about him trapped my heart in my throat. Nothing had been harder than leaving my first love. Five years ago, I’d let him into my life for the last time. Three years after that, he was sitting in someone’s prison, presumably seething.
And I was the person who put him there.
Hearing his name only worsened my mood, and when my cell phone pinged in my purse, I was only too happy for the momentary interruption. The tiny touch of happiness solidified into something real… when I realized who the notification was from. This was a name that I had missed, a welcome distraction that I wasn’t giving up any time soon.
I tapped my screen.
Parker:
Fun interview, Santiago?
Sienna:
I wouldn’t go right to fun…
Parker:
Hmm, don’t like the sound of that. Grumpy today?
Sienna:
Grumpy… yes. When your interviewer tries to grope your ass, it tends to make a person a little prickly.
Parker responded fast.
Parker:
He tried to touch you…?
I could tell his mood had darkened.
Sienna:
It’s fine.
Parker:
…
He waited another few seconds.
Parker:
No, it’s not.
I frowned.
Sienna:
It’s not what?
Parker:
Fine. And neither are you. You’re nobody’s playtoy, Sienna.
Sienna:
I know that. And so did he… right after I threw his Columbian brew back in his face.
Parker sent me the “surprise face” emoji before typing back.
Parker:
I hope that shit was hot.
Sienna:
Not hot enough…
From there, we talked about everything: my passion for “law,” his political consulting. For a man as passionate as Parker was, his work sure seemed dull, and the prospect of working for a crisis-management group sounded less appealing than the TV show Scandal had made it out to be.
From what Parker told me about his job, it was a lot of paperwork. But at least he was doing what he loved; I wasn’t, and when I tried to make a joke about it, he stopped me, telling me that I was so much better than that secretary job I’d fumbled—a little white lie I told to cover my tracks.
He said that I should apply for a better job, a better assignment—somewhere my passion was. He told me that my heart was in the law, and if I ever wanted to do something that mattered to me, that law was where I was supposed to start.
I swallowed, licking my dry lips. Because Parker was right. My heart definitely was in the law. And right now, it was beating a million pulses per second, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the fucked-up interview I just suffered through… and everything to do with the way he was talking to me.
I had to admit: Out of all the dates I’d taken a chance on, Parker was the most insightful, not to mention fun. I only hoped that he wasn’t a waste of my time. I never met a man who seemed so normal, and at the same time, was anything but…
Parker Daniels was truly unique. And I was falling for a faceless man, a man with whom warning bells should have been going off. It should have felt…wrong, this “whatever-ship” with Parker, but that was exactly my problem. I reveled in the “wrongness” that was him, actually enjoyed it. I knew I was getting too close to the fire, but honestly? I lived for this shit.
I would have made a shitty federal agent if I didn’t. Then again, maybe that was the reason I was fired: I never learned when enough was enough.
I thought about it all… and then I texted back.
Sienna:
Maybe you’re right. Then again, maybe I didn’t try hard enough. I don’t know that my heart is in the law. I might not be cut out for it the way I once thought.
Parker:
Sienna…
He warned.
I don’t think there’s anything you can’t do. If you didn’t make this shot… then it wasn’t yours to make. The right one will come to you. You won’t have to go to it. I promise.
His intuition, as always, amazed me. But, underneath it all, I was still feeling prickly and pigheaded. Rejection, even by a dick like Horton, gave you no choice when it decided to sting.
Sienna:
Well, when you find an opportunity willing to land itself in my lap, will you let me know? Because as it stands, my lap’s a little empty. As well as my pockets.
There was silence on his end of the app. I waited for his reply. Javi had already set the glass of chilled Don Julio on the shiny surface of the wooden bar, and I stared at it, wishing I could make it disappear down my throat. But all I felt was sick.
Sick that this might be my life forever. Just tequila shots and sorry ass tips. Waiting for something remarkable to happen in a world where a good day was that no drunks had puked on my new shoes.
I knew this life. My mother had lived it. Before she was murdered.
I’d done everything in my power to avoid drowning in it up until this point, and under the tutelage of my former boss, Ace Delaney, FBI Agent Extraordinaire, I was this close to thinking that maybe I could. At this juncture in my life, my dream of ever becoming a star agent wasn’t just drifting away; it was in a full sprint.
I’d taken a crap bet pursuing Donovan Bishop to find out more about Senator Robert Fletcher; I could admit that.
But it shouldn’t have the make-or-break factor for being where I knew I belonged—back in the FBI. I was still looking to right my wrongs, still looking for redemption. Yes, I “allowed” my undercover assignment, savvy attorney boss, Penelope Castalano, to skip town…
But was it likely that she knew anything at all? That she had any real knowledge of international fugitive Donovan Bishop’s whereabouts—the real catch in all of this?
Bishop was a “childhood” friend of hers, a person from her past. It was unlikely that he had told the affable attorney anything. I, more than anyone, knew what it was like to make an enemy out of the Gafanellis, having busted one of their own.
I knew, probably like Bishop, not to risk the people you loved, to live with the knowledge that it was better to love no one. The people you loved betrayed you—or worse… died. Your lovers wore handsome masks to hide the monsters that lie beneath, and the few friends you did have never understood.
They never quite got that you didn’t belong in their world—a place of naivete, false niceness and normalcy. My upbringing was the very opposite of that.
Maybe it was why I used Parker as my temporary escape to the “normal world.”
It’d been two years since I’d had a “proper fuck,” as Ang would call it, and here I was, fumbling my way through the interestingly fucked-up realm of Internet dating, falling into a routine with what could be some fat, balding forty-year old with a wife and three kids. A man who wouldn’t even bother to show up for our first date… or meeting or… what-the-fuck-ever it actually was.
My level of pathetic had sunk to new lows. I tapped on my screen with the intent to write “I can’t do this” when a new message from Parker popped up.
Parker:
As a matter of fact… I do know of an opportunity. Not saying you should take it, but it’s definitely worth a look. That is, if you’re willing to go a little outside of your comfort zone. Which should be easy… for a woman who likes to drench her spaghetti and meatballs with Satan’s own personal spunk. Pretty sure Hannibal Lector even had the good sense to avoid mayonnaise.
I snorted.
Sienna:
Don’t knock until you try it...
I glanced back at the bottles of tequila on the shelf. If I was going to get taken in by a potentially balding con-artist, then I might as well play the game. Maybe the mysterious Mr. Daniels did have some connections... It couldn’t get any worse than waiting tables at Tino’s, wondering what my next paycheck was going to look like.
And at the very least, the man made me laugh. That was more than I could say for his wanna-be replacement at the bar a few days prior. Or the hordes of losers that swarmed like locusts every night at the bar, ogling any piece of me that wasn’t covered by uniform.
Parker:
I could teach you a thing or two, Miss Santiago. You have only touched the surface of my skills.
Sienna:
Right… I’m practically begging to be taught how to break down Game of Thrones into your little fucked-up diagrams.
Parker:
I vaguely recall you asking me to beg before…
Sienna:
And you agreed to it.
Parker:
Did I…?
He hesitated before writing the rest.
Parker:
Let’s be clear, Sienna. I never said that I would beg…
My eyebrows shot sky-high. I typed back.
Sienna:
Oh no?
Parker:
Oh no… You see… You were the one who said I’d beg. I was the one who said I’d get on my knees.
The texting paused briefly.
Two totally different things…
Innocent enough (or was it?), the comment made my formerly steady heart pound. A sliver of sweat began to trickle down the front of my tank top, and I tried to attribute it to the heat in the room, the awful sticky spring-summer weather outside.
But the heat wasn’t just underneath of my clothes; it was centered at the most sensitive parts of me. My nipples stretched. I felt the cloth-covered burn of friction underneath the material of my bra.
The lacy barrier was barely that, and the weight of my breasts pushed up against it. When I shifted from where I was sitting, I realized that the spot I’d been planted on in the middle of my stool wasn’t just warm…
It was hot.
My own underwear felt uncomfortable and I had the overwhelming urge to take everything off and throw it carelessly across the room. The space in Tino’s bar suddenly felt more sweltering than ever.
Probably because I knew the next question coming out of my mouth for Parker. And I also knew that, deep down inside… I was only asking for trouble.
Hell, some small part of me welcomed it.
I asked the question anyway.
Sienna:
What would you be doing on your knees?
It was like the sparking of a flame. I felt a flutter underneath of my breast. Parker paused.
Parker:
Do you really want to know?
I didn’t hesitate.
Sienna:
Yes.
The room became still as I waited impatiently for Parker to respond. My skin was on fire. My tongue felt like it was too thick to be in my mouth, and I swallowed my fear.
I thought he might keep me waiting. Until…
Parker:
I’d start out slow.
The text was sudden.
Drop down on my knees one-by-one. I’d kneel right before you…
I’d let my hands take the long route, exploring you. I’d spread them over your waist, cup them around the curve of your delectable ass. I’d keep them there, kneading, needling… running my fingers along the softest parts of your body as I breathed over the space between your thighs.
I wouldn’t slip them under your skirt. Not yet…
I’d torture you the way you’ve tortured me, driving you to the brink, digging my fingertips into the dimples at your lower back, sinking them into your hips as I looked up at you, watching you… watching me… as I made you come completely a-fucking-part.
Apart? I was already in fucking pieces at Parker’s dirty dialogue. I barely blinked for fear I would miss any one of his wetness-inducing words. I squirmed in my seat as he wrote “Only then would I slide those fingers beneath your skirt.”
It didn’t help that I was actually wearing one… and everything that lay under it was starting to quiver. Parker never stopped.
Parker:
And when I did, when I pushed the fabric from the top of your thighs to the tip of your waist, I would stroke the places it had just covered, sliding my hands along the slickness of your pussy, spreading the lips below your navel and devouring them using my own.
With those words, my heartbeat found a new home… Between my legs.
I was soaked. Every part of me—every shakingly numb piece—was responding to Parker like he was holding the strings to a marionette. He played with my pulse like a pornographic puppetmaster.
I squirmed on the stool, wet between my legs as he kept teasing me, telling exactly what he was going to do with me.
Parker:
I’d kiss every inch of you, Sienna… and when there were no more inches left, I’d start all over again—but harder. I’d rub your clit with my tongue until you saw God, and as you came, I’d make sure you’d replace his name with mine.
I’d lick you until there was nothing left to lick. Until you were spent. Until you could no longer stand and kneeling wouldn’t even be necessary.
To answer your question: that’s what I would be doing on my knees.
Now… any more questions?
There were none… I had just come.
My pulse was still beating hard, as I panted in abandon, not considering the consequences. Strands of starkly dark hair stuck to the sides of my neck under a smattering of sweat, and I still couldn’t feel my tongue. Everything had become numb. I floated on a cloud of euphoria. The only tie tethering me to the earth was Parker.
How he had lived up to his hype. Parker was making me a promise. And though the jury was still out on whether or not he could be trusted, in this way, I did believe him.
It was the way he talked… or rather, texted, the depth of his intelligence. I was already drawn into this man far deeper than I’d ever expected to be.
Finding a man who could keep up with me was hard. Finding a man like this who read the same books, watched the same shows and shared in the same geeky shame?
Impossible.
His final text finished what was left in me:
Parker:
And if you want the real thing, Santiago—and not a preview, I’d suggest you pack a bag. I’ll have a ticket waiting for you by morning…
Tou-fucking-che’, Parker. I shook my head, sighing.
What—or who, really—had I gotten myself into?
A Slow Burn
SIENNA
“D.C.?” Angie screamed over the sound coming from the loud speakers. “D.C.?!” Her voice went high-pitched. Her platinum pixie cut went slinging across her furrowed forehead and a few nearby customers looked in our direction as she started screeching at me.
My nerves were already jumping. The music floating overhead at Tino’s was thumping, and though half of the crowd was ebbing and flowing to the dance floor and back, I felt caught in a perpetual wave, a whirlpool that just wouldn’t stop spinning.
I didn’t know if it was the anxiety, the tide of the partiers or the tequila, but my thoughts were swimming. I couldn’t believe what I was about to do. And I couldn’t believe that I had just told Angie about my plans.
The only thing worse would have been telling Javi. That was the last thing I wanted to do…
And I wanted to make sure that Angie didn’t accidentally tell him either. I put my hand on hers.
“Thanks, Ang. I think there’s a couple of people in Timbuktu who didn’t hear you. Might as well hang out fliers. Keep. It. Down.”
“Keep it down?” she wailed. She looked around. “Ke
ep it down?” Quieter the second time. “The only thing I can keep down right now is my fucking lunch, and I’m barely managing that. You tell me that you’re going to DC. You tell me that you’re going to up and pursue this so-called ‘job’. And you tell me that some fucking ‘Catfish’ is the reason you’re going? Si,” she warned quietly, “are you seriously considering this?”
The crash of glass behind us drew our glances. Some girl had chucked her cocktail at her boyfriend’s head, nearly hitting the horde of people behind them. Shards of razor-sharp glass shattered against the wall without decapitating anybody in the process. The crowd around the couple was starting to grow angry, and I saw Javi jump from behind the bar, heading in their direction, his stare hard as he broke the squabbling pair apart and calmed the clamoring crowd.
I raised my eyebrows at Ang.
“Ok, so I get why you’re considering this…” she shrugged, sighing at the scene. “Look, I know you’re scrambling to get out of this shithole. Believe me, I get it; I’ve done the same thing. But DC? Meeting some stranger? Picking up and leaving New York for what…? A potentially balding fuck with three kids?”
Another smash from behind me let me know that the fight between the couple hadn’t ended. Everything was grating on my nerves. Even Angie.
I hated that she was voicing all the fears that I’d just felt.
“Fine,” I huffed. I glanced back at the abandoned barkeep that was scrambling to serve customers without Javi. “You don’t want me to go to DC alone… I won’t go to DC alone.”
Ang grinned. “That sounds more like it.”
“I’ll bring my .45.”
“What?”
BAM!
The sound of the noise shook the air around us, stealing from my heart from chest and shoving it into my throat with a moment’s notice.