Over the Line: On the Run Novel

by Lisa Desrochers

  The problem is, when someone takes a pound of flesh from my father, he always goes looking for one to replace it. And the one he’s going to come after this time is mine.

  Chapter 9

  Lee

  Oliver’s body is warm against mine as we curl together on the sofa in his apartment near campus. I’ve got a spreadsheet open on my laptop and his thumbs are racing across the screen of his iPhone. He runs his empire from that phone.

  Which is how I’m going to take it down.

  I lean forward and pull our eight-thousand-pound corporate finance textbook off the coffee table. “You’re really going to make me do all this?” I ask, cutting him a glare.

  He doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone long enough to notice. “A deal’s a deal.”

  “I was coerced.”

  “Yeah. I heard you screaming.”

  I was screaming. The night in his office when he told me about tweaking his gaming program—the night I took the shot of his laptop screen with my phone while I had him blindfolded and my plan to destroy his family started to take shape—I found out on his desk that he can do things with his mouth and tongue that no one’s ever done to me before. Things that make my toes curl and my soul sing. Things that I can’t get enough of. Things I’ll agree to do just about anything to feel as often as possible.

  Like doing all the research for our corporate finance project.

  I throw a hand at my laptop, frustrated beyond reason. “When I plug the output from the return into the regression analysis spreadsheet, it gives me some fucked-up answer that can’t possibly be the Jensen’s alpha.”

  “Say that again,” he says without looking up. He always says that.

  “Why?” Standard answer.

  “Because I like the way you say you say regression analysis.” His eyes flash amusement when they flick for a micron of a second to mine. “And fucked-up.”

  He’s making fun of me because I almost never swear. I smirk and start pounding on the keys again.

  He locks his phone and sets it aside, then slides the textbook out of my lap.

  My smirk fades when the same stupid answer comes up. “What am I missing?”

  A smile twitches his lips and he grabs my hips, drawing me closer. “My cock in your mouth?”

  “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Also standard. I started saying it as a barb, to remind him what his family took from me. Now, four months later, it’s more to remind me. To keep me on task.

  “I do.”

  He’s never actually answered that question before, and when I look at his face, there’s a shadow of … regret? Sorrow? I’m not sure, but it’s so uncharacteristic that it shakes my resolve.

  “What’s she like?” I ask.

  He pulls me to his shoulder and blows a breath into the hair at the crown of my head. “She’s a kickass bitch—which she’s needed to be in order to deal with my father for thirty years.”

  “Do you get along?”

  His hand stops moving in my hair. “Let’s just say I come by my need for control honestly. Victor is a controlling ass in the world because he’s got no control in his home. My father generally ignores me, but Mom and I butt heads a lot.”

  In my mind, I’d pictured Oliver’s mom to be the family glue, like mine. Mama was incredible that way. Keeper of secrets, sharer of tears, mender of all things broken. She was also the filter, guarding us children from the truth of who we were for as long as possible. Right up until Oliver’s family killed her.

  He kisses the top of my head and I’m finding it nearly impossible to reconcile what I know is going on here with what I feel.

  “You’re typing the report up,” I grumble, flipping the laptop closed.

  “That wasn’t the deal. But if I was a betting fool, I’d put money down that it will be you typing it up.” He turns me toward him and slowly slides his hands under my skirt and up the outsides of my thighs. He hooks his fingers into the cotton of my panties and arches an eyebrow at me. “Taking bets?”

  “Depends on the payout,” I say, lifting my hips.

  He gives me a wicked smile as he slides my panties down my legs. His fingers slip back under my skirt and I spread my knees, making room for him. When he flicks a fingertip over my clit, I gush for him. His fingers sink deep inside me then glide out and he brings them to his mouth. “What are we talking here, Cheetah?”

  “I’ll do all the research.”

  He sucks me off his fingers and gives me a cocky grin. “That boat’s already sailed.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to fuck you with my tongue,” he says, grasping my hips and pulling me down on the cushions so I’m on my back and my legs are spread on either side of him. “What are you going to give me in return?”

  Every muscle south of my waist contracts when he slicks his fingers through my folds and sinks them into me again. “My undying gratitude?”

  He twists his fingers inside me and thumbs my clit. “And?”

  I grind my hips against his hand. “Whatever you want,” I breathe.

  “Anything?” he asks, lifting my knees and spreading me wide.

  “Anything.”

  He grins, leaning down and flicking my clit with his tongue. “Remember you said that.”

  ***

  A bang on the door startles me awake and I open my eyes to find myself nuzzled against Oliver’s strong shoulder, perfect olive skin taut over a defined deltoid.

  “Lee?”

  Rob’s voice propels me out of both the dream and the bed on a surge of adrenaline. I’m at the door just as the knob starts to turn. “Hey,” I say, cracking the door open. “What’s up?”

  He scans my face. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “What time is it?”

  “Almost noon. Just wanted to tell you I’m heading up to Spencer’s for a job. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning. Ulie and Adri took Sherm out to some aquarium or something and Grant is down on the beach with the dogs.”

  “Are you here tomorrow night? I’ve got … plans.”

  Suspicion passes over his features like a dark cloud. “What plans?”

  “None-of-your-business plans, but I need to know someone’s here with Sherm.”

  “Yeah, I’ll be here. Adri’s coming over for dinner.” His eyes crease at the corners. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

  I rub a hand over my face. “I was up late working on Polly’s books.” … And trying to sort out what to do about Oliver. I can’t keep him here like this forever. There’s no way I can tell Rob about him, but I’ve decided I have to tell Wes. I need to feel Wes out first, though, find out what he’d do to Oliver. I don’t think I can pull that off over the phone without giving myself away. I need to do it in person. Tomorrow night.

  He nods and backs toward the stairs. “All right. See you tomorrow.”

  “Be careful,” I say as he clomps down the stairs.

  “Always!” he calls up from the bottom.

  I close the door and turn to the bed. Oliver is watching me. A patch of silver duct tape covers his full lips and I try not to think about how I know they feel on my body. I see those eyes and remember the spark in them when he was having wicked thoughts, and how they softened after sex.

  But that was a lifetime ago. My reality is that the man who made me feel more alive than I ever have is now here to kill me.

  “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, then slip through the door, because looking at him is hurting my heart.

  I lope down the stairs and scramble some eggs. I bring them and a toasted English muffin with strawberry jam and a large glass of orange juice back upstairs for him. I set everything on the nightstand and press a finger to my lips, then gently peel back the tape over his mouth.

  “So, what happens today?” he asks.

  “I go to work, you stay here and keep your mouth shut.” I untie his hands and help him sit. Once I’ve got him propped on the pillows, I hand him the plate.

&nb
sp; He sets it in his lap, then looks up at me. “I think we should come clean with your family.”

  “Not if you want to stay alive.”

  That’s only part of the truth. He asked me to fix what I broke. I could do that, but then there’s nothing stopping him from finishing the job. If I let him near my family, he could use one of them to force me. A gun to Sherm’s head and I’d do anything he asked. Keeping them apart is as much for our protection as his.

  He tries to reach for the orange juice on the nightstand and flinches.

  I hand it to him. “How bad is it?”

  He guzzles the juice and rests back against the pillows. “It’s fine.”

  I pull the sheet back and looking over the dressings. They’re soaked through, but the fluid is clear. “I need to change your bandages.”

  I go to the dresser for the bandaging stuff.

  “Are you happy here?” he asks my back.

  I turn and try to read what he’s really asking. “Happy is all relative.”

  “I heard you tell Rob you have plans tomorrow. Have you … met someone?”

  My heart quickens as I think about my date with Wes. “Why do you care?”

  His gaze darkens as he holds mine. “I obviously care. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  You, Lee. You are what’s in it for me. I move back to the bed and untie his ankles, his words echoing through my mind.

  But in a sudden moment of utter clarity, I remember who he is. What he is. His family wants mine dead. It’s mafia code. We hurt them, now they have to hurt us. An eye for an eye. It will go back and forth until the end of time or we’re all dead. It’s asinine and barbaric, but the mob has always worked that way.

  “I’m sure you do,” I say. “Get up.”

  He grimaces as he works himself to a sitting position at the side of the bed. I should help, but I don’t. When he’s standing, I lead him to the bathroom, the muzzle of my Cheetah pressed into his side.

  “Be quick,” I say, shoving him through the door. I don’t close it. I stand and watch as he frees himself from his boxer-briefs and pees.

  “Enjoying the view?” he smirks.

  “Not particularly.”

  When he’s finished, he washes his hands and reaches for the tube of toothpaste one of the boys left on the counter. “Got a spare toothbrush?”

  “Use your finger.”

  He does, then I escort him back to my room. He lays back on the bed and I rip the tape off his chest in a quick yank.

  He hisses in a breath.

  I’m not as gentle as I might have been if he wasn’t trying mess with my head as I clean out his wounds and bandage them back up. Never once do I look into his face. When I’m done, I bind him back up with the scarves, grab some clothes, and move to the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  When I’m in the hall with the door closed, I lean my back against it and breathe. I’ve shown Oliver too much of myself. Given him too much of myself. He knows exactly how to play me, which was bad enough when he didn’t want me dead. Now I need to find the will to resist him. I can’t let him back into my head.

  ***

  I fuss more than usual getting ready for my date, and it’s not all for Oliver’s benefit. I’m nervous. I’m not sure what I want to happen tonight. I’ve got to talk to Wes about Oliver, but there’s also the fact that this is a date. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by men on the wrong side of the law. Wes is one of the good guys. And, let’s face it, he’s hot—all blue-eyed urban cowboy. I really like him.

  So, how do I bring up Oliver and not ruin whatever might be happening between us?

  I already know the answer. The second Oliver set foot in Florida, everything changed. There is no way to resolve this that doesn’t end in me and my siblings being relocated. So, what I thought was going to be my first date in months is now a business meeting.

  But, still, I want to look good. And I want Oliver to see me preparing for another man. I know he’s watching and I need him to see that he means nothing to me.

  I stand in the door of my closet and slowly strip off my shorts and tank top. I unhook my bra, letting it slide off my shoulders and down my arms, then oh-so-slowly shimmy out of my panties. I turn and give him a full glimpse as I slip on my bathrobe. “I’m heading to the shower.”

  He doesn’t answer, of course—his mouth is still taped—but I see by the hunger in his eyes as his green gaze caresses my body that my arrow hit the mark.

  The water runs cold by the time I finish in the shower, and every square inch of skin from my waist down is shaved smooth. I run into Rob in the hall, on my way back to my room. He’s in running shorts and nothing else.

  “Still none of my business?” he asks, looking me over.

  “It’s no big thing,” I say with a shrug. “Just meeting a friend for dinner.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me, so I change the subject to deflect the rest of the inquiry.

  “When’s Adri coming over?”

  “About an hour.”

  I follow him downstairs and he heads out the front door. He leans against the porch rail to stretch his calves and says something to Ulie and Sherm, who are letting the dogs out of the run, then turns and jogs to the edge of the bluff and disappears down the path to the beach. If he’s not at work or with Adri, he’s pounding the sand on the beach. I’m not sure he’ll ever outrun his demons.

  I make Oliver a massive sandwich and grab a couple of bananas, then head back upstairs. On the way to my room, I duck into Rob’s and grab a fresh pair of boxer-briefs from his dresser.

  “This is it till I get back from my date,” I tell Oliver as I slip back into the bedroom. I move to the bed and pull off the tape over his mouth. I untie his hands but not his feet and help him sit up, propping pillows behind him.

  “Who’s the lucky guy?” he asks, pulling the plate into his lap.

  “A man with no ulterior motives.” I stand and move to the dresser. “Believe it or not, Oliver, there are men that just want me and aren’t expecting some big payoff.”

  “Oh, I can guarantee you he’s expecting a payoff.”

  I find the frustration in his voice satisfying. I like how his gaze stays locked on my body when I turn and find the sandwich untouched. “You’re not hungry?”

  His eyes flash hot with desire. “Fucking starving.”

  I turn back to the dresser and unearth my sheerest, skimpiest black lace thong and matching demi-bra. I drop my bathrobe to the floor and the scorch of Oliver’s gaze on my naked body sends a shiver through me. The fleeting fantasy of going to him causes lightning to crackle under my skin and my groin to tighten. I shove the thought away and slip on the lingerie, then pull a tiny black sheath dress from my closet and shimmy it up my body.

  As I tinker with my makeup, I watch him in the mirror, watching me as he polishes off his sandwich, one of the bananas, and two bottles of water from the nightstand. I dab on vanilla perfume—Angel, Oliver’s favorite—then pin my hair up off my neck.

  I step into my four-inch heels. I hate them, but they make my legs look killer, and I’m leaving no stone unturned tonight. I want Oliver to know I want Wes to want me.

  I turn back to him when I’m fully primped and polished. “How do I look?”

  His ravenous gaze rakes slowly over my body. “Stunning, as always.”

  “Bathroom run?” I ask.

  He nods to the empty water bottles. “Probably a good idea.”

  He’s able to get himself to sitting, then standing, with only one groan and two grimaces. I follow him to the bathroom as he uses the walls for balance. I wait outside the door while he does his thing and changes into the fresh underwear. Then help him back into bed. He holds his hands up for me as I tie him, and there’s a minute I think about not taping his mouth again. But I can’t take the chance.

  “Wish me luck,” I say, turning for the door once he’s bound.

  I glance back as I step through and his tortured gaze meets mine. My heart shatters. I
s this the last time I’ll ever see Oliver Savoca? I’m fairly sure the answer is yes. Convincing myself that’s a good thing shouldn’t be this hard.

  I try to picture what will happen once I tell Wes about him. Will he just grab the rest of my family and put us on a plane back to Safesite? I might never set foot in this house again. This isn’t about only Oliver and me. I’m about to uproot my entire family.

  I take a deep breath and set my resolve. “Good-bye, Oliver.”

  I close the door and lean against it until I have my bearings. This is the right thing. The only thing. There’s no other way.

  ***

  It’s dusk when I pull up to an apartment building in a modest neighborhood of St. Petersburg. I step onto the curb and smooth my dress just as Wes emerges from the building. When he meets me on the sidewalk, we’re almost eye to eye thanks to my heels.

  “You found the place okay?” he asks, but his eyes are saying so much more as they take an appreciative sweep of my dress.

  “GPS is a girl’s best friend.”

  He presses his hand into the small of my back, the way he did on Monday, and guides me to the front doors. After spending my life around gangsters, that little gesture shouldn’t cause a thrill to course through me, but knowing what he’s risking, it makes the whole thing feel a little dangerous.

  Like Oliver.

  I take a deep breath to banish the thought. Oliver and Wes are polar opposites: the manipulative criminal and the golden-hearted lawman. There’s no comparison. But at the thought of Oliver, the panic that Rob or Ulie will discover him in my room while I’m away flares hot in my chest, making my breaths short.

  “Everything okay?” Wes asks, holding open the door for me.

  I open my mouth to tell him no, but then think better of it. This isn’t a conversation I want to have standing on a public sidewalk. “I thought I was meeting you at a restaurant. What is this place?”

  He smiles. “My apartment. I’m cooking for you.”

  My eyebrows arch with my surprise. I can’t imagine Oliver ever cooking for a woman. “I’m impressed.”