Ace of Spades (Aces & Eights Book 3)

by Sandra Owens

  He rolled off her. “You okay?” She hadn’t said a word, making him curious as to what she was thinking. Had it been as good for her? And why was he even thinking that? He’d never been concerned about his bed partners’ after-sex feelings before. They satisfied him, he satisfied them, and then he went home. This new thing, worrying that she was happy with him, was unsettling.

  “That was amazing,” she said, turning toward him.

  “Yeah, it was.” And like his first night with her, he had no desire to leave her bed. Also worrisome.

  She made circles on his chest with her finger. “Please don’t feel weird about this, Nate.”

  That was exactly what he was feeling. Weird. “I don’t. Come here.” He helped rearrange her so that he spooned her, her back against his chest. At the moment, he didn’t want her staring into his eyes because he hadn’t a clue what she would see in them. He wasn’t ready for this thing taking root inside him, didn’t know what to do with the tenderness, much less the possessiveness he was feeling toward her.

  “It’s late. Go to sleep,” he said.

  She sighed as if he’d disappointed her. “Good night.”

  “Night.” He didn’t want to disappoint her, but somehow, someday, he would. Actually, he probably was doing exactly that even now by not talking about whatever it was women liked to talk about after sex.

  It was a big step that he was still in her bed, but she didn’t know that. Not only would he never marry, but he didn’t have the first idea of how relationships functioned. It wasn’t like his parents were good role models for how a marriage should work. These warm and fuzzy feelings were so foreign to him that it was a surprise he even recognized them.

  Taylor’s breathing evened out, and as she slept, he put his hand on her hip, wanting to sigh as her body heat seeped into his hand. But he didn’t. He did, however, bury his nose in her hair, breathing her in.

  For the first time, the thought of never marrying saddened him, sent an odd pain through his chest, right where his heart lived. His brothers were the happiest he’d ever seen them since they’d fallen in love. Marriage had settled them, and contentment rolled off them in waves. And when they were with their wives, love turned their eyes soft.

  Nate didn’t envy them. They were the only beings in the world he loved, and as their brother-mother-father—and he had been all those things to them—seeing them happy was the one thing that brought him pure joy. But that state of bliss wasn’t for him. He’d never allowed himself to dream of a white picket fence, kids, a woman he looked forward to coming home to.

  So how did Taylor play into his life?

  All he had to do was keep their relationship on steady ground, the same as it had been for the past year. Best friends, but with benefits now added to their friendship. It was doable. Taylor never lied, and she’d said she had no desire for a husband or kids of her own, so he didn’t have to worry about her getting stars in her eyes.

  Satisfied that his world was as it should be, he drifted off, still inhaling Taylor’s lemony scent and still with his hand on her hip.

  The first time in his life that he greeted the morning in a woman’s bed, he woke up alone. Nate frowned as he ran his hand over the sheet, finding it cold to the touch. He glanced at the clock and groaned. The sun hadn’t been up more than an hour. Because he rarely arrived home before three in the morning, he was not a morning person. Everyone’s lunch hour was breakfast time for him. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, then blinked them open, and then scrubbed his hand over them.

  With another groan, he rolled out of bed and collected his clothes, taking them into the bathroom with him. As he set them on the counter, he noticed a toothbrush still in its package next to the sink, along with a tube of toothpaste. A black comb was there, too. He smiled. His host was a thoughtful woman.

  After a quick shower, he felt much better, the sand in his eyes gone. Except he didn’t like putting on yesterday’s clothes and should have thought to bring a change. Of course, he didn’t know he’d be spending the night when he’d come over. Leaving off his boots for now, he went looking for his best friend, the one he’d shared some damn good benefits with.

  At the end of the hallway, he leaned against the wall. She was already dressed for work in her FBI uniform of black pants and a blouse, blue today. That was the color he liked best on her. It made her eyes even bluer. Her back was to him as she stared out the kitchen window, sipping a cup of coffee. What was she thinking? He eased up behind her, his sock-clad feet quiet as he approached.

  “Good morning,” she said without turning.

  He grinned. “Morning, tiger.” She was probably the only woman in the world he couldn’t sneak up on. He pressed his body against her back and put his hands on the counter, trapping her. Unable to resist, he nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing in her scent. He loved how she smelled.

  Taylor closed her eyes, doing her best not to melt against Nate, but failed. Epically. What red-blooded woman could resist that hot body wrapped around her? Apparently, not her.

  She’d had a long talk with herself while staring at the window. Unless a miracle happened, he would never love her back. Oh, he liked her a lot, she was sure. He wanted her. That had been obvious last night. She’d woken up, and as she’d watched him sleeping, she’d wondered if she was wrong to just settle for an affair with him.

  Affair. She hated that word. It was going to hurt so badly when he decided it was time to end their relationship. But he was worth the risk, and just maybe . . .

  “You always smell so good,” he said, still nuzzling her neck.

  She turned in his arms, and he didn’t give an inch, which put them pelvis to pelvis, chest to breasts, and because he was leaning down, mouth to mouth. And, oh God, he was shirtless, his hair wet and loose. Her dream warrior, the man of her fantasies.

  I really, really could get used to having him around, her brain said, as if that would be news to her. When he kissed her, her mind decided it was time to shut up and just enjoy. She loved his lips. They were lush and soft, and, heavens, they were the most talented lips to ever touch hers. He didn’t just kiss, he sucked, he nipped, he explored. She put her hands on his chest, splaying her fingers. His heart beat under her right hand, a thump-thump against her palm, pulsing faster the longer they kissed.

  I can make his heart pound, she thought, and that was good enough for now. It had to be.

  “Poor Nate,” Alex said, peering at her with mischief in his eyes. “Caught him doing the walk of shame this morning. Big brother was trying to sneak back to his condo, but I’m Super Spy. Nothing gets past me.”

  “Will you stop it?” Taylor said, trying not to laugh. “Besides, how do you know he didn’t spend the night in his car, keeping an eye on my apartment?”

  The amusement faded from his expression. “Because he had a smile on his face, one I’ve never seen on him before. The same kind I’d see on my face when looking in the mirror after meeting Madison.” He leaned forward, scooting the desk chair closer—Nate’s chair—and locked eyes with her. “You’re good for him, Taylor. I know my brother, though, and because he doesn’t think he deserves to be happy, he’ll try to scare you off. Don’t let him.”

  “And what if he’s not what I want?”

  He gave her a shrewd look. “Isn’t he?”

  She stirred the whipped cream into the iced mocha coffee she’d bought on the way in. How to answer his question? Honestly, she supposed. What was the point of denying it?

  “Yes, but we’ve both agreed that . . .” She felt her cheeks heating as Alex patiently waited for her to finish. Dang, these Gentry brothers were good at interrogation.

  “That we’re just friends, is all.” Her relationship with Nate was private, between them.

  He stared at her a moment, then grinned, and then gave a deep belly laugh.

  “Why’s that so funny?”

  Still grinning, he said, “Because you both are so full of crap.” He leaned back in the chair.
“Whenever you guys are in the same room together, I want to yell, ‘Get a room,’ and it’s been that way for months. It’s more than just the sexual tension between you two. You genuinely like each other. And Taylor, he won’t be an easy man to love, but once he’s committed, he’ll be a hundred percent in.”

  Because that was the kind of man Nate was. She eyed Alex. “Why are we having this conversation?”

  “Simple. I want my brother to be happy, and I think . . . No, I know that he would be happy with you if he’d just get his head out of his ass and see what everyone else does.”

  “And exactly what does everyone else see?”

  He sweetly smiled. “That you two are meant for each other. Also, I want you to know that there’s nothing Court and I, along with our wives, would love more than to welcome you into the family. I wanted to be sure you knew you had our blessing.”

  His declaration warmed her heart, but . . . “Jeez, Alex, don’t go and order wedding invitations. We’ve only just started”—she waved a hand in the air—“you know.” There was that mischievous grin again, and she braced herself for whatever was about to come out of his mouth. God, why had she even admitted that much?

  “Doing the dirty?” He stood. “About time.”

  She buried her face in her hands but couldn’t stop the laugh bubbling up. “You’re impossible,” she said through her fingers.

  “So Madison tells me.”

  “What does Madison tell you?”

  Taylor dropped her hands back to her desk and gave Rand a shrug. “Ignore him.” Rand Stevens was tall, blond, had pretty blue-gray eyes, and was definitely eye-candy status. Why wasn’t she interested in him? They’d have beautiful blue-eyed babies. Not that she ever planned to have any babies with anyone. Also, why was he carrying a vase of flowers?

  “These are for you,” he said, setting the vase on her desk. “Security asked me to bring them up to you.”

  She froze as she stared at them, dread slithering through her as her stomach threatened to rebel, the coffee she’d drunk turning to acid.

  “Taylor?” Alex said, concern in his voice.

  “Take them away,” she said, then ran to the bathroom with her hand clamped over her mouth. Somehow, she managed to keep the contents in her stomach, but it had taken some deep breaths—her hands pressed hard against her waist and her face over the toilet bowl—before she was sure she wasn’t going to be sick. She stumbled to the sink, and as she drenched her face in cold water, a memory skittered around the edges of her mind. One she didn’t want to come to light. Ever. What that memory was, she didn’t know, but it was there and it was ugly. That she did know.

  “Taylor?” Alex softly said, pushing open the door and stepping inside.

  She buried her face back into the water. “Can’t you read? This is the women’s room.” Her words were gurgled, as if her mouth was drowning. It was. She was.

  “Taylor,” Alex said again, putting a hand on her shoulder. “I called Nate. He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

  Yes, Nate. She wanted Nate.

  “Can you tell me what just happened? Do you know who the flowers are from?”

  No and yes. She grabbed a wad of paper towels, pressing them against her face. She was Special Agent Taylor Collins, highly skilled and trained to kill. She was a Krav Maga black belt. A woman in a man’s world, holding her own. It was mortifying that she wanted to lock the door and curl into a corner with a loaded gun in her hand, ready to shoot, all because of a vase of flowers.

  “I’m okay,” she said. “Just had too much coffee.”

  “I call bullshit.”

  She lowered the paper towels, ready to give Alex hell, but the compassion in his eyes was her undoing. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she didn’t know why. That she was crying in front of Alex made her angry. An FBI agent didn’t cry, especially a female one. It made her appear weak.

  “What’s the deal with the flowers?” Alex said. “Are they from a boyfriend?” He frowned. “You don’t have one of those, do you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t have a mystery boyfriend, but I have no idea why I reacted the way I did.” And she really didn’t. Only that the sight of the flowers felt like a knife right through her heart. “They’re from our killer.” That much she did know, but not why she did.

  “Shit. No wonder you’re upset.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “We need to check the vase for fingerprints.”

  She wasn’t upset because they were from their bad guy, but she didn’t correct his assumption because she couldn’t explain—even to herself—why the pink tulips troubled her.

  “I doubt his fingerprints are on the vase, but yeah, send them over to the lab. Also, tell Rand to talk to security. How were they delivered, and where did they come from?”

  “Taylor?” Nate burst into the bathroom, practically knocking Alex over with the door.

  She tossed the paper towels into the trash. “Um, you both do realize this is the ladies’ room, right?”

  Nate pulled the door back open. “Get lost, Alex.”

  “Going.”

  When they were alone, Nate closed the distance between them. “Why are you crying?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “I’m not crying.”

  Nate lifted her chin, peering at her red-rimmed eyes. “You were. Why?” He’d been ten minutes away from their field office when Alex had called, telling him that Taylor had freaked out over some flowers. At first, he’d thought his brother was pulling his chain. Taylor wasn’t a woman who would lose it over flowers.

  “What happened, Taylor?” he asked when she pulled her face away from his hand, taking a step back. Pink stained her cheeks, and knowing her, she was embarrassed. “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know, okay? The flowers triggered a reaction, but I don’t know why.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you have someplace else to be besides the ladies’ room?”

  Yeah, he supposed he shouldn’t be in here, but he wasn’t leaving until he got to the bottom of why a vase of flowers had freaked her out.

  “You’re upset because they came from our killer?” That much he did know, since he’d read and taken a picture of the card that came with them before they were sent to the lab to check for fingerprints.

  But Rand had told him that she hadn’t opened the little envelope to see who had sent them.

  “No. He’s trying to play mind games. He’ll have to up the game to impress me.”

  Nate let out a sigh of exasperation. “Then what? Give me something to work with here.” At seeing tears pool in her eyes, he wanted to kick his own ass. He couldn’t stand seeing her cry.

  “It was the flowers themselves,” she said, her lips trembling.

  “Okay, that’s a start.” Because he needed to hold her—whether she needed that or not—he leaned his butt on the counter, and then pulled her between his legs. “How did they make you feel? Angry? Scared?”

  “Sad. So damn sad, Nate, but why?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out. Promise.” He held her while she cried, his mind busy sorting through possibilities. A vase of flowers had made her sad enough to cry—a very non-Taylor thing—but she didn’t know why, which led him to the conclusion that she had suppressed a memory of something to do with flowers.

  “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he said after she quieted. Keeping one arm around her, he reached for a paper towel and handed it to her.

  “I’m fine, really.” After wiping her face, she glanced at the door. “Except that now Alex and Rand are going to fuss over me.”

  Yeah, she’d hate that. “I won’t let them.”

  “Ha! And who’s going to stop you?”

  “I’m allowed to fuss over you.” He put his finger on her lips when she opened her mouth. “And no arguing about that.” The shy smile she gave him sent a strange flutter through his heart, but he quelled it. His heart wasn’t allowed to flutter.

  “Well, I can’t hi
de in here all day. Let’s go see if Alex found out where the flowers came from. I didn’t even check to see if there was a card.”

  “There was.” He reluctantly let go of her, and straightened, taking his phone out of his back pocket. “I took a picture before Rand sent them to the lab.” After pulling the photo up, he handed her his cell.

  “‘Such a pretty girl,’” she read aloud. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Other than it’s creepy? No.” She handed him back the phone.

  He tucked a damp length of hair behind her ear. “I was on my way in to talk to you when Alex called. A psychologist who practices hypnotherapy can see you this afternoon. Dr. Gleason. He’d supposedly one of the best in his field. You still game?”

  She chewed on her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth. What he’d like to do was take her home with him and make love to her until the light was back in her eyes.

  “Stop looking at me like that.” When he raised a brow, she said, “Like you want to eat me up.”

  He grinned. “Can’t deny that. How about this? You keep that appointment, and then we’ll go back to my place, where I’ll cater to your wishes all night long.”

  “Now, there’s an offer I can’t refuse.” She trailed a finger down his arm. “Be warned, though. I can be very demanding.”

  “I sincerely hope so.”

  The man sat at the bus stop, sandwiched between a teenaged girl wearing earbuds—her head bopping to the music she was listening to even as her thumbs furiously typed out a text—and a woman and her fussy young boy. He guessed the little brat was around three or four years old, and the man would very much like to have wrapped his hands around the boy’s neck until he shut up.

  The FBI building was across the street from the bus stop, the people on the bench with him serving as camouflage as he waited for his angel to appear. Would she have his flowers with her, maybe even let him see her touch her nose to them as she smelled them? Would she smile?

  Although he wished he could use his camera to take a close-up photo of her when she came out, that would be too obvious. Instead, he had his phone’s camera open, ready to capture a picture to add to his collection.