by Eva Charles
I should have stopped for a bottle of wine. I desperately need something to take the edge off so I can sleep, but now that I’m in my room, I don’t feel like going back out. Fourteen long hours in the car tomorrow, and every second of it promises to be unpleasant.
After I text Colin to let him know I’ll be back tomorrow evening, I turn off my phone. I don’t want a response, or worse yet, to talk to him if he calls. He won’t gloat. That’s not his style, but I’m not ready for a heavy conversation with him. Nowhere near ready.
I’m still not sure whether I’ll stay in DC, or if it will be a quick trip to pack up my belongings before returning to Charleston. Fi gave me plenty to think about, and I’ll have lots of time to chew on it during the drive. Either way, Colin deserves a face-to-face conversation.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand before pulling out my pajamas from under the pillow. I’m still so keyed up that I’ll be tossing and turning half the night. Maybe a bath will help me relax.
After wiping out the tub, I turn on the spigot, making minor adjustments until the water is the perfect temperature. I toss my clothes on an empty chair and twist my hair into a high ponytail, clipping it to the top of my head. It takes forever to dry, so I don’t want it to get wet.
I grab my iPad and scroll through the playlist. I’m in the mood for a little Lady Antebellum tonight. I lay the tablet on the counter and turn off all the bathroom lights except for the small nightlight I purchased at the drugstore when I first arrived.
Mostly pleased with the mood in the room, I lower myself into the bath. The tub isn’t cavernous and there are no pulsing jets, but the warm water does its job nicely, penetrating my tight muscles until they begin to melt. Even without a tub full of bubbles, or a scented bath bomb, this feels heavenly.
“Need You Now” starts to play, and I lean back against the cool porcelain and let my eyelids flutter closed. The music is soothing—until the lyrics begin to seep into my subconscious, and all I can see is Smith Sinclair. The man who was a complete ass to me today. That’s not entirely true—and therein lies the problem.
In between being an insufferable jerk, there were moments that he touched my soul. When he talked about how the desert had stolen so much, my heart clenched, and then there were times, one or two, where I had to stop myself from tearing off his clothes and rubbing my body against his. You saw the evidence—Oh, yes, I did. I had to tear my eyes away from his swelling cock.
I spread my legs, letting the warm water lap against my pussy.
There was also that whole overprotective thing he had going on. I don’t know what to make of it. On one hand, I hated the patronizing attitude, on the other, I was tempted by it. I might have grown up surrounded by men, but I’ve never felt very protected.
I push away the sadness threatening to ruin my bath. I’ve learned to protect myself—physically and emotionally—that’s all that’s important. Girls who grow up believing a knight in shining armor will ride in and save them often die in the tower. Life isn’t a fairy tale.
Despite Sinclair’s concern, my gun is not just for show. While my friends were getting pedicures with their mothers, or scouring the mall for sales, I spent weekends at the range with my dad. My emotional armor, however, isn’t always as robust as it needs to be, and there are gashes and pings denting the surface. But it’s resilient. Like me.
Since Smith Sinclair is hellbent on infiltrating my thoughts, I might as well give him a little help. After drying my hands, I reach for my iPad and open my research folder. I pull up an image of him at President Wilder’s funeral. He’s somber, in a dark suit perfectly tailored to his large frame. The jacket cinches at the waist, falling effortlessly over those powerful hips. Fi is right—he’s hot—everything about him screams sin in these photos. In person, too.
I dredge up the photos, one after another, lingering, as I soak in the details of each frame. My favorite is one where he’s standing at the helm of a listing sailboat, glancing over his shoulder with a playful grin. It’s as though he’s sharing a joke with someone behind him—maybe JD, or maybe he’s with a group of friends. His dimples are on full display for the camera. My mouth waters at the contours of his back and shoulders, chiseled out of a deep bronze stone. The photo must have been taken a while ago. His muscular frame hasn’t changed, but his hair is longer now.
While I’m admiring Sinclair, secretly wishing I had an opportunity to experience the broad grin and playful side of him, my hand slips between my legs. I ogle him one last time, and set my iPad back on the counter, away from the water.
I tease my clit, massaging in a way that usually gets me off quickly. But I want more than a tepid orgasm with pleasant ripples. I want something that will leave me limp and exhausted. What I really want is Sinclair.
I drain most of the water out of the tub and lie back on my elbows, hooking one leg over the edge of the tub, and bracing the other against the tile wall. My legs are spread wide, with my tingling pussy positioned directly under the spigot. I reach between my legs and turn on the water, fiddling until the temperature is perfect. With a few tiny moves, I adjust my bottom so that the water trickles directly over my clit. My head falls back and my eyes shutter when the stream hits the swollen hood, caressing gently but relentlessly. The throbbing builds slowly, deep within my core.
My hands slide to my breasts, circling the heated skin, teasing each puckered nipple, pulling and pinching until the throb between my legs is merciless. But I don’t want to come yet. I want to draw out the pleasure for as long as possible. I concentrate on the way my skin feels. I absorb each tiny prickle. I listen intently as my breath comes in short quick pants.
The music plays somewhere in the background. There is not a single thought of hard to dry hair. Smith’s enormous hands are on me, warm and strong, demanding all my focus as they explore every inch of flesh. When he reaches my thighs, his fingers glide over the smooth skin in long strokes, nudging my knees further and further apart with each sweep, until I’m fully open to him.
He gazes at me, hungry and demanding, slipping his fingers into my wet pussy. My inner walls caress them, and he growls his approval while lowering his head to taste me. The long, lush strokes of his tongue entwine with the silky water in one exquisite sensation.
My clit is throbbing, and I need more.
I nudge the handle with my big toe, forcing the water pressure higher, and return my leg to the wall, curling my toes into the slick tile.
Oh. My. God. Yes. I squirm against the slippery tub, arching my back as the pulsing water bounces off my pussy, stinging my sensitive clit. I can’t hold off any longer. I grip the edge of the tub, clinging tightly as my hips begin an erratic buck.
Do you enjoy having your hair pulled? Smith’s breath is hot against my temple. His cock is impossibly thick and impatient as it pushes into me.
My womb clenches into a tight fist, and a tortured groan emerges as the waves crash over me. I writhe and buck against the smooth porcelain, struggling to escape the deliciously cruel stream beating on my tender folds.
I lie spent in the empty tub, the beat of the music competing with my thumping heart. My limbs are so heavy, I can’t move. And I can’t keep my eyes open. No matter how hard I fight, I begin to drift.
Follow your heart, Katydid.
9
Smith
I pause outside the door to JD’s study to get my head on straight. Gray is already here, and his non-stop speculation about what’s holding me up is setting my teeth on edge. I’m sure it’s also driving his brother nuts. JD can be a huge pain in the ass too, but in a different way, and we’ve known each other so long that I’m used to his brand of bullshit.
Both men look up when I walk in and park my ass in a chair in front of the desk. “Hey.”
“How did it go?” Gray asks tentatively, as if bracing for bad news.
“She’s after Warren King. Just chasing her tail. She didn’t get what she wanted from me. I guarantee she’ll be gone before
midweek.” The revelation comes with a small pang of regret. Not that I’m sorry she’ll be out of my hair, but that my brief time with her might have been better spent. I would have liked—
“Did she say that?” Gray demands, interrupting thoughts that I shouldn’t be thinking. I shake my head. “Then how can you be so sure?”
I stretch out my legs and lean back in the chair, resting my elbows on the thin arms, and look straight ahead as I casually drop the bomb. “I took her to Wildflower.”
“What?” Gray barks from the edge of his seat. “You did what?” I knew taking her to the club would freak him out, but I’ve seen corpses with more color in their cheeks. “Tell me you did not take her downstairs.”
“You need to calm the fuck down.”
JD hasn’t said one damn word since I walked in, but he’s peering at me from across the desk, quietly biding time. Sometimes it’s hard to believe these two emerged from the same womb. “And don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot,” I add. “You had every opportunity to take the meeting with her, but you wanted me to do it. So I did—my way.” Granted it might have been better if my way had involved a more light-handed approach, but that’s water under the bridge.
Gray turns to his brother. “Don’t you have a fucking thing to say about this?”
That might as well have been a rhetorical question for all the response it received. But JD’s glare is now on his brother, and I’m relieved to have it off me. He sees too much sometimes, and I don’t need that kind of scrutiny right now.
“We call it a social club,” Gray spits out, as he moves closer to me, “but you do know it’s a goddamn sex club, right?” Sarcastic bastard. A vein throbs in his neck as he looms over me. He better not get one inch closer or I’m going to grab him by the throat and compress that bulging vein with my thumb. “What the hell were you thinking?”
“Listen up, asshole. I am not your Sub. You want answers, put the Dom back in the box, and shut your trap, otherwise you’re getting shit.”
Gray snarls before taking a few steps back. He leans against the window frame, hands clasped behind his head.
“It’s not like McKenna didn’t know exactly where Wildflower was located. Sometimes giving up something small is a better deterrent than anything else. I let her see the restaurant, the spa, and the gym. She walked through the empty ballroom, and got a peek into the office space. All of it off the record, and designed that way to make her feel I was doing her a big favor. I’m not some fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants chump. McKenna got nothing.”
Gray can’t stand still. He’s wearing down the rug on one side of the desk, still agitated, but more measured. “She got something.”
“She got shit.”
“Are you going to keep an eye on her to make sure she stops snooping?”
Sure. I don’t mind candy I can’t eat dangling in front of me. I’m a masochistic sonofabitch like that. “We’ll keep an eye on her, but I’m telling you, she’s at the motel packing. McKenna’s not interested in the club. She wants information on Warren King. His confirmation hearing is in a week and then this will all be over.”
“A week is a long time for a reporter to be hanging around asking questions.”
I slap the heels of my hands against the wooden arms of the chair. “Jesus. You are some kind of thick. I just got through telling you, twice, she’s not going to be here a week.”
“King hasn’t been a member of the club for almost twenty years. He got out shortly after investing. I don’t even know how she found out about the connection.”
“Maybe she doesn’t know about the connection.” Even as I say it, I’m not sure. I don’t know what she knows about King’s relationship to Wildflower. We never got that far. I’m just trying to get Gray to chill.
“She wouldn’t be asking questions if she didn’t know something.”
“She didn’t bring it up. And trust me, she’s not shy.” The image of her in the middle of a world-class temper tantrum, whipping off those stupid panties and throwing them at me, pops into my mind and settles there. I already regret not checking out her ass as she marched off.
Gray’s phone beeps, and he curses softly. “I’ve got to go. Are you sure you have this covered?”
“I’m all over it.”
He places both hands flat on his brother’s desk. “Thanks for all your input, JD. Your concern for Wildflower is touching.”
JD sits back in his chair, glowering at his younger brother. “I’m not your Sub either, princess. So watch your tone.”
Gray stalks out, mumbling something that sounds like fuckers.
When he’s gone, JD reaches for his phone. “I know you didn’t take her downstairs, but did you take her upstairs?”
Fucking JD. There’s not a human being on earth that can read me better. “It’s not what you think.”
“She a real redhead?” He turns his phone so I can see Kate’s face.
Something about seeing him with her picture in his hand makes me want to jump over the desk and choke him. “Fuck you. You have a wife and a kid. Don’t you think it’s time to stop stalking women?”
He holds up both hands in mock surrender. “Just wanted to get a look at her. See if I’d have to give you hazardous duty pay for keeping a close eye on her. But from the look of her, it seems like you might need to pay me.”
I’d like to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”
His leans back, and chews on the knuckle of his index finger, his fucking lips twitching. “Immensely.”
“You’re an asshole.” I snatch one of the baby’s stuffed animals from the corner of his desk and whip it at him with everything I’ve got. He catches the baby chick as it bounces off his chest.
“I’m well aware,” he drawls, studying me carefully. “Why did you take her upstairs?”
He expects me to say I wanted to fuck her. But that’s not true. Not really. That came after we were already in the apartment. “I wanted to see how badly she wanted the story.” I shrug, brushing a thread from my pant leg.
“And?”
“She wants it bad.”
JD sits forward, elbows on the desk, the fingers of his left hand pressed against the right. He takes a moment to search my face before he speaks. “You didn’t.”
“Of course not. I toyed with her, but put an end to it long before it got out of hand.” But not before I made her take off her clothes and cry. I keep this information to myself, not that JD’s a choirboy, but it feels wrong to share it.
“Really? Because from the way you’re acting, it seems to me like it might have gotten out of hand. Like it might still be out of hand.”
“I didn’t touch her. She’s young. I was on a fishing expedition. That’s all.”
“Fishing. Of course.” He picks up a stack of papers off the desk and tosses them aside. “How young?”
“Mid-twenties.” Too young for my eclectic tastes.
“That’s not too young to cast a rod into.”
No, but in this case, young has nothing to do with age. “Why are we talking about this?”
“Because she’s a reporter. Maybe you didn’t stick your dick into her, but you wanted it. And you’re still thinking about it.”
“You’re a goddamn mind reader now? Well, tell me what else is on my mind.”
“I have no idea, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
He just handed me my opening. We need to have this discussion, and now. But the guilt I’m shouldering is heavy. “Mind if I get a drink?”
“Help yourself. Although I’m not sure why you’re asking.”
I pour us each a couple fingers of whiskey and hand him a glass. I’m going to tell him, but I want the vibe in the room to change. I don’t want this conversation to be flippant or laced with our usual sarcasm.
I sit down and sip my bourbon, appreciating the small burn in the back of my throat after the first drops trickle down.
“Now that you’ve se
t the mood and calmed your pretty little tits with my good bourbon, I’ll give you the bad news. I’m not fucking you, no matter how much you beg.”
I laugh. It comes all the way from my belly, and the corner of JD’s mouth curls in response. He’s a sonofabitch. The best kind of sonofabitch. I’ve never had a better friend.
“I appreciate you hiring me when I wasn’t sure where my life was headed,” I begin from the heart, because I remember how out of sorts—how lost—I felt after the surgery, after I left my unit. JD was there. I didn’t say much, and neither did he. But he listened carefully to the few words I spoke, and to the silence. He called bullshit when necessary. Stood beside me while I healed and then gave me a job to do. A real job. Not some bullshit task to keep me busy like the military had planned. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciated it at the time. Still do.”
He rubs his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ. You sound like a teenage girl telling some pimply-faced bastard he’s going home with blue balls. Spit it out.”
I hesitate for a few seconds. I’ve thought about this moment often in the last month, considered the words carefully, but still, they don’t come easy. “I’m ready to move on. I need more in my life. With your father gone, there are fewer safety concerns. You no longer need the kind of security I can offer.”
He runs his knuckles across an unshaven jaw. “You’re leaving?”
There’s a catch in his voice that’s rarely there. I suck in a breath and blow it out. “Don’t want to. I’m hoping you let me hang around and grow the business from here. Do some high-level tracking—maybe some search and rescue—pick-up a government contract, here and there.” I shrug. “The details are still up in the air. But there’s a Iot I can do remotely—even manage teams from here. Not much different from some of the work I did in the military, but I’ll be my own guy. I have skills I could be using more effectively.”
“Do it.”
Do it. Things with JD are rarely simple. I expected some pushback. Some kind of negotiation. “That’s it. Do it?”