Slow Burn

by Roxie Noir

  He does?

  The other man sighs.

  “Sorry to hear that, brother,” he says. “Glad you’re alright.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Gabriel says. “Thanks for checking. Have a good night.”

  “You too,” the other guy says. The door shuts. I finally exhale, my body coming unfrozen, and I glance over my shoulder at the big house.

  Almost every light on the second floor is on, the floor below where I’m supposed to be asleep in my bed, and for the second time in about sixty seconds, I freeze.

  Then I practically dive for my skirt and pantyhose as Gabriel’s steps cross the floor. I don’t bother getting the hose on, just shove them in one pocket as I pull my skirt up, then search for my underwear on my hands and knees.

  There’s a sigh from the doorway, just as I grab my panties, and I look over. Gabriel’s standing there, leaning against the door frame with my shirt and bra in his hand, watching me with a giant bulge in his jeans.

  “Someone’s awake in the house,” I whisper, getting to my feet.

  “Yeah, I saw the lights,” he says, his voice slow.

  I sit on the bed and pull my panties back on. I’m still naked from the waist up, and Gabriel tosses me my bra, then my shirt.

  I feel awful. I mean, I feel great but at the same time I’m so nervous I’m almost sick to my stomach, plus I feel awful that Gabriel just did that for me, and I haven’t reciprocated in the least.

  When I finish getting dressed, I sit on the edge of his bed and look at him for a few seconds, because I have no idea how to end this particular meeting, even though I need to go, now, before someone realizes I’m gone.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say, my eyes flicking to the lump in his jeans. “That we didn’t get to...”

  I trail off, because I have no idea how to phrase do stuff with your penis, but Gabriel just grins and offers me his hand, pulling me off his bed.

  “Don’t be,” he says, kissing me, his mouth still musky. “I had a great time tonight.”

  I stand on my toes and kiss him harder, because whether or not I’m about to get in a lot of trouble, hot, silky desire is snaking through my body again and I just want to touch him, get close to him.

  Gabriel pulls my skirt up and grabs my ass, giving it a good, long squeeze.

  “Get outta here,” he says. “Stay out of trouble so we can do this again.”

  “Right,” I whisper. “Sorry.”

  One more squeeze, and then I’m down the stairs.

  I grab my shoes from the kitchen, slide them on, and slip out the back door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Gabriel

  Holy shit, I can’t believe I just did that. There was a naked girl in my bed — fuck, a naked girl who’d just come her brains out — and I just told her to go instead of getting herself into trouble.

  A couple months ago, I’d never have done that. Hell, a couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t have turned down more sex. I didn’t do that, one of the dumbest decisions of my life, which is why I’m here in the first place.

  I walk to my bedroom window and angle myself so I can see through the blinds without moving them. Ruby’s a dark shape walking across the lawn in a wide circle, and as I watch her head for the pantry window, shoulders straight, hair moving in the breeze, I think: maybe I don’t regret coming here quite so much any more.

  She ducks around the side of the house and I can’t see her anymore, but I’m holding my breath. I’m still hard as fucking iron, and I clench my hands into fists, determined to wait until I’m sure she’s okay before I jerk off thinking about Ruby for the thousandth time.

  Ruby, half-naked on my kitchen table, her breasts full and her nipples stiff under my hands. The way she gasped when I touched her.

  Ruby, naked on my bed, her legs around my waist. The noise she made as I kissed my way down her leg, her hands in my hair as I licked her.

  The way she moaned, pussy clenching, when she came, every ounce of her self-control gone out the window.

  I swallow, teeth clenched, cock throbbing in my pants.

  Not until she’s okay.

  I keep waiting, powerless, and I fucking hate it because I’ve always been terrible at sneaking and subterfuge. I’d rather go in, guns blazing, and get the job done once and for all, but that’s not how it works here.

  Finally, just as I’m starting to get nervous for her, a curtain moves in her bedroom, and a sliver of darkness appears, Ruby’s face in the middle. I lift a single slat in the blinds, and I can’t see her face that well, but I’m almost certain she smiles.

  Then she waves. I stick my fingers through the blinds and wave back, and she closes the curtains.

  In seconds I’m on my bed, cock in my hand, the memory of Ruby’s moans filling my ears as I pump my hand hard, desperate for some kind of relief. I think of her naked, on the bed, of her fingernails on my back as I tease her slick folds, the way she’d moan as I enter her. The expression in her eyes as she gets close, the way she’d feel as she came with me inside her—

  I erupt in seconds, faster than I’ve come in years, clenching my jaw so I don’t shout. Afterward I take a deep, long, shuddering breath, stand, and head for the bathroom, dick still hanging out of my pants since I’m alone here, after all.

  It didn’t scratch my itch. It didn’t come close, but at least I think I can sleep tonight.

  In my shower the next morning, I wash my face about twenty times. Not because I mind smelling like Ruby, but because I can hardly walk around the Senator’s house with the smell of his daughter’s pussy on my face. Even if the thought makes me smile.

  Besides, I’ve got a suspicion that the Senator couldn’t identify the smell of pussy if there was one right in front of him.

  When I walk into the kitchen, Ruby’s right there, stirring together a big bowl of fruit salad. She looks over at me and for half a second we both stop, and I swear to God something about the way the morning sun lights her hair makes her look like some sort of angel.

  The urge to walk over, wrap her in my arms and kiss her good morning is so strong that I have to clench my fists in my pockets. But then Mrs. Burgess bustles in, carrying a pot of coffee, and breaks the spell.

  “Morning, Gabriel,” Ruby says, exactly the same way she does every morning.

  “Morning, Ruby,” I respond, and Mrs. Burgess hands me a cup of coffee.

  “Go on in to breakfast,” she says, in the polite voice she uses for orders. “The food will be right in.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I say.

  I give Ruby one last glance, force myself not to think of how soft her thighs were against my lips, and go into the dining room to join the rest of the men.

  After lunch, there’s a meeting of the Senator’s security staff. Thank God, no one mentions the strange noises from last night. Even though I sometimes do wake up shouting, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t sound anything like Ruby whisper-shouting oh my God over and over again, so I was kind of surprised the guy bought it.

  The meeting feels like it lasts forever in a stifling hot room right off the Senator’s office. The air conditioning doesn’t work too well in a house this old and this big, and Ray, who’s a little paranoid, won’t open a window. So I sit there, sweat, and think about Ruby’s legs wrapped around my waist.

  As it’s ending and I’m leaving, distracted, I hear the Senator clear his throat pointedly, and my stomach clenches.

  “Gabriel,” he says.

  I snap my head up and look him in the eye, thinking I’ve never seen your daughter naked.

  “Sir?”

  He buttons one button on his jacket, waiting for the rest of the security staff to trickle out. Then he nods at the door to his office, indicating that I should follow him.

  “A word,” he says.

  I steel myself, nodding, and follow.

  Don’t take it out on Ruby, I think. Make sure I never work again, just don’t take it out on her.

  He sits as his desk, waving a
hand at the chair opposite, and I follow suit. Wordlessly, he takes an envelope from a drawer and tosses it across his desk.

  I’m relieved but angry, all at once, one emotion traded for the other as I pick up the latest missive from Ruby’s stalker and start praying, wordlessly, that this is one of the harmless ones.

  “It came today,” the Senator says, his voice listless. “Postmarked yesterday from Atlanta, just like all the others. Nothing in the envelope. It’s the same notebook paper, the kind you get at Wal-Mart for fifty cents a ream.”

  Everything about this letter is untraceable, he’s saying. They all are: envelopes and paper and ink used by millions of people; postmarked Atlanta, one of the biggest cities on the east coast. He told me during one of our meetings that he had the FBI run the DNA from the envelope sealant, but it didn’t match anything in the system.

  Besides, just letters is pretty low on the threat scale for law enforcement. Even letters like these.

  I open it without saying anything, the Senator’s eyes on my face, and start reading.

  About two paragraphs into the spindly handwriting, I start frowning.

  “This is...” I start, trailing off. I turn the page over and skim the other side, alarm bells ringing louder and louder.

  “Sir, as far as I can tell this is an exact account of her activities at the Holtville County Fair last Saturday,” I say. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.

  I was there. I was with her, the whole time, and I didn’t protect her from him. This fucking creep was there too, watching her every move. Noting it down for later use, and now he’s goddamn taunting me with that knowledge.

  “This has escalated,” the Senator says darkly.

  I read it again, practically seeing red. I can’t believe how wrong I had this guy, thinking that he would never try anything, thinking that he just got off on writing her creepy letters and nothing else.

  He followed us. He followed her and I had no idea. Cold sweat starts tracing down my body as I think of every time that day that she left my sight, that she went to the ladies’ room, that she turned a corner before I did.

  Everything. He saw everything, and this message is crystal fucking clear: if he wanted to, he could hurt her.

  I could flip the Senator’s desk over right now, my whole body nearly vibrating with raw rage even as I try to collect myself and act as though I’m professionally upset, not fucking murderous.

  “We need to go after him,” I say. “There has to be something. We know he was close last Saturday, and chances are, he’ll be close again. He’ll want to try something, and when we does we’ll—”

  I stop short, because I nearly say rip his fucking arms off and beat him with them. I clear my throat.

  “—See that he’s arrested,” I finish.

  “I agree,” the Senator says curtly. “I’ll be adding to her security detail during events that require her to leave the estate, and I’m increasing patrols around the house itself.”

  He leans forward at his desk, eye glinting dangerously. I’m strangely glad that, as differently as we feel about everything else, we’re both fucking furious about this. We have exactly one thing in common, and it’s our desire to protect Ruby.

  “I’ve spoken again with my contacts at the FBI and exerted a little pressure,” he says. “Right now, they’ve got a handwriting analyst working on this, as well as a few agents going through the security cameras from the post office where this was postmarked. It’s a long shot, but I had to do something.”

  “Are there records of who attended the fair?” I ask, though I’m sure he’s thought of it.

  The Senator shakes his head.

  “FBI and Holtsville PD have gone over what they could already,” he says. “Someone just walking around the fair wouldn’t have set off any alarms.”

  But he was there, I think. He was right there. I must have seen him.

  We might have made eye contact. Jesus, I could have spoken with him.

  The thought turns my blood cold.

  “I’d like you to put together a security plan for our overnight visit to Charleston to attend the Patriots for America rally,” he says. “Any resources you need are yours.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  There’s a knock on the side door, and Mason sticks his face in.

  “Your daughter, sir.”

  The Senator sighs.

  “Yes, send her in.”

  The door closes, and he leans across the desk, hand extended. It’s a clear we’re done here, so I stand and shake his hand as the door opens again and Ruby walks in.

  I swear every inch of my skin prickles.

  “You wanted to see me, father?” she asks in that clear, honey-sweet, fake voice.

  “Thank you, Gabriel,” the Senator says, and I head for the door.

  Just as I step through, I hear him say, “Ruby, I heard you refused Kyle Pickett’s offer of marriage.”

  The door shuts behind me, and I stop short.

  That’s what he’s fucking talking to her about?

  Every nice thought I had about the Senator wanting to protect his daughter flies out the window. I nearly open the door again to give the man hell, but instead I clench my teeth and stop myself. Getting fired won’t make Ruby any safer.

  In the side office, Mason is watching me from behind his desk, but he quickly looks away when I make eye contact. Still fuming, I let myself out and head downstairs to start planning for our trip.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ruby

  I see Gabriel all day long, but we never mention what happened last night. We can’t. We’ve graduated from isn’t that bunny fluffy to the broad outlines of our lives: how he grew up an Army brat, never in the same place for more than a few years; how I used to have a dog named Goldie. But I can’t say I’m coming back tonight.

  Still, even though our conversations are short and scrubbed clean of anything salacious, I like them. I feel like I’m finally starting to put together the pieces of Gabriel.

  On one hand, there’s the polite consummate professional who quizzes me on exits and vantage points, who’s constantly on the lookout, who’s always close and protective and ready to take down a threat. Who makes me feel safe, no matter what.

  And on the other, there’s the Gabriel who gets me wet with a glance, who pushes me against a wall and makes me moan. The Gabriel who left a light purple hickey on my inner thigh last night, which I found when I took a shower this morning.

  That Gabriel finally finds me folding laundry in the family room, and as he leans against the doorframe, I can’t help but blush, even though I can hear my mother talking from the next room over.

  He doesn’t say anything, but he raises one eyebrow and just looks at me, questioningly.

  My mouth goes dry, but I nod once, doing my best not to smile.

  Then Gabriel winks. I wink back. My mother appears behind him, and he steps out of the doorway as she asks if I’ve starched my father’s shirts properly this time.

  Just then, I don’t even remember what starch is.

  That night, it feels like it takes forever for all the lights in the house to go out. I’ve already got my stupid pantyhose off, wadded up in a ball in my underwear drawer, and there’s nothing I can do but lie here until it’s finally time to sneak out to the carriage house.

  This is stupid. I know it’s stupid. I’m a grown woman — I’m divorced for Pete’s sake — and I’m sneaking out of my parents’ house through a window to go meet a man.

  I need to leave. I’ve known that much for months, but I haven’t got anything in place yet, so for now, it’s all tiptoeing past floodlights and holding my breath every time I come back in.

  Once it’s quiet, I grab my shoes in one hand and head down the back stairs, barefoot, treading to the far-right side where they’re less squeaky. I skip the sixth from the top and the second from the bottom, and I get to the hall between the laundry room and the kitchen without any sound.

  And then
I freeze, because there are voices.

  I hold my breath and will myself silent and invisible, trying to shrink so I fit into the deepest shadow the stairway has to offer, just listening.

  Say you came down for a drink of water. No one will suspect anything...

  “But I can’t,” the first voice whispers, and I frown. “It won’t work, they’ll find it, they found the first one...”

  It’s my youngest sister, Joy, and my heart tightens in my chest.

  Joy, what are you getting up to?

  “So hide this one better, dummy,” says my brother Zeke’s voice.

  “I can’t,” she whispers, sounding completely miserable. “Pearl will find it again, and this time she’ll tell Mom and Dad and she’ll probably tell them that I’m worshipping Satan or something because she’s way too dumb to know what imaginary numbers are, and...”

  In the dark, I raise one eyebrow.

  “You’re telling me you’re sneaky enough to enroll in a college math class and not sneaky enough to hide a textbook from Pearl?” Zeke says. “Please.”

  Now I’m grinning. I wish I’d been enrolling in college math classes when I was fourteen, but my rebellion was limited to kissing a boy a couple of times. Math might have actually been helpful.

  Atta girl, Joy.

  “Okay, okay,” Joy mutters. “I just...”

  I slip away in the opposite direction, toward the pantry with the window, their voices fading into the background. The window slides up silently, and I get out, go behind the rosebushes, cross the yard in a wide circle. I’ve done this enough in the past six months that I know the route by heart, though when I get to the wall behind the bushes, I go toward Gabriel’s carriage house instead of the loose bar in the fence.

  This time, I don’t even have to knock.

  He pulls the door open before I have the chance and when I see him, I just stand there for the space of a few heartbeats, savoring the moment. Looking at him for as long as I want, as much as I want, not afraid that someone else will catch me and wonder if I’m thinking lustful thoughts.