by M. S. Parker
I dug far in the back of my closet for something I'd bought a few months back but had never worn. At the time, I hadn't even been sure why I'd bought it. The simple black sheath clung to my body, the skirt pulling tight down my thighs to my knees. A longer hem than I normally wore, but the loose cowl neckline plunged almost to my navel. The back also swooped low, making wearing a bra impossible. Sophisticated, yet sexy.
I slipped on the dress and slicked my bouncing red curls back into simple gold clips held low behind my ears. The stark style was new, but I loved the sleek, no-nonsense effect. I kept it going with minimal make-up instead of the smoky eye look I usually went for. A pair of simple silver bracelets and four-inch plain black heels finished things off.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked years older than usual, which meant I actually looked like an adult. I wasn't some hot rich girl. I looked like a powerful, important woman, the sort of woman who didn't need to giggle and flirt to entice men, but rather the sort of woman who had men falling over themselves to prove their worth.
No one would dismiss me tonight.
If Haze hadn't been dreaming about me, he would now.
21
Haze
Leighton walked out her bedroom door and I was dumbstruck. Instead of the glitzy party girl ensemble I expected to see, she wore a simple black dress. Simple in the same way a knife's blade appeared flat before it sliced through your skin. So, yeah, not really simple at all when it was on her. The hem fell almost to her knees, but only accentuated the slight curve of her hips and her slim waist. The dress swooped down to the small of her back and the neckline dropped almost to her bellybutton, clear evidence that she wasn't wearing a bra.
Fuck.
This was like nothing I'd ever seen on her before. It wasn't cute and ditzy, dropping her IQ by ten points simply by wearing it. Her dress revealed only enough to weaken me, and distract me with thoughts of what it hid. My stomach churned when I realized that I wouldn't be the only one distracted by her.
Damn, I wanted her. I wanted to slip those gold clips from her hair and loose those gorgeous curls. My hands ached to pull the dress from her shoulders and see if my dream had done her justice.
“You'll have to drive,” Leighton said. “I gave the chauffeur the night off.”
The look she threw me over her shoulder as she started down the stairs told me that she knew exactly what that dress was doing to me.
Tonight was going to suck.
I followed her out of the house and to my car where she paused by the passenger side door. She didn't even bat an eyelash as I pulled open the door and offered her a hand. She slipped into the seat and the glimpse of her creamy thighs was like a kick in the gut.
I breathed in the cool night air as I rounded the car and swore at myself. What the hell was this all about? Had she picked that dress to screw with my head, or had I completely misjudged the little party girl and this was the real Leighton?
She punched the party’s address into the car's navigation and cranked up the stereo before I'd finished settling in. As we headed for the gates, she dabbed a floral spiced perfume on her wrists, and I felt my mouth go dry.
“Anything you can tell me about the venue?” I asked, grateful for the excuse to talk business.
I concentrated on asking about the details of what I needed to know: entrances, exits, possible guest list, staffing, and atmosphere. Instead of answering, however, Leighton plugged in her phone charger and ignored me.
We drove in silence and I did my best not to look at her. Not to see the stretch of her arms as she toyed with her phone and picked new songs on the stereo. I refused to give in to a swell of pride as we stopped at a light and a group of men in the crosswalk admired my ride and my companion.
None of that was for me, I reminded myself. I was a shadow. I'd always been a shadow. In fact, I used to depend on that feeling when I'd been overseas. I'd prided myself on disappearing into a mission, but now Leighton made me want to be noticed.
By her.
I pressed harder on the accelerator, and we shot up the canyon road to the aerial line of lights I knew were advertising the party. I just wanted to get there and pretend I didn't care about how amazing Leighton looked tonight.
Except when we got there, my previous fears were justified. I wasn't the only one affected by her appearance. In a sea of sparkles, glitter, and garish color, she stood out. Next to her elegant silhouette, the other girls looked silly and childish.
“Oh my, oh my, oh my Leighton.” A tall, slouching playboy with shaggy sandy-colored hair sidled up to her. Judging by the possessive look in his light blue eyes, I thought it was safe to assume this was the infamous Ricky, Leighton's asshole boyfriend who'd left her in a pool to drown four years ago instead of diving in to save her.
I tried not to scowl as he wrapped an arm around her waist. He smiled and kissed her cheek, clearly pleased with claiming what every man in the room wanted.
Every man including me.
“I've been waiting and wanting you all night.” He had his mouth close to her ear, but I could still hear him.
Leighton snapped her head back and smirked. “Somehow I doubt you've been waiting, and you've never wanted for anything in your life.”
“As if you don't love giving it to me,” Ricky said.
My stomach knotted as my fingers curled into a fist, and I fought the urge to punch him in his smug, smirking face. The trouble I'd get into for it, though, wouldn't be worth it. It wasn't like this was some stranger talking to her like that. He was her boyfriend, after all. As long as he wasn't hurting her, it wasn't any of my business.
Still I couldn't unclench my fist as I watched him check out some cheap-looking blonde who passed by. How did Leighton put up with him? Why?
“This must be your new accessory.” Ricky turned his attention to me. “Bulky. Not at all your style.”
“My thoughts exactly. Can you believe my grandfather?” Her tone was dismissive.
They walked away, and I let the distance grow. The LA mansion was one large expanse of marble floor with an open-concept kitchen, wall-sized windows opening onto a long balcony, and sight lines that meant I didn't have to hear every irritating word of their conversation while still keeping an eye on her. It was nearly impossible to find a shadow against the wall, but I settled for a less-bright expanse between two modern art murals and took up my station, grateful for the excuse to stand still.
The switchback drive up the canyon road had unsettled me more than I cared to admit. More than once I'd felt the tipping onslaught of vertigo. Thankfully, it had held off, and we'd arrived without incident. Now, I blinked against the flashing laser lights that sliced across the white lofted ceiling. Dance music pumped from speakers in every corner of the mansion, and I felt the bass in my chest, at the base of my skull. It was enough to almost make me wish I had actually lost my hearing.
I slipped the motion sickness bracelets on my wrists and breathed slowly as I tugged the sleeves of my jacket over them. I didn't care about covering my tattoos, but the long sleeves were definitely good for covering the bracelets.
Except the disorienting lights, insistent music, and churning crowd didn't make me uncomfortable because of the vertigo, so the bracelets couldn't help me. The problem was, I was out of my element. I knew it was warped that an exploding battlefield was more inviting than an LA party, but my body was screaming for escape in a way it never had from combat.
Leighton, on the other hand, was cutting through the party like a shark in the water. Drinks appeared when she held out her hand, and all she had to do was smile at Ricky for him to inhale deeply on a joint and exhale it to her in a kiss.
The air was heavy with the smells of alcohol and marijuana smoke, and I knew other temptations were there too, hidden. I had to remind myself that I wasn't a cop. It wasn't my job to police the crowd, and it wasn't my job to keep her from drinking or doing whatever drugs she wanted to do. When she tossed away her inhibitions and contr
ol, I was to make sure she was still safe. That was my job.
“Hello, delicious,” a voice purred.
I turned and found Paris stalking toward me. Her hot pink dress was slit so high on one leg each step revealed yellow tiger-striped panties fringed in matching pink lace. She noticed my observation and posed with one knee jutting out so the slit remained open. I pointedly looked away.
“I didn't think I'd see you here,” she said.
“Ms. Machus is over there.” I nodded without looking at her.
“And she'll be fine without you staring at her all night. No reason you can't have a little fun yourself.” Paris dragged her hand down my chest. “Don't you need to do a perimeter check or something? I could come provide back up.”
I looked over her head and saw Ricky tugging Leighton away from a pair of handsome twins. I almost wanted to smirk, but it wasn't my place to have an opinion about her relationships.
“If you like it a bit rough, I could use some lessons in self defense,” Paris continued, inching even closer. “How about you attack me and I'll fight back.”
She trailed her hand down to my belt and tugged. That was enough. I gripped her wrist and twisted her hand away from my body. Paris gasped and then gave me an open-mouthed smile. I dropped her wrist and stepped away.
“No fair.” She pouted. “Why should Leighton get to have all the fun?”
“I thought Leighton was your friend?” I asked.
“Sure, but that doesn't mean she can keep me from anything I want.” Paris followed my eye line to where Ricky was standing with one arm flung over Leighton's shoulders. “Including him.” She gave me a look that practically screamed predator. “I bet you're better than he is though.”
“You slept with your friend's boyfriend.” I made it a statement instead of a question.
Paris laughed and rolled her eyes. “That's not really how things work in our circle. Ricky wanted it, begged for it, so why not? Just a little fun between friends.”
“I'm not sure Leighton would agree,” I said tightly.
“Well, they have an open relationship, so she's welcome to scratch any itches she might get.” Paris gave me a sideways look. “Everyone knows Ricky does.”
I could feel my jaw clench and hated myself for it. I tried to keep my face blank and wasn't sure I succeeded.
“Ricky wants her to join us,” Paris said. “I suppose that means you'll have to watch. It is your job, right? I certainly won't mind.”
I felt sick. I turned and walked away from Paris, but the movement had been too quick and the vertigo grabbed hold. My head spun, and I froze in front of a statue. If I fell now, I'd tip over the million-dollar hunk of marble and make an enormous scene. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped I appeared to be admiring the art. Even as the room tilted and spun, I forced my body to stay still. After what seemed like hours, the vertigo passed and I relaxed.
When I turned around and scanned the crowd for Leighton, I saw she'd moved. She and Ricky were in the kitchen now, and as I watched, he picked her up and set her on the counter. He slipped her black dress up high enough that he could lean between her legs, giving everyone else an eyeful up to mid-thigh. Whatever he said when he leaned close made her laugh, and my fist clenched again.
Paris joined them, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss Leighton's cheek. Leighton chatted with her happily as Ricky nuzzled her neck and stole sips from her drink. From a distance, they looked like three happy friends, but I knew better now. I knew the kind of people they were. How could she not see it? How could they make her smile?
I wanted to storm across the room and yank Leighton away from those assholes. I wanted to carry her out to the car and tell her what Paris said. She had to know there was a difference between being played with and being cared for. Ricky and Paris didn't care for her or about her. They treated everyone like toys, and Leighton was no different.
I moved across the room. It was ridiculous, I knew. I had no reason to interfere and Leighton would probably hate me for it. Why did I care if her so-called friends were actually scum? Leighton had made it pretty clear that I was little more than an accessory to her.
I watched Leighton jump off the counter and teeter on her four-inch heels. Ricky caught her, and my chest burned. He could barely stand himself, loose from a full night of drinks and drugs, but she welcomed his hands on her waist. They swayed together and laughed, looking like the perfect Hollywood couple.
I pushed through the crowd without knowing what I was going to say or do. All I knew was that Leighton was better than this, better then them, and all they wanted to do was cheapen her, bring her down to their level.
“Uh-oh, looks like your watchdog is jealous,” Paris said in a not-so-quiet stage whisper. “Down, boy. Heel.”
Ricky laughed, a shrill, barking laugh that went straight through my head. Leighton didn't laugh, though. I was relieved to see her eyes were angry, sharp, and clear. She'd had a bit to drink and a couple puffs on a joint, but she wasn't too far-gone to make smart choices.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Welch?” Leighton asked, pressing herself closer to Ricky.
“Could we have a private word?” I asked, fighting the urge to grab her and drag her away.
“No,” Leighton said with an empty smile. “Now, I may not be retired Special Forces, but even I can see how wide the sight lines are in this party. There's no reason you need to leave the wall. And you certainly don't need to talk to anyone, including my friends.”
I glanced at the smug smile Paris wore. She must have told Leighton I'd been hitting on her, twisting everything that happened. It was all a game to her, to them, a twisted game with no winners, just damage.
Seeing Leighton's impervious expression, flanked by her smirking friends, I reminded myself of my original goal. This job was just a way to prove I could be on my feet and working with no mishaps. That I could be active without issues. I'd earn a clean bill of health and then start working toward being reinstated to active duty. I'd gladly take a village full of insurgents over another LA party any day. Until then, I'd study these awful people and their guerrilla social tactics.
It was the only way to keep Leighton safe whether she wanted me to or not. And that wasn't negotiable.
22
Leighton
I knew what Haze wanted to say. It was written all over his face. He wanted to tell me that Ricky was no good, and that Paris was more of a snake than a friend. The thing was, it pissed me off that he thought I didn't know. He thought I was so naive, so clueless, that I couldn't see what was going on around me.
The instant Paris came into the kitchen and pecked my cheek, I knew she and Ricky had slept together. Not that it surprised me. Of course he'd come on to her. Ricky flirted with everyone. And of course Paris had slept with him. He wanted whatever someone else had. And with me being the idiot who'd agreed to try out an open relationship, I had no one to blame but myself. Not that it would have stopped him from fucking anyone he wanted.
But there was more, I knew. He'd practically salivated at the sight of Paris touching me, and I felt my stomach drop in disgust. Shit. He'd commented for years about how he'd love to have a threesome. More than once, he'd said how hot Paris and I looked together. But he'd never come out and asked the two of us to sleep with him at the same time.
But he wanted it. I could see it on his face.
For some reason, that hurt more than knowing he'd fucked the person I'd always considered my best friend.
“I might need something stronger than this weed, what do you say, babe?” Ricky broke into my thoughts. “Private party upstairs?”
“Let's leave your little watchdog howling at the door.” Paris ran her finger up my arm, and I almost gagged at the look exchanged between them.
I slipped out of Ricky's arms. “Boring. I came to mingle.”
Ricky frowned, already jealous of any man who might catch my attention, while Paris pretended she wasn't pissed off that I'd said a private party with her and Rick
y would be boring. With a smile at me, she snaked her arm around Ricky's waist, under his white sports coat, and whispered in his ear. I smiled back at her when he shook her off and followed me into the crowd.
“You're looking mighty fine this evening, Ms. Machus.” A short, black-haired man stepped in front of me. “Your Devlin Pope's granddaughter, right?”
“That's me,” I said, snagging a drink off a passing tray. “Let me guess, you want to be a recording star. Rapper?”
He laughed. “I always thought of myself as the next crooner, you know, melt the girls right out of their panties and all that, but actually I'm interested in being an agent.”
Of course he was. “Good for you,” I said.
Ricky glowered from across the marble floor, but was soon caught up in the body-glittered arms of a pair of girls dressed in identical skimpy clothes. I recognized them as teenage pop stars who'd recently come of age. To no surprise at all on my part, Ricky immediately started panting over them and forgot about following me.
“Those are my girls over there,” the black-haired man said. He gestured toward the girls who were currently taking turns groping the front of Ricky's pants. “They're total tramps, but they can sing, and who doesn't like a little sex in their music videos. Am I right?”
“Wrong,” I said, sidestepping him. “Try cost analysis and projected earnings spreadsheets. My grandfather's not an idiot.”
And neither am I, I thought. No matter what everyone thought of me.
“Hey, now wait a minute.” The man followed me. “How about we have a drink and you tell me what works on you. Maybe I can satisfy your itch, and you could talk to the old man? I have connections.”
I glared at him as I drained my drink and tossed the glass in his general direction. He automatically reached out to catch it, and I walked away while he was distracted. I could feel Haze's eyes on me and grabbed another drink. I was in no mood to deal with his disappointment or accusatory looks. I had a solution for that.