Quarter to Midnight, page 46
He got out, waved at James, then squared his shoulders and let himself into his house.
He really loved his house. It had belonged to wife number one, had been in her family since just after the Civil War. As she was the last of her line, the house had passed to him after her death.
Poor, poor Lucille. He’d been happy to be rid of her, too.
He might wait a while before marrying again. Play the bereaved bachelor. Focus on his election and his soon-to-be constituency.
Enjoy his house again. He hadn’t, he realized. He hadn’t enjoyed coming home in a very long time.
That was about to change.
“Joelle?” he called.
The front of the house was dark, but something smelled good, which meant that Joelle wasn’t doing the cooking. She was a terrible cook. Too bad that he hadn’t thought to ask before marrying her. She’d been good in bed, and he figured that she could learn to be a homemaker.
Ha. That had not worked according to plan.
He made his way to the kitchen, noticing the dining room table set for two. China, candles, and his best crystal. He wondered what Joelle was up to.
The kitchen was empty and sparkling clean. There were covered dishes in the warming tray with a scribbled note from their regular cook. The woman had gone home, thankfully.
He and Joelle were all alone.
“Joelle?” he called again.
“In the front parlor.”
He frowned at that. Returning to the living room—which Joelle liked to call the “parlor” because it sounded fancier—he saw her lounging on the sofa in a negligee. He’d walked right past her like she hadn’t even been there.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
She rose fluidly, the sheer fabric clinging to her curves. She was a very beautiful woman. That hadn’t changed. But he’d rather touch a cobra.
“How was your day?” she all but cooed.
He sat on the sofa, spread his arms along the back, and propped an ankle on his knee. “Same old, same old. And yours?”
She settled on the middle cushion, tucking one foot beneath her so that their knees touched. “It was nice.” She ran a fingertip over the emerald necklace he’d given her two days before—identical to the one he’d given Ashley. “I went to the spa. Had Cook make your favorite meal. And then I got ready for you.”
Translation: she got ready for sex.
But that’s not going to happen today. “Excuse me,” he said. “I just got a text.”
She frowned when he took out his phone. “I think we need to have some phone-free time.”
Instead of checking his texts, he brought up his recording app and hit start. Then made sure his home screen was showing before placing the phone on the table. “I agree. We should talk.”
She scootched over a little closer and trailed her fingers up his thigh. “Or not.”
He placed his hand over hers, halting her explorations. “I want to talk about Ashley.”
She flinched, grabbing her hand back as though he were infectious. “What? Why?”
“Because she’s important to me.”
Joelle lifted her chin. “She’s just a two-bit whore.”
“So were you,” he said smoothly, and her hand swung as if to slap him, but he caught it before she made contact. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Joelle.”
“Why not? Are you going to have me arrested?” she mocked.
“Maybe. Don’t push me.”
“Don’t push you? Don’t push you? I will push you, husband dear. I will push you all I want to. I am your wife.”
“For now.”
She gasped, but it sounded rehearsed. “Are you threatening me with divorce?”
“No, I’m saying that I want one.”
She drew herself to her full height. “No.”
He laughed quietly. “What did you think would happen, Joelle? You put cameras in my office. You invaded my privacy. I do business in that office. You may have breached the privacy of any number of innocent people.”
“You don’t deal with innocent people.”
That was pretty much true. “It doesn’t matter. What did you think would happen?”
“I thought you’d get rid of her. I thought we’d be free of her. Now she’s gone. The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. We can work on our marriage. It’ll be like it was at the beginning.”
That was good. He’d be able to use a few of her words to his own advantage. He needed more, though. “Our marriage is over.”
She lurched to her feet, her hands balled into fists. “It’s not over until I say so. How dare you? You cheated on me.”
“As I’ve done before with previous wives, as you well know. Did you think you were special?”
Another gasp, this one seemingly sincere. “I did, and I was the fool. I thought you loved me.”
“I did. Once.”
“But you don’t love me anymore?” she asked, her lip trembling.
If he hadn’t seen the twitch of her left eye, he might have thought that she was genuinely brokenhearted. But the words themselves were gold. “I do not. I haven’t for a long time.”
She stomped one foot. “You will not divorce me. You will not leave me. I will fight you.”
“You will lose.”
“I have the videos,” she said smugly. “We have a prenup.”
“Which stipulates that you can’t cheat. It doesn’t say anything about me.”
Horror filled her eyes. “What?”
“You heard me.” And it was mostly true. Their prenup didn’t explicitly say that he could cheat, but he doubted a judge would make the distinction. Even wife number two got a little alimony. With video proof that he’d been fucking his assistant, Joelle wouldn’t get half of his net worth, but she would get a lot more than a little alimony. If she lived. Which she wasn’t going to. “I don’t want the scandal of a divorce, but you’ve left me no choice. I can no longer trust you in my home. I’d like you to pack your things and be out of here by tomorrow evening.”
Horror became shock. “You’re throwing me out?”
“I am.”
“You can’t do that!”
He actually couldn’t, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “Watch me.”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously, sending her diamond earrings swinging. “You will not divorce me. I won’t let you. I’ll fight you in court and I’ll win. I will destroy you. Your reputation will be in tatters by the time I’m through with you.”
Yes. This was what he wanted.
“Don’t make empty threats, Joelle.”
“They’re not empty threats! I will crucify you in the press. You’ll wish you were dead by the time I’m through with you. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.”
“I’m going to marry Ashley.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t marry her.”
“Watch me.”
“Over my dead body,” she said, then flounced out of the room and up the stairs.
He winced when the bedroom door slammed hard enough to knock pictures off the walls, then he took his phone and stopped the recording. It wasn’t perfect, but she’d given him a fair bit to work with.
He wished she’d threatened to kill herself. She’d done that before. Unfortunately, she had not done so today. But there were a few gems he could use.
The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. Both of those were good.
All the talk of destroying his reputation and him being sorry he’d crossed her was even better.
He could cut and paste and create a conversation that had actually never happened. But to someone overhearing, it would sound like Joelle was frantic, hysterical, and—hopefully—suicidal. Pair that with a convincing note—printed on the home printer, of course—and an electronic payment from her account to her “hit man”—a.k.a. the fall guy he’d chosen from his list?
The cops would conclude that Joelle had hated Ashley enough to have her killed, her body dismembered, and her remains thrown to the gators.
Problem solved.
Now for the fun part. He got to kill her himself. But he’d do that tomorrow afternoon.
No one suspected him yet. He had time to do this right.
24
Lake Salvatore, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 8:30 P.M.
Molly woke up with a jerk, bolting upright in bed. A strange bed.
She’d already grabbed her gun from the nightstand before inhaling deeply. Peanut butter cookies.
Slowly she returned the gun to the nightstand, clarity returning. Her sister and niece had been making peanut butter cookies in Farrah’s kitchen when Molly and Gabe had fallen asleep, and the delicious scent still hung in the air, hours later.
It had to be hours later. When they’d gone to sleep, the sun was still high in the sky. Farrah’s spare bedroom was already semi-dark, sunset approaching.
“You okay up there?” Gabe asked, his voice a little thick with sleep.
She glanced down to see that he’d rolled to his back and was staring up at her, amusement in his hazel eyes, the last rays of daylight making his dark red curls glimmer like fire. “Just that moment when you wake up and realize that you don’t know where you are.”
“You’re right here with me,” he drawled, and she smiled.
“Yes, I am.”
“And nobody’s shooting at us,” he added lightly.
“For now.”
He chuckled. “There’s my eternal optimist. Come back down here. Your energy is making me tired again.”
She complied, resting her head against his shoulder, sighing as his arms came around her. They were mostly dressed. Molly was wearing an oversized T-shirt that probably belonged to André. Gabe had on a pair of athletic shorts, his chest wonderfully bare and warm, smelling of soap and sleep and clean sweat. This was nice. More than nice. This was the feeling that smart people fought to keep forever.
They’d initially been put in separate rooms, but they’d met in the hallway when they’d both tiptoed out to find the other. They’d agreed on Gabe’s bed, because it was bigger.
Neither of them had wanted to sleep alone, and he’d held her almost desperately before his body had gradually relaxed into slumber. He’d held her like she was his lifeline.
She got the feeling. He was quickly becoming hers.
She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had he not been there in her apartment building’s garage. She’d acted rashly, charging ahead without scoping out the scene, her mind focused on the danger to her family. Gabe had been slower, more cognizant of their surroundings. Of the threats.
And he’d saved her life. By killing a man.
She’d killed the night before as well, and while she’d probably have a nightmare or two, she’d mostly made her peace with it. The man had been coming after her family. He’d tried to kill her and, if he’d succeeded, he would have killed Lucien and Gabe. And then he and Tobin would have taken Chelsea and Harper and who knew what would have happened next? She shuddered at the thought.
Besides, that first kill was usually the hardest. She remembered the first time she’d killed a man, back in Iraq. She’d had violent nightmares every night for nearly a year thereafter. Sometimes she still did, even now. And Jake . . . Killing her brother-in-law had been one of the lowest moments of her life.
She’d do it again without hesitation, but she’d emerged from the experience with scars on her heart that might always remain. She worried that Gabe wouldn’t be able to accept what he’d done.
“Are you okay?” Molly murmured, nearly purring when he began stroking her hair, struck by the fact that he was comforting her. “This has been intense.”
“We only slept,” he said dryly. “Despite what your sister is probably thinking that we’re doing back here.”
She looked up to see him smirking and the sight made her heart lighter. If he could still joke after everything that had happened, he was far stronger than she was. She still had trouble seeing the brighter side of life. It seemed safer somehow.
She lowered her head, loving the feel of his warm skin and soft chest hair against her cheek. “I meant the last twenty-four hours have been intense.”
He said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “Not to complain, but the last six weeks have been intense.”
He had every right to complain. She petted the hairs on his chest, keeping her touch soothing rather than sexual. “I’m optimistic that it’ll be over soon.”
She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “I see what you did there. I hope you’re right. I don’t think I can keep up this pace much longer. It’s physically exhausting, but more mentally draining. I don’t know how you guys do it.”
“I’m wrung out, too. Usually, we’re helping strangers. This . . . well, it’s not usually this . . . personal.” They were sleeping together and, even if today was only sleeping, they’d already had sex once. They’d talked about continuing their nascent relationship when this was over. She wasn’t sure how much more personal it could get.
He flinched. “I’m sorry. I never wanted your family to get hurt.”
Once again, she pulled back to look at him, needing him to understand. “Well, that, too, but that’s not what I meant. Yes, I’m terrified for my family, and I hate that they were terrorized last night, especially because they were just getting over what happened before. But right now, I meant that I’ve never gotten involved with a client before. Not until you. This is personal, Gabe. This right here. Us. We are personal.”
He went very still, holding her gaze. “Why didn’t you get involved with clients before?” he asked, his voice dipping low.
“I never wanted to. Nobody even made me think about it, not until I walked into the Choux that first time and saw you behind the kitchen glass. I wanted to talk to you, to maybe ask you out for coffee or something, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you right now, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I could have kept you safer had I kept you at arm’s length, but . . .” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
“I’m glad,” he murmured, sending chills racing across her skin. “Because I can’t seem to help myself, either. I want you, Molly Sutton. May I have you?”
Her cheeks heated in pleasure at the polite request. “I’ve been hoping you would.”
He kissed her then, long and . . . calm. There was a possessiveness in his touch, but it wasn’t the frantic grasping and stroking of their last time together in the hotel room.
This was confident and sure. The question in her mind wasn’t Does he like me, but more What will make him feel good? She swept her palm over his chest, teasing his nipples, feeling the harsh intake of his breath against her lips.
“Like that?” she whispered.
“Mmm. Yes. Please.” He rolled closer and his body was hot and hard . . . and ready. Very ready. His hands were relaxed but sure as he stroked up her thigh, urging her leg over his hip.
She continued the caresses, drifting lower and lower with each sweep of her hand. This felt lazy. Decadent. Like they had all the time in the world as the sun set over the water and the ceiling fan slowly turned.
But what if we don’t? What if the next shooter—
Stop it. Stop thinking. Just be. She banished the dark thought of what if, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts, questing. He interrupted her journey when he slid his palm under the long T-shirt, cupping her butt, his hand freezing when he touched bare skin.
He reared back, eyes wide and full of old-fashioned lust. “No panties? Molly Sutton, you’re a bad girl.”
“Wasn’t wearing any earlier, either,” she said with a grin. “Not all day.” Her panties had been in the dryer when they’d left that morning to follow Mule, and borrowing underwear . . . Just no.
He groaned softly, sending shivers rippling down her body straight to her core. “I’m glad I didn’t know that then. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything but your ass.” He groped her butt with a salacious waggle of his brows, making her giggle. “It’s a very, very nice ass, by the way.”
She pushed past his waistband, finding him bare beneath. Sliding her hand over his hip, she gave his butt cheek a squeeze. “Pot meet kettle,” she said, then returned to the part of him that really held her interest, wrapping her fingers around his erection. He was hard and hot, pulsing in her hand.
He let go of her ass long enough to shove his shorts down and tried to tug her shirt off. “You have to let go of me for a second,” he whispered, brushing another kiss over her lips.
She smiled. “But what if I don’t want to?”
“Then I can’t touch you and—” He made a startled sound when she let him go, yanked the shirt off herself, then fused their mouths together while gripping his cock once more.
He groaned again, deep and rumbly, before rolling her to her back and sliding down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she arched, her back coming off the mattress. She wanted to cry out, but there were people in the kitchen, close enough to hear her.
And this was private. This was for them. This was a brief oasis where they could take what they needed from each other, filling the places deep inside that had been so empty. So lonely.
They were lonely no more. Not right this minute, anyway, and for now, that was all that mattered.
She tunneled her fingers through his loose curls, soft between her fingers, tightening her grip on his hair when he started to lift his head. “No, don’t stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.” He gave her a wicked wink, then switched breasts, his hand curving over her hip on his way to her ass, which he gently squeezed again. He looked up, his mouth wet, eyes burning. “You have a beautiful body.”
He really loved his house. It had belonged to wife number one, had been in her family since just after the Civil War. As she was the last of her line, the house had passed to him after her death.
Poor, poor Lucille. He’d been happy to be rid of her, too.
He might wait a while before marrying again. Play the bereaved bachelor. Focus on his election and his soon-to-be constituency.
Enjoy his house again. He hadn’t, he realized. He hadn’t enjoyed coming home in a very long time.
That was about to change.
“Joelle?” he called.
The front of the house was dark, but something smelled good, which meant that Joelle wasn’t doing the cooking. She was a terrible cook. Too bad that he hadn’t thought to ask before marrying her. She’d been good in bed, and he figured that she could learn to be a homemaker.
Ha. That had not worked according to plan.
He made his way to the kitchen, noticing the dining room table set for two. China, candles, and his best crystal. He wondered what Joelle was up to.
The kitchen was empty and sparkling clean. There were covered dishes in the warming tray with a scribbled note from their regular cook. The woman had gone home, thankfully.
He and Joelle were all alone.
“Joelle?” he called again.
“In the front parlor.”
He frowned at that. Returning to the living room—which Joelle liked to call the “parlor” because it sounded fancier—he saw her lounging on the sofa in a negligee. He’d walked right past her like she hadn’t even been there.
Wishful thinking, I suppose.
She rose fluidly, the sheer fabric clinging to her curves. She was a very beautiful woman. That hadn’t changed. But he’d rather touch a cobra.
“How was your day?” she all but cooed.
He sat on the sofa, spread his arms along the back, and propped an ankle on his knee. “Same old, same old. And yours?”
She settled on the middle cushion, tucking one foot beneath her so that their knees touched. “It was nice.” She ran a fingertip over the emerald necklace he’d given her two days before—identical to the one he’d given Ashley. “I went to the spa. Had Cook make your favorite meal. And then I got ready for you.”
Translation: she got ready for sex.
But that’s not going to happen today. “Excuse me,” he said. “I just got a text.”
She frowned when he took out his phone. “I think we need to have some phone-free time.”
Instead of checking his texts, he brought up his recording app and hit start. Then made sure his home screen was showing before placing the phone on the table. “I agree. We should talk.”
She scootched over a little closer and trailed her fingers up his thigh. “Or not.”
He placed his hand over hers, halting her explorations. “I want to talk about Ashley.”
She flinched, grabbing her hand back as though he were infectious. “What? Why?”
“Because she’s important to me.”
Joelle lifted her chin. “She’s just a two-bit whore.”
“So were you,” he said smoothly, and her hand swung as if to slap him, but he caught it before she made contact. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Joelle.”
“Why not? Are you going to have me arrested?” she mocked.
“Maybe. Don’t push me.”
“Don’t push you? Don’t push you? I will push you, husband dear. I will push you all I want to. I am your wife.”
“For now.”
She gasped, but it sounded rehearsed. “Are you threatening me with divorce?”
“No, I’m saying that I want one.”
She drew herself to her full height. “No.”
He laughed quietly. “What did you think would happen, Joelle? You put cameras in my office. You invaded my privacy. I do business in that office. You may have breached the privacy of any number of innocent people.”
“You don’t deal with innocent people.”
That was pretty much true. “It doesn’t matter. What did you think would happen?”
“I thought you’d get rid of her. I thought we’d be free of her. Now she’s gone. The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. We can work on our marriage. It’ll be like it was at the beginning.”
That was good. He’d be able to use a few of her words to his own advantage. He needed more, though. “Our marriage is over.”
She lurched to her feet, her hands balled into fists. “It’s not over until I say so. How dare you? You cheated on me.”
“As I’ve done before with previous wives, as you well know. Did you think you were special?”
Another gasp, this one seemingly sincere. “I did, and I was the fool. I thought you loved me.”
“I did. Once.”
“But you don’t love me anymore?” she asked, her lip trembling.
If he hadn’t seen the twitch of her left eye, he might have thought that she was genuinely brokenhearted. But the words themselves were gold. “I do not. I haven’t for a long time.”
She stomped one foot. “You will not divorce me. You will not leave me. I will fight you.”
“You will lose.”
“I have the videos,” she said smugly. “We have a prenup.”
“Which stipulates that you can’t cheat. It doesn’t say anything about me.”
Horror filled her eyes. “What?”
“You heard me.” And it was mostly true. Their prenup didn’t explicitly say that he could cheat, but he doubted a judge would make the distinction. Even wife number two got a little alimony. With video proof that he’d been fucking his assistant, Joelle wouldn’t get half of his net worth, but she would get a lot more than a little alimony. If she lived. Which she wasn’t going to. “I don’t want the scandal of a divorce, but you’ve left me no choice. I can no longer trust you in my home. I’d like you to pack your things and be out of here by tomorrow evening.”
Horror became shock. “You’re throwing me out?”
“I am.”
“You can’t do that!”
He actually couldn’t, but he wasn’t going to let her know that. “Watch me.”
“No.” She shook her head vigorously, sending her diamond earrings swinging. “You will not divorce me. I won’t let you. I’ll fight you in court and I’ll win. I will destroy you. Your reputation will be in tatters by the time I’m through with you.”
Yes. This was what he wanted.
“Don’t make empty threats, Joelle.”
“They’re not empty threats! I will crucify you in the press. You’ll wish you were dead by the time I’m through with you. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed me.”
“I’m going to marry Ashley.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t marry her.”
“Watch me.”
“Over my dead body,” she said, then flounced out of the room and up the stairs.
He winced when the bedroom door slammed hard enough to knock pictures off the walls, then he took his phone and stopped the recording. It wasn’t perfect, but she’d given him a fair bit to work with.
He wished she’d threatened to kill herself. She’d done that before. Unfortunately, she had not done so today. But there were a few gems he could use.
The whore is gone. Now we can get back to normal. Both of those were good.
All the talk of destroying his reputation and him being sorry he’d crossed her was even better.
He could cut and paste and create a conversation that had actually never happened. But to someone overhearing, it would sound like Joelle was frantic, hysterical, and—hopefully—suicidal. Pair that with a convincing note—printed on the home printer, of course—and an electronic payment from her account to her “hit man”—a.k.a. the fall guy he’d chosen from his list?
The cops would conclude that Joelle had hated Ashley enough to have her killed, her body dismembered, and her remains thrown to the gators.
Problem solved.
Now for the fun part. He got to kill her himself. But he’d do that tomorrow afternoon.
No one suspected him yet. He had time to do this right.
24
Lake Salvatore, Louisiana
THURSDAY, JULY 28, 8:30 P.M.
Molly woke up with a jerk, bolting upright in bed. A strange bed.
She’d already grabbed her gun from the nightstand before inhaling deeply. Peanut butter cookies.
Slowly she returned the gun to the nightstand, clarity returning. Her sister and niece had been making peanut butter cookies in Farrah’s kitchen when Molly and Gabe had fallen asleep, and the delicious scent still hung in the air, hours later.
It had to be hours later. When they’d gone to sleep, the sun was still high in the sky. Farrah’s spare bedroom was already semi-dark, sunset approaching.
“You okay up there?” Gabe asked, his voice a little thick with sleep.
She glanced down to see that he’d rolled to his back and was staring up at her, amusement in his hazel eyes, the last rays of daylight making his dark red curls glimmer like fire. “Just that moment when you wake up and realize that you don’t know where you are.”
“You’re right here with me,” he drawled, and she smiled.
“Yes, I am.”
“And nobody’s shooting at us,” he added lightly.
“For now.”
He chuckled. “There’s my eternal optimist. Come back down here. Your energy is making me tired again.”
She complied, resting her head against his shoulder, sighing as his arms came around her. They were mostly dressed. Molly was wearing an oversized T-shirt that probably belonged to André. Gabe had on a pair of athletic shorts, his chest wonderfully bare and warm, smelling of soap and sleep and clean sweat. This was nice. More than nice. This was the feeling that smart people fought to keep forever.
They’d initially been put in separate rooms, but they’d met in the hallway when they’d both tiptoed out to find the other. They’d agreed on Gabe’s bed, because it was bigger.
Neither of them had wanted to sleep alone, and he’d held her almost desperately before his body had gradually relaxed into slumber. He’d held her like she was his lifeline.
She got the feeling. He was quickly becoming hers.
She didn’t want to think about what would have happened had he not been there in her apartment building’s garage. She’d acted rashly, charging ahead without scoping out the scene, her mind focused on the danger to her family. Gabe had been slower, more cognizant of their surroundings. Of the threats.
And he’d saved her life. By killing a man.
She’d killed the night before as well, and while she’d probably have a nightmare or two, she’d mostly made her peace with it. The man had been coming after her family. He’d tried to kill her and, if he’d succeeded, he would have killed Lucien and Gabe. And then he and Tobin would have taken Chelsea and Harper and who knew what would have happened next? She shuddered at the thought.
Besides, that first kill was usually the hardest. She remembered the first time she’d killed a man, back in Iraq. She’d had violent nightmares every night for nearly a year thereafter. Sometimes she still did, even now. And Jake . . . Killing her brother-in-law had been one of the lowest moments of her life.
She’d do it again without hesitation, but she’d emerged from the experience with scars on her heart that might always remain. She worried that Gabe wouldn’t be able to accept what he’d done.
“Are you okay?” Molly murmured, nearly purring when he began stroking her hair, struck by the fact that he was comforting her. “This has been intense.”
“We only slept,” he said dryly. “Despite what your sister is probably thinking that we’re doing back here.”
She looked up to see him smirking and the sight made her heart lighter. If he could still joke after everything that had happened, he was far stronger than she was. She still had trouble seeing the brighter side of life. It seemed safer somehow.
She lowered her head, loving the feel of his warm skin and soft chest hair against her cheek. “I meant the last twenty-four hours have been intense.”
He said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “Not to complain, but the last six weeks have been intense.”
He had every right to complain. She petted the hairs on his chest, keeping her touch soothing rather than sexual. “I’m optimistic that it’ll be over soon.”
She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “I see what you did there. I hope you’re right. I don’t think I can keep up this pace much longer. It’s physically exhausting, but more mentally draining. I don’t know how you guys do it.”
“I’m wrung out, too. Usually, we’re helping strangers. This . . . well, it’s not usually this . . . personal.” They were sleeping together and, even if today was only sleeping, they’d already had sex once. They’d talked about continuing their nascent relationship when this was over. She wasn’t sure how much more personal it could get.
He flinched. “I’m sorry. I never wanted your family to get hurt.”
Once again, she pulled back to look at him, needing him to understand. “Well, that, too, but that’s not what I meant. Yes, I’m terrified for my family, and I hate that they were terrorized last night, especially because they were just getting over what happened before. But right now, I meant that I’ve never gotten involved with a client before. Not until you. This is personal, Gabe. This right here. Us. We are personal.”
He went very still, holding her gaze. “Why didn’t you get involved with clients before?” he asked, his voice dipping low.
“I never wanted to. Nobody even made me think about it, not until I walked into the Choux that first time and saw you behind the kitchen glass. I wanted to talk to you, to maybe ask you out for coffee or something, but . . . I don’t know. Maybe I wasn’t ready. Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten involved with you right now, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I could have kept you safer had I kept you at arm’s length, but . . .” She lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I couldn’t seem to help myself.”
“I’m glad,” he murmured, sending chills racing across her skin. “Because I can’t seem to help myself, either. I want you, Molly Sutton. May I have you?”
Her cheeks heated in pleasure at the polite request. “I’ve been hoping you would.”
He kissed her then, long and . . . calm. There was a possessiveness in his touch, but it wasn’t the frantic grasping and stroking of their last time together in the hotel room.
This was confident and sure. The question in her mind wasn’t Does he like me, but more What will make him feel good? She swept her palm over his chest, teasing his nipples, feeling the harsh intake of his breath against her lips.
“Like that?” she whispered.
“Mmm. Yes. Please.” He rolled closer and his body was hot and hard . . . and ready. Very ready. His hands were relaxed but sure as he stroked up her thigh, urging her leg over his hip.
She continued the caresses, drifting lower and lower with each sweep of her hand. This felt lazy. Decadent. Like they had all the time in the world as the sun set over the water and the ceiling fan slowly turned.
But what if we don’t? What if the next shooter—
Stop it. Stop thinking. Just be. She banished the dark thought of what if, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his shorts, questing. He interrupted her journey when he slid his palm under the long T-shirt, cupping her butt, his hand freezing when he touched bare skin.
He reared back, eyes wide and full of old-fashioned lust. “No panties? Molly Sutton, you’re a bad girl.”
“Wasn’t wearing any earlier, either,” she said with a grin. “Not all day.” Her panties had been in the dryer when they’d left that morning to follow Mule, and borrowing underwear . . . Just no.
He groaned softly, sending shivers rippling down her body straight to her core. “I’m glad I didn’t know that then. I wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on anything but your ass.” He groped her butt with a salacious waggle of his brows, making her giggle. “It’s a very, very nice ass, by the way.”
She pushed past his waistband, finding him bare beneath. Sliding her hand over his hip, she gave his butt cheek a squeeze. “Pot meet kettle,” she said, then returned to the part of him that really held her interest, wrapping her fingers around his erection. He was hard and hot, pulsing in her hand.
He let go of her ass long enough to shove his shorts down and tried to tug her shirt off. “You have to let go of me for a second,” he whispered, brushing another kiss over her lips.
She smiled. “But what if I don’t want to?”
“Then I can’t touch you and—” He made a startled sound when she let him go, yanked the shirt off herself, then fused their mouths together while gripping his cock once more.
He groaned again, deep and rumbly, before rolling her to her back and sliding down her body, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Then he sucked her nipple into his mouth, and she arched, her back coming off the mattress. She wanted to cry out, but there were people in the kitchen, close enough to hear her.
And this was private. This was for them. This was a brief oasis where they could take what they needed from each other, filling the places deep inside that had been so empty. So lonely.
They were lonely no more. Not right this minute, anyway, and for now, that was all that mattered.
She tunneled her fingers through his loose curls, soft between her fingers, tightening her grip on his hair when he started to lift his head. “No, don’t stop.”
“Not plannin’ to.” He gave her a wicked wink, then switched breasts, his hand curving over her hip on his way to her ass, which he gently squeezed again. He looked up, his mouth wet, eyes burning. “You have a beautiful body.”
