She laughed until her face ached, in a good way.
“Hey, did I ever tell you that story about the time we hooked the one that got stuck on that old boat propeller?”
At least seven times. But she said, “No, I don’t think you did,” just to hear his voice come to life, rumbling and colorful, dripping all the algae tang of the swamp he’d loved and then left.
“Well, Daddy got the boat all turned in the wrong way, and then…”
~*~
They’d left the lights off, but the blinds were open, and enough moon and streetlight filtered in to afford her a view of bunching, straining muscle.
Carter was above her, one hand braced on the pillow beside her head, the other gripping the headboard, leverage for the thrusts that rocked her body.
Any last vestiges of self-consciousness had burned away as they’d stumbled down the hall and into her bedroom. There was no room for doubt or shyness when he was buried this deep inside her, hitting her right there, over and over. She watched him from beneath heavy eyelids, vision blurred. She whimpered and moaned to let him know that it was good, to encourage him – God, she’d die if he stopped – and squeezed his hips tight with her thighs, ankles hooked behind his back; reached up when she could just to touch all that hard, working muscle on his sweat-slick chest and stomach.
It was good. It was so good.
Then he pulled out.
But before she could murmur a protest, he had hold of her hips, and was turning her over, easily. Urging her up on her knees, hands tight over her hipbones, and he was sliding back in, picking the previous rhythm right up. And, oh, this was good, too.
She braced her elbows on the mattress, gripped the sheets, and pressed back into each of his thrusts, chasing the blunt pressure of his cock. She was panting raggedly, and so was he.
Her orgasm surprised her. She closed her eyes and let the starbursts crowd behind her eyelids; let the wave of pleasure crest – and wash over her.
She was dimly aware of making some sound, but didn’t know if it was a cry or a whimper. Thought she might fall. But Carter held her hips, held her up; she pressed her heated face against the pillow, still wracked with pulses that sent fresh darts of pleasure through her, as he chased his own released. Faster, faster, he pressed in deep, and came with a bitten-off shout, grinding against her, his fingers spasming.
Her body felt liquified, shaky and unreliable – but it was a good kind of haze. He stayed above her a moment, as he softened, and she shivered pleasantly beneath the gentle stroke of his hands across her back. When he finally withdrew, Leah collapsed down onto her stomach, eyes shut, body humming. Falling asleep was a real possibility.
The mattress dipped, and she heard him moving around, and her eyes snapped open when she felt a warm, damp cloth press against her swollen sex.
“Sorry,” he said, softly. “We’re a mess.”
She held still, while he wiped her down, so gently, and then rolled onto her side, watching him walk back to her en-suite to put the towel away. His torso was an inverted triangle, strong and spare, but his ass, she noticed, was sweetly curved, and pale, untouched by the sun.
She was smiling when he returned, and stretched out on his side, facing her.
“What?”
“You have a very cute butt.”
He wiped a hand down his face, groaning – but laughing, too.
“Don’t deny it. You do.”
“No, it’s just…” Enough filtered, bluish light fell through the blinds in slats to afford her a glimpse of his eyes, made even bluer in the shadows, sparkling with an emotion she couldn’t name. Not yet. “How can we do…that. And then just go right back to. You know. Joking around and shit. Like we’re friends.”
“Aren’t we friends?”
“Yeah, but…that.” He gestured to the mattress between them; the sheets smelled of sweat and sex.
She shrugged. “Why can’t we? Why not be friends, and then have killer sex. And I do mean killer. Holy shit. That was…”
His teeth flashed white in the gloom. “Yeah.”
“We should do it again. Very soon.”
She expected another laugh – but his smile slipped, the Cheshire cat grin fading. “I’ve never…” He trailed off.
“Never what?” she prompted, softening her tone.
He hesitated. Played with an imaginary bit of lint on the sheet between them. “It’s never been like this for me.” His lashes lowered, and he was uncertain, she realized. He didn’t know how to rectify companionship with hot sex.
They’d have to work on that. “Good,” she teased, “because I like to feel special.”
His smile came back, gentler this time. He looked almost bashful, now, and she wondered, if she clicked the lamp on, if she’d see him blushing. “You still up for nachos?”
“God, yes, I’m starving.”
~*~
“Go get some rest,” Fox had suggested. “I’ll come get everyone when he wakes up,” he’d said of their prisoner.
Reese went to the clubhouse kitchen to make a mug of tea, then he went outside, into the pleasant coolness of the evening, the stars wheeling overhead. He walked aimlessly, until the soft lights of Maggie’s parking lot garden drew him. He went up the little stairs, into the sprawling raised bed full of benches, and fruit trees, and flowers, and fountains, and paths, and found Tenny there.
He sat on a curved stone bench beneath an apple tree strung with fairy lights, staring down into the goldfish pond at his feet, knees splayed and feet hooked together. Slumped down with his elbows braced on his thighs. In the fraction of a second before he heard Reese and looked his way, his expression was one of deep contemplation – but not unhappiness, Reese didn’t think. The notch between his brows spoke of mulling things over, but not of misery.
When he lifted his head, he’d smoothed his expression into its perfect mask. He didn’t speak.
Reese wasn’t sure what to do for a moment. He couldn’t remember a time when Tenny hadn’t made the first overture, whether it was friendly or vicious, or, as was the case most of the time, viciously friendly.
He said, “I can leave. If you want.”
“No.” Tenny shrugged and looked back at the pond again. “You can stay.”
Reese knew it was the closest he’d get to an invitation, so he went slowly down the path, and sat down on the opposite end of the bench, giving Tenny plenty of time to get up and move if he wanted to. He didn’t. “I’m not sleepy,” he explained.
“Me neither.” Tenny sat back, and stretched out his long legs; the heels of his boots rested on the flat rocks that edged the pond. “Thought about going for a run.”
“Or call Stephanie,” Reese suggested, though his stomach twisted unpleasantly at the suggestion. “I won’t get in the way. Just you and her this time.”
Tenny sucked in a sharp breath…and then let it out slowly. “You stupid fucking tit,” he muttered, not quite under his breath. Then he sighed, and in a more normal voice, said, “Walsh’s wife asked me to come help exercise some of her training horses.”
Reese paused mid-sip and turned to look at him. No part of that sentence had made any sense.
Tenny seemed to know it, if the way he rolled his eyes was any indication. “I had dinner over there.”
“At the farm.”
“Yes, at the farm, where else would I have spoken with Walsh’s wife?” he snapped, impatiently.
“At the clubhouse,” Reese pointed out.
“Hmph. At the farm. She asked me, then.”
“Do you know how to ride a horse?”
Tenny turned to meet his gaze, his usual sneer in place, haughty and overconfident. “Do you honestly think there’s anything I don’t know how to do?”
Explain what you’re thinking and feeling, Reese thought. Be polite. He didn’t say that, though, and it turned out he didn’t need to.
Tenny made a face and said, “Nevermind, don’t answer that. Yes, I know how to ride a horse. Quite wel
l, actually.”
“Walsh used to be a jockey.”
“Yes, yes.” Impatient again. Then he sighed, and stared out across the garden. Reese didn’t have words for the atmosphere of the place, couldn’t have begun to describe it to someone else with any kind of artistry, but he’d been drawn to it tonight. He felt more at peace here. It was easier to let the daily concerns fade into the background, here in this most unlikely of oases.
When Tenny spoke again, his tone had shifted. Light, airy, careless – but Reese picked up on a subtle vibration of tension. “I’m going Tuesday afternoon. You should come.”
He felt his brows go up in surprise. “You want me to come?”
Tenny didn’t answer for a long moment, but Reese, studying his profile, saw his lashes flicker, and his throat move. Finally, he said, “Yes.” Just that, no further explanation.
Reese didn’t need one. “Okay.” A thought struck. “We might still be busy. Ghost will want to go after the mayor.”
“Oh, that.” Tenny dismissed it with a wave. “We’ll have that settled before then. Wait and see.”
Thirty-Six
“You don’t need to follow me,” Leah said over an early breakfast of toast and sliced grapefruit. “I’ll be totally fine. It’s right downtown. And it’s daylight. You don’t have to worry.” Her cheeks glowed a faint pink, and her lashes were lowered in signs of obvious charmed embarrassment at his insistence, but her tone was steady and firm. She really didn’t want to inconvenience him; but, mostly, he thought, she didn’t like the idea of being dependent. She’d always had a contrary streak.
One that Carter wasn’t willing to indulge right now, not about this. “It was broad daylight when Nicole Myer got snatched, too. Right on the sidewalk in the middle of downtown. She went out for a ten-minute break, and never came back.”
Leah’s gaze flickered up, and the color drained out of her face. Carter hated scaring her, but it was necessary now, he thought. There was no such thing as being too cautious in the world of the Lean Dogs.
“I’m not going to follow a stranger outside,” she said.
“What if the guy was dressed as a cop? Or a fireman or something?”
“Carter–” she started.
“Me following you isn’t about me thinking you can’t take care of yourself. Or that you’re not smart,” he huffed, impatience showing, he knew. “If something happened to you…” He didn’t finish because it was all too easy to imagine her running through that field behind the mill where they’d found Allie Henderson’s shirt, and blood drops spattered on leaves. “It’s about making sure you’re safe because I care about you.”
She studied him a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” Took another bite of toast. “Where are you going after that?”
“To the clubhouse, to see what kinda crazy shit we’ve got on the agenda today.” When she smiled fondly, he was helpless but to smile back, despite the churning anxiety in his stomach.
Last night had been something of a revelation for him. Sex in high school and college had been a strange mix of girls so shy they didn’t want him to look at them, and girls trying to use him for social clout thanks to his football star status. It had been mechanical for that kind of young woman: they said he was hot, and asked to feel his muscles, but they weren’t seeing him. They’d eyed him up like a prize hog, until his skin had crawled, and he’d lost all interest in dating.
Then had come the club, and Jazz, and a walk on the wilder side, free of shame and judgement. Whatever felt good was good. He’d learned a lot in her bed; she’d taken his raw skills and honed them just like any good coach, until he knew all the moves and tricks that had women blossoming like flowers, the moves and tricks so often unknown-to, or disregarded by men just looking to get their own.
But, even though he genuinely liked Jazz, she’d never felt like a friend. Like a companion. When they were tangled up and sweaty, there’d been something almost motherly about her affection, and he’d thought that was as close as he could come to love.
But Leah last night…
He’d already known that he liked her. They’d been friends for far longer than they’d been anything more serious. She had a way of reading his moods and expressions, anticipating just what he needed to hear in weak moments. She could cheer him up like no one else. He’d wondered, though, if she would recoil from his frankly demanding passion.
To have her meet him halfway; to see her enjoy herself, and him, and for them to be able to laugh and joke with each other after…To sit up late with a plate of nachos and a crappy action movie…
He had no idea what to make of that. She could moan, and arch, and urge him deeper inside her – and then share the inane details of her day with him. Make faces and do bad impressions of the characters in the movie they were watching.
It was so contradictory – and so rich because of it. So unexpected and wonderful, and he would guard it with everything he had.
He loaded the dishwasher while she gathered her laptop bag and purse, and did one last check that the apartment was set for the day.
She paused at the door, before they went out, and turned to him.
Worry flared – but it shouldn’t have.
The smile she tipped up to him was full of banked heat; he could watch the memories from last night play out across the pleasure that shifted over her features. “You won’t be able to pull into the parking deck when we get to the building,” she said. “And don’t worry: it’s guarded, and well-lit, and totally safe.” She hummed a sound that was almost a laugh, and then grew serious again; placed a hand on his chest that didn’t grope or fondle, but which felt heavy with promise. “We should say goodbye here.”
His throat had gone dry. He swallowed. “Good idea.”
“Last night was…” Her gaze flicked back and forth across his face as she searched for words. “Incredible. I’ve never had sex like that.” She said it plainly, without artifice – but it felt like a gift. Was a gift. She grinned. “Thank God for Sex Fiend Carter Michaels.” At this point, she didn’t mean it as objectification, but she went on to say, “And for Wonderful Friend Carter Michaels, too.” She leaned up to kiss him, then, lashes falling low.
He cupped her face and deepened it, one indulgent moment, before reluctantly letting her go. “Thank you,” he said, and the spark in her eyes told him he didn’t have to say what for.
~*~
The clubhouse, when he arrived, buzzed with activity. Ratchet’s usual table looked to have become a catch-all for printed photos and Red Bull cans. Chanel was handing him another as Carter entered, and he wondered if the Secretary had even slept.
Ghost was looking over his shoulder, as expected, cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you think – well, I don’t travel in that rich shithead circle, do I? Yeah. Talk later.”
Carter perched on the edge of a table, beside Reese; his first instinct was to sit somewhere else, but he remembered their brief semblance of a conversation the other day, and thought about stepping up, and didn’t avoid the quiet assassin.
To his surprise, Reese leaned over a fraction and said, “Peter Weston woke up an hour ago. We questioned him again, and he gave us an address where they were keeping the girls, a phone number for Ricky, and details about the mayor’s involvement.”
“Awesome. Where is he now?”
Reese’s gaze cut over, cold blue and impossible to read. “In storage.”
Headed for the cattle property, then.
Ghost disconnected his call, and said, “Okay,” loudly enough that everyone perked up. “Ian’s gonna handle the meet-up: lure the asshole to some fancy lunch, and give us a chance to have a little heart-to-heart without any of us having to go down to the office. We gotta figure out how to play it, though. Strong-arming him will just make us look bad.”
“Ahem,” Fox said, deadpan, expression smug. “You’ve got two world-class actors here, faces unknown in the city. Make use of us, please.”
“God,” Al
bie muttered, and rolled his eyes. But said, “Yeah, that’s a good plan.”
“Okay,” Ghost said, nodding. “I want you both mic’d up. If we’re taking this asshole out, then we gotta have hard evidence.”
“Why don’t we just…?” Aidan drew a finger across his throat.
“Because I wanna know how deep this goes,” Ghost said, expression stern. “According to Peter’s, and the kids’ descriptions, Ricky is Luis Cantrell, and I wanna know how the fuck that creep got the mayor of Knoxville to go along with this sick little plan. We’re gonna call the number Peter gave us as soon as Ratchet gets the setup ready to tap the call.”
“We can do that now?” Tango asked, impressed.
“Ratchet can do anything,” Ghost said, absent, but genuine praise. “We also need a team to head to the house. If Luis has figured out that Peter’s missing, then he’s moved the girls. But we still need to search the place.”
“We’ll go,” Rottie said, motioning to Hound. “Fox, does your girl want in?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“That leaves the last piece of the puzzle,” Ghost said, “and it’s the most delicate. Somebody’s gotta get inside the mayor’s office and see what they can find there.”
“You really think somebody’s gonna keep that shit in their office?” Briscoe asked.
“If they’re stupid enough to take us on,” Ghost said, smirking, “I figure anything’s possible.”
~*~
Fox didn’t own a suit, and neither, of course, did his younger brother. But Macy’s was open at ten, and by ten ‘til noon, he and Tenny were, if not tailored, at least decked out in new suits, shirts, ties, and cuff links. “It’s the little details,” Fox explained needlessly, adjusting his cuffs as they approached the door of Chez Henrí. His cuff links were mother of pearl, and the flash of them in the sun was muted and tasteful.
Tenny – to be a shit, Fox thought – had picked bright gold, shaped like little swords with diamonds set in the hilts. “I know,” he said, tone bored, and reached to smooth his hair back again. Both of them were pomaded to within an inch of their lives, and Fox thought they looked admirably unlike themselves.
Homecoming (Dartmoor Book 8) Page 39
