EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One

by Chance, Jacob

“Maybe later. For now, let’s enjoy the water.”

  We spend the next hour playing frisbee in the waist-high water, like two friends without a care in the world. That’s the thing about knowing there are probably at least a dozen people who want me dead, I have to compartmentalize that knowledge or I’ll spend every second worrying.

  And what good is that going to do?

  If we don’t make it out of this situation alive, I refuse to waste my last days being scared.

  We walk back to the house side by side; the dry sand clings to our wet feet. Glancing down, I notice our shadows; they look nice together. I’m fairly tall for a woman and Belfast still has a good six inches on me.

  “Why don’t you take a quick rinse and get the sand off before going inside?”

  “Are you a secret clean freak who’s worried about a little sand on his floors?” I ask.

  He smiles. “Who likes sandy floors?”

  “I think there’s more to it than that,” I press.

  “I can admit I like things in their place. Chalk it up to a childhood I didn’t have control over.”

  “And you like to control everything.”

  “Aye.” He nods solemnly and then smiles, as if he didn’t just reveal something personal. “But is there anyone who doesn’t like control?”

  I choose not to answer, and instead, step inside the tiled enclosure. “Do you have any towels available?”

  “I’ll sling one over the shower wall. I put soap and shampoo in there for you.”

  “You’re quite the host.”

  He shrugs. “If you throw your bathing suit over the top, I’ll hang it on the clothes line for you.”

  “You have a clothes line?”

  “I put one up right after I bought this place. There’s nothing like laundry dried in the sun and wind.”

  Is this guy for real?

  He made me lunch, made sure I had soap and shampoo in the shower, and he’s going to hang my suit out?

  Oh, and I can’t forget he killed a handful of men two days ago, like he was killing nothing more than a few bugs. And he’s saved my life on three different occasions now. No wonder I haven’t been able to forget about him this past year.

  What woman could forget a man who put his life on the line for her?

  Talk about a complex character.

  “Let me guess, it reminds you of Ireland.” I untie my bikini top and throw it over the edge of the wood and do the same with my bottoms.

  He chuckles. “You’re right. I used to help my mum hang out the laundry.”

  Seconds later, my bathing suit disappears to be replaced by two towels. Jeez. Maybe I should ask him to scrub my back? I snort at the thought. I know he’d do it in a heartbeat.

  Bending over, I look under the bottom edge of the wood enclosure around the shower to see if Belfast is still nearby, but find no sign that he is. Okay, good. It would be weird to shower with him right there.

  It’s strange to be naked outside, even if I’m enclosed and no one can see me. But at the same time it feels decadent and relaxing to be able to see the blue sky and feel the ocean breeze as I soap up every inch of myself from head to toe. The modern convenience of hot water raining down on me but still being right out in nature is wonderful.

  Once I’m done, I wrap a towel around my hair and another around my body and walk back to the deck where I find Belfast leaning against the railing, sipping beer from a bottle.

  “I’ve decided I’m a fan of showering outside.”

  “Isn’t it great? I hardly ever use the indoor one when I’m here. Feel free to grab a drink and make yourself at home. I’m going to rinse off and then I’ll start to cook dinner.”

  Once again, he surprises me with his hospitality.

  “Sounds good. I’ll go get dressed.”

  “Don’t hurry on my account “ His eyes glide over me in a leisurely caress that’s difficult to walk away from. But my common sense wins out and I scurry off to my room, fueled by the memory of his warm depths hinting at his desire for me.

  * * *

  In my room, I search through the new clothes for something to wear and decide on a green, short sleeved cotton sundress. Once it’s on, I move into the bathroom and check out my reflection. It fits me perfectly, hugging my figure without being revealing. Did I subconsciously choose green because Belfast is from the Emerald Isle?

  Oh, jeez, talk about paranoid. I need to stop analyzing everything. I chose the dress because I like it and it’s comfortable. It didn’t have anything to do with Belfast.

  But what about the sexy panties and matching bra? Who did you choose those for?

  Who asked you, brain?

  I work on styling my natural waves and give in after about ten seconds. Allowing them to do what they will is beach life at its best. I could get used to this.

  Slicking some gloss on my lips, I notice the hint of color on my nose and cheeks from the hours I spent outside in the sun. I look healthy and happy, which is not what I expected to see, especially when there’s a dangerous battle brewing in my near future.

  But mirrors tell the truth, even when we’d prefer to lie to ourselves. Despite the circumstances that brought us here, this afternoon on the beach was the most I’ve enjoyed myself in a long time, and it has everything to do with my host, whether I want to admit it or not.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Belfast

  I’m standing at the grill keeping an eye on our steaks and potatoes when Georgia steps out onto the back deck. Fresh from the shower, she looks delectable. Then again, she looks good enough to eat all the time. When I saw her running toward the water earlier in her bikini, my heart kicked into overdrive, beating so hard and fast, I worried it might break free from my chest cavity.

  “What are you making?”

  “Steaks and grilled potatoes with peppers and onions.”

  “It smells amazing. My mouth is already watering. How long until it’s done?”

  “About five minutes.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “Everything else is ready. If you want to eat outside we just need to bring some stuff out here.”

  “Let’s eat on the deck. Fall’s about to hit back in Boston, so we might as well enjoy this outdoor time while we can. I’ll start moving everything.” She’s back inside before I can say anything, but that’s Georgia. She’s not one to sit around when she can be busy. I guess we have that in common.

  She returns with her arms full of plates, silverware, cups, and napkins. “What do you want to drink?”

  “I’ll take water, please.”

  “No beer?”

  “Do you want a beer?”

  “Hell yeah, but I never drink alone.”

  “Why not?”

  Her eyes dart away for a few seconds before returning to me. “Don’t laugh.”

  “I won’t.”

  She looks conflicted about sharing her reason with me and I give her an encouraging nod. “There are a lot of alcoholics in law enforcement, and I’m always cognizant of the high statistics. We see a lot of things you can’t just forget; they stay with you. I don’t have time to go out after work most nights, and I live by myself, so if I never drink alone, then it won’t be an issue for me.”

  “It’s good to be aware of how dangerous the lure of alcohol and drugs can be.”

  “Says the man who owns a dispensary.”

  “Owned,” I reply, grimacing. I’m still grieving the loss of my baby.

  “Yeah, sorry.”

  “You can’t fault me for my shop. Marijuana is legal in Massachusetts. And truth be told, weed is much healthier for you than alcohol.”

  “Sure it is,” she retorts.

  “No one dies from liver failure from smoking too much weed. They’re only beginning to admit how beneficial it can be and how many healing properties it has.” I notice she’s smiling and I stop speaking. “What?”

  She tips her head to the side, never taking her eyes off me. “You’re prett
y passionate about this, aren’t you?”

  “Aye. I’ve done a lot of research about it. And it’s also a great investment.”

  “Of course it is.” She rolls her eyes.

  “Georgia, I’m not a successful businessman because I make poor decisions.” Turning back to the grill, I place the steaks and foil packets that contain the potatoes on a platter.

  “Is that how you label yourself? As a businessman,” she adds, when she notices my raised eyebrow.

  “I try not to label myself or anyone else because no one wants to be pigeonholed as one thing or another. People are more complex than that. But for the sake of this conversation, I’d say I’m a jack-of-all-trades. I can do it all.” I wink, setting the platter down in the middle of the table.

  “I’ll go grab those beers,” she offers, bounding off like a nervous deer, and I smile.

  Grabbing a fork, I spear one of the steaks and place it on her plate before adding one of the foil packets. I do the same for myself, and then she’s back, setting two ice cold beers down on the table.

  Shuffling over, I pull out her chair and she looks surprised. “I told you I’m a jack-of-all-trades. That includes being a polite dinner companion.”

  She murmurs, “thank you,” and sinks onto the padded seat.

  Moving to Georgia’s right, I take the spot at the end of the table so I can look out over the ocean and still be near her. “Dig in.”

  “What? No grace?” she mentions, and I can’t tell if she’s serious or not. I fold my hands together and bow my head.

  “Bless us O God as we sit together.

  Bless the food we eat today.

  Bless the hands that made the food,

  Bless us O God. Amen.”

  “Did you just bless yourself?”

  “What are you talking about? That’s the traditional Irish dinner prayer my mum and dad made me say every time we ate dinner.” I’ve said it so many times, I can recite the lines forwards and backwards.

  “It mentions the hands that made the food--and you made the food.”

  I wiggle my hands. “These hands are already blessed, luv. To bestow more talent upon them would be a sin. I can give you a demonstration if you’d like.” I smirk.

  Oh the things I’d love to do to her with these hands.

  “No, thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”

  “You’re going to take the word of a criminal mastermind? Does this mean you like me?”

  “No, it means I don’t care one way or another if you’re lying.” She focuses on cutting her steak and slips a bite of the tender meat into her mouth. She chews a few times and her eyes slowly drift closed before snapping open. “Oh damn.” She points her fork at her plate. “This is amazing.”

  I fork a bite into my own mouth and wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Told you, jack-of-all-trades.”

  “You can be whatever you want as long as you feed me delicious food. What’s for dessert?”

  “That’s a surprise.” Really, I haven’t got anything but ice cream for dessert, but teasing her is more fun than telling her the truth.

  She opens the foil packet and dumps the potatoes and vegetables onto her plate. “Where did you learn to cook like this? You said you have a chef. I assumed that meant you were hopeless in the kitchen.”

  “I do have a chef, but I didn’t always. A man my age has to learn to fend for himself at some point.”

  We continue to eat in silence, both of us enjoying the peacefulness. The setting sun paints the sky with vivid slashes of pinks and purples, punctuated with striking swirls of orange. Sharing this moment with Georgia is too good to be true. There isn’t anyone else I’d want to be here with. In fact, I’ve never brought anyone to this property before. I only wish it were under better circumstances and we could stay indefinitely.

  Georgia places her fork down with a contented groan. “Have you ever been married?”

  “No. Have you?” I don’t know anything about her romantic past. I only know she’s not involved with anyone now. She’d be angry if she knew I’ve been keeping tabs on her for the past year. Just because we couldn’t be together, doesn’t mean I’m not interested in her well-being.

  “I haven’t. I’m not sure I ever will. I’m kind of married to my job.”

  “You’re not the only person whose career is important to them. Surely, there are men out there who wouldn’t mind.”

  “I haven’t met one yet. The ideal situation would be to fall for someone I work with. But then I’d be mixing my two worlds, which I’m not sure is a good idea. It’s nice to have some separation from the job, and if my significant other worked with me, we’d bring work home all the time.”

  “All work, no play makes for a boring life, Georgie.”

  “What about you? Why aren’t you married?”

  “I’ve never met anyone I cared for more than my work.”

  “Would you change your ways?”

  “For the right woman?” I ask. Is she wanting to know for personal reasons or just out of curiosity?

  “Yes. Would you give up all your ‘questionable businesses’ for a woman?”

  I’ve thought about this a lot for the past twelve months. I’ve never been able to get her out of my head. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by where I didn’t think about her and wish our circumstances were different. If she didn’t work for the FBI, she’d be mine already. And as for giving up my empire for her, I can’t say.

  “Would you?” she prods, interrupting my musing.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug indecisively. “Maybe. She’d have to be one hell of a woman.” Which you are, Georgia. She looks surprised. “Did I shock you, Agent Cohn?” I toss her title out to remind her why we wouldn’t work. Or maybe I’m reminding myself.

  She’d never be able to get over my past and the horrible things I’ve done. We’re on two different sides of the law, and meeting in the middle isn’t enough. It won’t take away my criminal past or the trouble we’re in now.

  I can’t help but feel responsible for Georgia being thrust into this situation. If she hadn’t been looking for me, she’d be safe and sound back in Boston.

  “At this point, nothing you do or say should shock me. And I’m not making a pun about you tasering me,” she replies.

  I bark out a laugh.

  She scowls. “Hey. I’m not ready to joke about that. It was extremely fucked up and painful.”

  “We’ve been over this. I did what I had to do. You thought I was responsible for Karyn’s death. By the way, I’m still hurt you thought so poorly of me, luv. After all we went through last year, I figured you knew me better.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I had a hard time truly believing you were behind the explosion. I know you’re not the white knight type, but I also know you’re not the type to murder a woman.”

  “Not unless she was trying to kill me first. Then all bets are off. And need I remind you, Georgie, that for you, I was the white knight type. I came to your rescue when you needed me last year, the other day in your car, and the bus vestibule. Hopefully, three is as high as the count gets.”

  “You did, and I never really got a chance to thank you, so I guess I should say it now, thank you.”

  “Which instance are you referring to?”

  “Thank you for all of them, but I was specifically referring to last year when you and your men stepped in to help us. You definitely saved the day.”

  The incident she’s referring to had her, Karyn, Zoe, and Nash outnumbered in a shootout. I swooped in with some of my loyal soldiers to save the day, and just in the nick of time too.

  I give a quick nod. “I didn’t want to stick around after everything went down. I’m sure you understand.” Being around the FBI makes me tense. She’s the only exception.

  She watches me before answering, “I did. I mean, I do understand. But I’m a little surprised that we haven’t bumped into each other before now.”

  “I think what you’re curious about is wh
y I never pursued you after I made my attraction for you known. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” Her honesty shouldn’t surprise me. Georgia isn’t the type to run from the truth or avoid asking an awkward question. She’d rather come at you straight on.

  Leaning back in my chair, I run a hand over my hair-covered chin. “I wanted to see you again.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “Georgia, what would’ve been the point? I’m not your happily ever after, luv. I’m just a short chapter you’ll forget all about.”

  And she’s the only part of my story worth telling.

  “You don’t know that. You made the decision for me.”

  “I did what was best for you. It might be the first unselfish thing I’ve done in my whole life.”

  “I don’t believe that.” She raises her beer to her lips and takes a deep pull. Her tongue drags over her bottom lip, collecting the moisture left behind.

  My hands grip the arms of my chair to restrain myself from leaning over and slamming our mouths together. “You should, luv. I’m the bad guy your parents warned you about.”

  “If you say so.” She rises, pushing her chair back with her legs. Collecting our plates and silverware, she carries them away before I can.

  Jumping to my feet, I follow her into the kitchen. She sets everything down on the counter next to the sink, and I grip her arm, spinning her around.

  My hands cup underneath her jaw, my thumbs sweeping her cheeks. Her pulse hammers rapidly under my palm as I stare into her eyes. “Tell me to walk away, Georgia. If you don’t, I’m going to devour every inch of you.” Leaning forward, I run my nose along the side of hers, hovering over her rosy, lush mouth. “I’m tired of depriving myself of something I want so much.”

  Her hands land on my chest, sensually sliding over my pecs to fasten around my neck. “Then don’t.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Georgia

  Belfast’s eyes darken and his fingers burrow into my hair. A low growl escapes his lips just before they crash into mine. Our open mouths devour each other, eager tongues greedily twisting and entwining until my head spins. Our hands frantically grip and tug on each other’s clothing, desperate to find bare skin.