by Elaria Ride
It’s only when we’ve recovered later, her head on my chest, that I realize what happened. That I realize why that entire experience was significant at all.
I take a deep breath, staring up at the ceiling, but really, I should’ve figured this out long before she pushed me to the brink.
I’m in love with Mariah Matthews.
And I’m still employed as her bodyguard.
22
Mariah
For the first time in my life, I don’t mind having my beauty sleep interrupted.
“Morning,” Luke intones from behind me, his voice raw with sleep. I giggle. Something long and hard nudges my ass.
“Is that a microphone in your pants, Agent Carter, or are you just happy to see me?”
“A microphone?” he asks, his stubbled chin grazing against the sensitive skin of my neck. “Why would I ever need a microphone?”
“Dunno,” I muse, biting my lip as one of his hands grabs my breast. “Maybe you stole it from me.”
He laughs, which forces his cock against me even more insistently. In truth, comparing that thing to a microphone would do a disservice — to his cock. It’s enormous, easily over nine inches. Still, I’d rather not admit he’s the most well-endowed man I’ve ever been with. Lord knows his heads (yes, plural) are big enough already.
My phone buzzes, interrupting our early morning interlude. Luke groans as I pull my hand away to reach for it. A text from Tori flashes across the screen. I swipe to unlock it.
Listened to the recording from yesterday. You are PITCHY!
I snort, tossing the phone down. Ok, bitch. I know we cut one of her backup songs, but there’s no need to out-diva me.
“You all right?” Luke pulls back and props his head on his arm.
I wave my hand dismissively. “Fine. Just Tori. Being Tori.”
He groans, rolling his eyes. “Yeah. Gotta be honest, I’ve never liked her.”
I laugh and turn over to face him. Luke’s jaw clenches when he catches sight of my breasts jiggling from the movement. Then I giggle at him. Which only makes it worse.
“Sorry,” he mutters, tearing his eyes away. “We’re talking about Tori. I definitely shouldn’t be turned on right now.”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “Agreed. You shouldn’t be. And unfortunately, my family still doesn’t know about us. Which means we need to pretend we’ve been behaving like good little boys and girls overnight.”
Luke arches an eyebrow. “Fine,” he deadpans. “But as your secret boyfriend, I’m gonna watch your ass as you walk away.”
I roll my eyes, but the thought sends a ripple of pleasure up my spine. For the first time in my life, I’m not self-conscious of my body while I’m alone with a man. How could I be, while his eyes are hungrily roving my hips and thighs? During my career, I’ve posed with the best of them. I’ve stripped down to almost nothing just to get that angle right. But I’ve never felt respected… not like this.
I bend over to pick up my bra from last night, delighting as a strangled moan sounds from behind me.
“I knew you were watching me the whole time,” I accuse, strapping my bra on. “And not just like a bodyguard.”
I turn around to find him giving me a plain look. “You just now figured that out?”
I merely arch an eyebrow as he lets out a low whistle.
“Gotta say, Princess. It’s amazing you’ve survived this long.” A playful grin curls his lips. “I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, though. You did willingly walk into that stranger’s Uber with a stalker on the loose, and—”
I cut him off by throwing his T-shirt at his face.
“Ahem,” I intone primly, a hand on my naked hip. “I didn’t think I was secret-dating my mother, Mr. Hottie Guard.”
But as I pull my dress over my head, something shifts in Luke’s face. “Hey… can I actually ask you a question?”
I shift on the spot, unsure of where this is going.
He smiles, clearing his throat. “So… all right…” Luke sighs. “It’s no secret that this investigation isn’t exactly going as planned.”
I snort, my eyes trailing over his pecs. Yeah. No shit.
“But,” Luke plows on, “I can’t help but think that part of the reason is that I just don’t have all the information here. You know?”
He rises from the bed and walks to the corner of the room. I unabashedly stand on my toes for a better view as he bends over his briefcase. Fair’s fair, after all.
“Take your time!” I purr, batting my eyelashes.
He playfully rolls his eyes from over his shoulder and removes a stuffed manila folder. “This,” he says, striding back to the bed and slapping it on the duvet, “is your family file. It has all types of information about you. Basically everything you’d ever need to know about Mariah Priscilla Matthews.”
He ends with a proud grin that I don’t return. “Oh — it’s just standard, for surveillance work,” Luke rushes to explain. “To really understand a subject, we need to know about their history to evaluate any possible threats, yadda yadda.”
Yikes. I guess that makes me feel… vaguely violated? It’s not his fault, I know. I’ve just tried to maintain my privacy, even through a little burst of fame.
“But what’s missing here,” Luke says, meeting my eyes. Then he draws a deep breath, his tone dropping just a bit. “Is your mom.”
I swallow, my eyes downcast. “Oh?”
“I mean, I tried looking up what happened, but—”
“—It was confidential and sealed,” I whisper, staring at the threading on the duvet. “I… hope you weren’t able to find much.”
The equivalent of at least one Matthews grandchild's college fund has gone into keeping that hidden. Not that he’d know.
There’s a beat.
“No. I couldn’t find a thing,” Luke assures me.
Good. That ludicrous pay-out was worth it.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he says a moment later. “I’m not trying to pry, but…” He trails off before heaving a sigh. “Ok. Without going into too many specifics, I wasn’t exactly given the full details of my previous mission. The one in Kashfar.” He looks away, clearing his throat. “And I just want to make sure none of that happens again.”
My head perks up. This is the first time he’s mentioned… whatever happened there. My eyes meet his, but I don’t push. I know better than anyone when private things need to stay private.
“I have a similar feeling here,” he admits, his face drawn. “I just… I feel like I’m missing something. Not from you, obviously — but there’s something about your mom that I don’t know. So. I understand if you can’t tell me, but I’d appreciate knowing. Just to keep you safe.”
For a few moments, I just stare at the concern etched on his chiseled face. Then I return to the bed again, kneeling beside him, and allow my fingers to dance across his chest. “Well,” I finally say. “Are you asking as my secret boyfriend… or my bodyguard?”
He laughs. “Whichever you’d like, Princess.”
I bite my lip. There’s something so sweet, so open in his blue eyes that I feel compelled to share something I’ve never told another secret boyfriend. Or an actual boyfriend.
“Well, if you’re asking as my bodyguard… my mother was hit by a train when I was 13.”
Luke lets out a low whistle. I can almost see the gears spinning. Just as he cocks his head to ask the follow-up question, I provide it.
“And if you’re asking as my secret boyfriend?” I sigh. “Yes. They suspect she killed herself. There was no logical reason she’d be on the tracks that late. We’ll never know exactly why, but she was probably just…” I wave a hand dismissively. “Overcome with all the pressure. She’d been distant for a few months beforehand. So.”
I sniff and glance up to meet his eyes. “We had it sealed because we’d rather not have probing questions in interviews. You understand.”
“Yeah,” he says, blinking back at me. “I do. I mean, I o
nly knew your mom for a short while, but she was…” He trails off, searching for the right words. “She had a way of making everyone feel special.”
An unexpected wave of tenderness sweeps over me. He’s dead right, of course; I’d just never expect him to remember that.
“I’m just sorry,” Luke says, the pads of his fingers trailing up my arm. “That you all went through all that.”
I shrug and rise from the bed, hoping to convey I’m thoroughly done with this conversation. I’m not sure why he’d need to know that, but from the faraway look stealing across Luke’s face, I can tell that some invisible puzzle pieces are sliding into place.
We finish dressing in silence, each lost in our thoughts. Part of me is happy I told him about Mom. Maybe he’ll be able to use that to get some information. And maybe, says a cloying voice in the back of my head, he’ll still care when the case is over…
I shudder, unsure why I’m going there. That’s what laying myself bare does to me, I guess; it makes me question absolutely everything. My phone lights up with another nasty notification from Tori — and in the process shows me what time it is. Oof. It’s getting later. Someone will come to look for us soon.
Luke seems to be on the same page. “Let’s hurry, yeah?” he murmurs, his hand coming to rest on the small of my back. “Wouldn’t want to seem unprofessional.” His warm breath tickles my neck as I rock against him… and I try to pretend it doesn’t sting that I might always be his dirty little secret.
For about four hours, something miraculous happens: Luke relaxes.
Actually relaxes.
I stare in awe as he chases my nephew around the patio, ducking and swerving to catch him.
“What the hell did you say to him?” I murmur to Mark from the corner of my mouth. All I know is that he’d approached Luke after breakfast, told him something, and hugged him. After that, he’d been less robotic. More engaged.
“Oh, nothing,” Mark replies casually, kicking his feet up on the table. “Just that he’s family now, and he’d better not fucking pretend he’s not anymore.”
I giggle, staring back at Luke and Jackson. “He didn’t… know that? Already?”
Mark snorts. “Mariah. That dude doesn’t know what it’s like to belong.” He lets out a sigh. “I just… I dunno. I wanted him to know. No matter what happens at the end of this, he’s one of us. Ok?”
I nod distractedly. I’m about to ask Mark how much he knows, exactly — but then Luke’s phone buzzes in his jean pocket. He removes it, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Carter,” he answers, his voice clipped. And right in front of me, something in his expression shifts. He cocks his head, his mouth drawn in disbelief, and when he hangs up a few minutes later, I can tell our weekend plans will change very, very drastically…
Because without batting an eye, Luke’s become a caveman again.
23
Luke
The pieces are here, but they don’t make sense.
Brannon Pierce was arrested as the stalker? He’s the one behind this mess?
I don’t know how long I’ve been in Schmidt’s office poring over the evidence file. The second I got the call from Rod, I insisted on returning here. Mariah hadn’t looked thrilled about it, but I think she understood. Her safety is my priority. Sorting this out is key.
“Are you sure?” I repeat for the millionth time, sliding the folder across the desk.
Schmidt groans, running a hand down his face. “I swear, Carter. I’ve never met a cop more determined to avoid locking someone up. Yes. We have circumstantial evidence linking Brannon Pierce to the threats.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not really a cop,” I remind him, barely refraining from adding, so maybe that’s why I’m less easily convinced.
“Brannon doesn’t match any of the criminal profiles,” I point out instead. “They suggested a detached, inferior-feeling male with a history of turbulent relationships. Someone who would shy away from being in the spotlight to avoid being found. Why the hell would Brannon, who’s trying to get more famous—”
Rod sighs from his place in the corner. “As we’ve told you, man, we don’t always have the answers here! This isn’t the same as work overseas. Our legal system isn’t a one-man-vigilante-justice type thing where you get to figure all this out by yourself.”
He rises in exasperation and begins pacing. “We have to go with what the evidence suggests. And the evidence tells us that the glue on the first few threats could only have been purchased at a pharmacy around the corner from Brannon’s apartment. Combine that with his presence at the gala, and we’ve got enough to make that charge stick.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “So even though you admit this makes no sense, you’re just gonna fall in line? What about the integrity of the investigation? What about Mariah? What about—”
Schmidt cuts me off, clearing his throat. “Speaking of Mariah,” he mutters, exchanging a look with Rod. “I know you’ve developed an unusually close bond with your charge. But I guess I need to be the one to break some… unpleasant news.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know her as well as you think.”
Fuccckkk.
My breath hitches in my throat. I shoot Rod an anxious look. Did he share what he found us doing yesterday? But when Schmidt turns to open his desk and removes a familiar manila envelope, Rod gives me a firm shake of the head. No.
I let out a silent exhale of relief. Thank God. At least there’s that…
My relief is short-lived, though, when I actually find out what Schmidt’s getting at. He clears his throat. “Now. What I’m about to share it to remain confidential. Do you understand?”
I nod, narrowing my eyes.
Schmidt slides three printed photographs onto his desk. He keeps them face-down, so the white glossy finish glints against the overhead light. “We finally extracted and verified the information sent on the thumb drive,” he starts gravely. “The USB that Colt Waverly delivered to Mariah’s apartment.”
“More than that, though,” Rod notes, glancing at Schmidt again. “We even have a signed confession from Brannon that he handed the file to Colt in the first place. He claims a mysterious stranger paid him to wear a mask and hand the envelope over, or something. It’s a flimsy excuse, at best.” He shrugs, unimpressed. “But what can I say? That dude ain’t the brightest Crayon in the box.”
I snort. That much is obvious. But there’s still a missing piece.
“The thumb drive?” I prompt, meeting their eyes again.
Schmidt releases a slow breath. “All right. Here’s what we got from the USB. And keep in mind, we’ve verified these for authenticity. They’re the real deal. So don’t go claiming it’s Photoshopped, or—”
I interrupt him by reaching across the table. I’m tired of waiting. My mind is whirring a million miles a minute, and I need answers. I need to get to the bottom of this, since they’re so willing to ignore what’s right in front of them.
But the photos have nothing to do with Colt. Or Brannon. Or anyone I’ve ever considered before. I quickly flip through each of the images, hoping they get better. Hoping they aren’t revealing what I think they’re revealing.
After a second I realize this is useless. And give up.
With a swear, I toss the pictures back on the desk, my chest heaving with a mixture of repulsion and concern.
Shit.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as a sinking sensation plummets in my stomach… because Schmidt’s right: I really don’t know Mariah Matthews that well at all.
24
Mariah
I’ve been back at my apartment for a solid twelve hours. And I’ve seen my bodyguard-slash-secret-boyfriend for none of those.
I sigh, booting up my laptop, and try to justify that he doesn’t need to see me right now. They’ve caught the perp, at least according to Dad. I couldn’t have guessed that it was Brannon all along, but I trust the police to do their jobs.
A knock at th
e door pulls me from a casual scroll through social media. I warily rise to my feet. I think there’s still a patrol outside, but I feel oddly naked without the smooth beep of the padlock.
To my surprise, though, there’s a single young cop on the other side of the door. And Tori.
“She… assured me you were friends?” asks the cop nervously, responding to my unspoken question. I give him a gentle smile. Lord, that poor kid can’t be over twenty.
“Yes,” I lie. “She’s my friend.” I clear my throat, relaxing against the doorjamb.
“Tori!” I begin in a falsely chipper voice, fully aware that the cop is still there. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a late-night visit?”
She doesn’t answer me.
“Can I come in?” she demands, giving me an up-and-down glance.
I cautiously open the door and step aside, allowing her to enter. I nod to dismiss the cop, who still seems confused. Trust me, buddy, I’m right there with ya…
Tori brushes past me in a confident stride, and I shut the door behind us. Before I even invite her to do so, she settles on my couch, her hands in her lap.
“So. You’re probably wondering why I’m here.”
The sight of her nasty little smirk gets my back up. To be honest, I don’t want her to feel welcome. I don’t even bother offering her a drink.
I nod, sinking into a chair across from her. “Kinda going in blind here, Tor.”
She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. “Look, Mariah. I wasn’t lying when I said you’ve been pitchy lately.”
