by K. A. Tucker
I swim to the other end of the oversized pool to discover a separate little spa, complete with jets to massage my tired, achy muscles. Hoisting myself over and in, I lie back and quietly take in the scene. Kacey is floating stomach-down on an air mattress, her attention glued to Trent, who is hanging off one corner. Ginger is chattering away at Nate, whose enormous body—solid with muscle—takes up two-thirds of the staircase.
Storm and Dan really do have a great life here. I can’t help but feel like an intruder—accepting their warmth and hospitality, eating their food, laughing with their friends.
Keeping Dan employed.
Still, I could see myself living in this world—coming to barbeques, hanging out with these people, working for Storm at her school.
Being with Cain.
If only I could get away from Sam, truly put it all in the past.
If only . . .
Twenty minutes of jets massaging my muscles later, as sleep taunts me between occasional hollers from Ginger, I hear the patio door open and close. I lift my head in time to see Cain’s side profile exit.
My body instantly comes alive as I watch the muscles of that molded body—the body I was entwined with last night—shift with each step upon his approach. He changed into a pair of swim trunks that hang dangerously low on that sexy V-shaped pelvis that I knew he must have but am only now getting a good look at. As muscular as Cain is, he’s in no way beefy. His frame is on the athletic side, complete with pectoral muscles that don’t look more like breasts, veins that add dimension to his arms, and an exquisite eight-pack that is almost unreal.
I force myself to blink, hard, to relieve the sudden strain in my eyes.
His eyes lock on my location, and then Cain’s sleek body vanishes into the deep end of the pool in an elegant dive. Is there anything he doesn’t do extremely well? I fold my arms over the divide and rest my chin on them, waiting with heady anticipation as his long form moves underwater toward me, emerging less than a foot away. He folds his arms lightly over mine. He’s so close to me that I would only have to shift slightly to kiss him.
“Relaxed?”
I’m not sure how to answer that, because I’m both relaxed and suddenly conscious of every nerve ending in my body. I dare maneuver a hand free and run a finger along his chin. “You look good with scruff,” I remark casually.
With that dangerous gleam in his eyes that I saw last night, he leans over to whisper in my ear, “You look good, wet.”
My breath hitches. I hadn’t expected that level of brazenness out of him. After last night, I’m not sure why not.
He uses his powerful arms to hoist himself onto the wall. I shift back to give him room as he lithely slides into the spa with me. He loops an arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap with no delay, reaching down to slide a finger under the material of my top.
I think I’m getting to see yet another side of Cain. A dangerously playful one that chills out with friends and takes what he wants. And taunts me.
“Cain!” I hiss, more in surprise than anything else. I push his hand away as I nod toward the others, though there’s no way they can see what’s happening in the tiny spa, thanks to the little wall and the sheer size of the pool. I doubt any of them would say anything, anyway. Except for Ben, of course, but he hasn’t exited the house yet. “Contrary to what you obviously think, I prefer privacy.”
A flicker of amusement touches his Cain’s lips before disappearing. Stretching his arms out on either side of him along the curved wall, he tips his head back and closes his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not a pervert.”
His Adam’s apple is jutting out at a sexy sharp angle and I can’t help myself. I reach up and slowly drag my finger along the bump, feeling it move with his hard swallow. When I reach the base of his throat, I don’t stop, continuing down to begin tracing his hard muscles and the patterned tattoos adorning his chest.
I fight the urge to slide my hand farther down, to see how much this is affecting him. Knowing I can elicit such a reaction from a man like Cain is as much a turn-on as having him actually touch me.
His eyes open to watch me as I quietly study him. “I’m glad you came today, Charlie. I thought maybe . . . ” His voice drifts off for a moment as I see his jaw clench. “ . . . that was it.” There’s that look—the same one I saw last night, when he asked me if I was sure. If I was sure of being with him. As if there were any possible reason anyone wouldn’t be over-the-moon thrilled to have Cain’s affections.
His words feel like a punch to my stomach as a conflicting swirl of emotions slams into me. Guilt because he’s right; that was supposed to be it! Anguish that I may have wounded him. Bitterness for the looming expiration date hanging over our heads. Overwhelming desire to erase his doubts right here, right now.
Selfishness.
Pure, raw selfishness to grab hold of him and never let go, despite knowing I shouldn’t. It’s churning deep within my belly and it is impossible to resist.
How did this happen so fast?
My situation is impossible and, worse, I can’t explain it to him. I wish I could, though. I wish I were confident that he wouldn’t think less of me.
“Hey.” One of Cain’s hands lifts to close over the side of my neck, his thumb grazing my jawline soothingly. “Is everything okay?”
No, Cain. It’s not okay. I’m hanging from a pendulum as it swings back and forth between a nightmare and a dream. Only the nightmare is real! When I’m with Cain, nothing else matters. And when I’m not with him, I’m acutely aware of how stupid I am for being here. How I’m so close to being free of Sam and the drugs forever, if I’d just let go.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Cain.” The painful lump forms in my throat again. I duck my head because I’m afraid he’ll see the lie in my eyes. I’m finding it harder to pretend around Cain. Taking a few deep breaths, I struggle to pull on a mask of calm. Or of playfulness. I settle on a mask of emptiness. I doubt it’s a convincing one at that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, evidently not buying my words.
I absently trace over the design decorating his shoulder, as a “no” flees from my tongue in a whisper. There’s not much I can say without raising Cain’s suspicion, and so I need to remain quiet.
Like the quiet little mouse that Sam taught me to be.
I’m surprised he hasn’t asked about Bob. He hasn’t even mentioned the other night, though my gut tells me it’s on his mind. It’s as if he’s biding his time before bringing it up.
With a heavy sigh, Cain’s head and arms falls back once again. This time his eyes remain open and I see the frustration in them. “Why do I feel like you don’t really want to be here, Charlie?” I can sense rather than feel the tension suddenly channeling through his body.
“I do. Believe me.”
There’s a long pause. “You do realize that the things I told you last night I don’t admit to just anyone, right?” He lifts his head again, his eyes pleading with me.
I can manage only shallow, ragged breaths. I want to be thrilled by Cain’s words right now. So very happy that Cain is being so open with me, so honest. But I can’t, and it’s constricting my lungs painfully. I don’t know how to answer, so I settle on, “Yes. I’m glad I’m here, too,” because there’s nothing more true than that.
That naturally furrowed brow creases further. “Did what happened last night bother you? Look . . .” I see the muscles in his jaw tense as he breaks eye contact, his gaze searching the water in front of us. “I know I can be really intense sometimes. And impatient. And maybe letting that happen out on a pier was less than ideal for you.” Dark eyes flash to me. “Sometimes I’m less inhibited, when I’m not thinking straight.” A hand lifts to play with a strand of my hair. “Maybe we should dial things back.”
What? I feel the scowl form on my face. No! Slow things down? When that damn clock
keeps ticking away? No! No! No!
He goes on, seemingly unaware of my internal panic. “I warned you that I don’t know how to do this. Still—”
Cain’s words die with a hiss the second I peel down the front of his trunks and grasp him tightly. He was already hard. “I have no desire to slow things down,” I say evenly, holding his gaze as I begin stroking him.
He locks a steely gaze on me and I start to think I might have gone too far. But I don’t stop. “Thank fucking God,” he finally mutters, reaching down to pull my hand away from him with a chuckle. “But I don’t think Storm will appreciate that in here.” After a pause, he adds with mock seriousness, “Besides, I thought you preferred privacy.”
“And I thought you didn’t like wasting time,” I throw back and then shrug. “Maybe that was payback for the spectacle you made of me on the pier.”
A raised brow is the only warning I get before my body is being moved, sliding off Cain’s lap to land on the built-in seat, my back to the others and Cain’s body between my legs, his knees bent and propping my thighs up, a wicked grin on his face. “You want a spectacle?” His eyes drift down over my vulnerable frame, easily visible beneath the water now that the jets have shut off. Heated eyes come back to weigh down on me, ideas circulating within them that I can’t decipher but that make my body open up to him with anticipation. “You think I deserve payback? How about payback for the last three weeks?”
I snort. “What, are you going to pole dance on your stage for me tonight?” A visual slams into my mind and, despite how unbelievably masculine and striking Cain is, I can’t help but burst out laughing.
Water starts splashing my face. “Stop!” I hold my hands up in defense, trying to protect myself through my continued fit of laughter. “All my makeup will streak!”
“Good,” he throws back, his smile turning tender, his voice turning unbearably soft. “Then I’d get to see the real Charlie.”
My laughter cuts off abruptly as I break from his eye contact. Oh, Cain . . . the deception is so much deeper than eyeliner and tinted contacts.
“Charlie?”
I struggle for a deep breath as I look up at him, risking a whispered question. “What if you don’t like what you see?”
There’s a long pause, where his serious eyes explore mine and I know he’s searching for some truth, some reason for my fear, and then his hand slides behind my neck. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Charlie. You should know that. Whatever you’ve been involved in to get by is in the past. Whatever your parents may have done. You’re safe here and you can start fresh. Your slate is clean with me.”
I believe him. If only it truly were in the past.
He closes his mouth over mine in a devastating kiss, wrenching the breath right out of my lungs.
From somewhere behind us, far away from this euphoric cloud I’m sinking into quickly, I hear Ben’s voice suddenly boom. “When the fuck did that happen?”
■ ■ ■
“To my lovely husband-to-be.” Storm stands with glass of milk raised as sparklers dance over the cake on the table in front of me. “I’m so proud of you for chasing your dreams and for choosing a noble path catching scumbags, even when the path of luxury is easier and more appealing. Congratulations on becoming Special Agent Dan Ryder!”
Everyone lets out a cheer, including me, though I’m betting mine is the only one laced with gut-wrenching shame.
I wave away a slice of cake and quietly excuse myself to use the bathroom, grabbing my things on the way, in order to change. Nate and Ginger went ahead to open the bar but Cain held me back, so I’m basically at his mercy. Not that I’m complaining about that, though I’d rather be at his mercy elsewhere.
“Charlie?” Speak of the devil . . . I turn back to find Cain following me inside the house, his eyes on my ass before snapping back to my face. I don’t know if he’s just stealing those looks now or if he always was and made more of an effort to be covert about it. “What are you doing?”
“Just getting changed. Why?”
As he reaches me, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. One hand lifts to settle on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing over it soothingly. “You were playing with your fingertips.”
What? My face must say it all, because he smirks. “When you’re nervous, you play with your fingertips. Not dramatically, but . . . I’ve noticed.” A serious frown passes over his features. “What made you nervous?”
Damn perceptive man. “Nothing. I’m just not looking forward to a night of serving drinks.” Trying to play off his worry, I joke, “I’m tired. Someone kept me up all night.”
After a long pause, a smile creeps along his lips. He lets his eyes rake over my body. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d let me keep you up tonight, but . . .”
I rest my hand on my hips and school my face to seriousness. Meanwhile, excitement crawls along my skin like a quickly spreading flame. Another whole night with Cain. Just the idea is enough to weaken my knees. “Are you teasing me?”
His mouth twists with thought before he shrugs. “It’s a nice change from the usual, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What about the bar? Will Ginger be okay without me there?”
His eyes roll in response. I know it was as stupid question. Ginger was doing just fine before I got there. They probably don’t even need three bartenders. As if to prove a point, he dips his head, his breath leaving a trail along the curve of my neck before he presses his mouth against my ear and whispers, “Do you really care?”
“No.” Oh God. I sound all breathless and needy. Clearing my throat to force some composure into my voice, I add, “What will my boss say?” It’s too easy to slip into this playful role with Cain.
Gripping my bare waist tightly, Cain settles a mock frown on me. “I’ve heard he can be quite the asshole sometimes.”
I let a moment of silence slip, but then it becomes too much. “Okay.” I hear the surrender in my own voice. Just like that, my need for money, what my future looks like, my various dilemmas . . . all are inconsequential next to time with Cain, yet again.
He removes his hands from my body and takes several intentional steps backward, until his back hits a nearby wall, as he attempts a discreet adjustment of himself. “You should get changed so we can get out of here. Now.”
And I smile. I know for a fact, by the gentle nudges and hugs, that Cain has been at least semi-hard since the pool. Maybe even since I walked into Dan’s den. Now, he’s struggling to control himself. I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do. But I am enjoying it. Immensely. It’s an instant adrenaline rush.
Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie.
On playful impulse, I turn and swagger into the bathroom, making sure to sway my hips because I know Cain is watching. Sure enough, a glance over my shoulder confirms his eyes cast downward, his lips parted slightly.
He remains still, his body rigid, as I make my way into the open bathroom. “Did you need anything else?” I reach back to pull the strings, releasing my bikini top from my body. His eyes widen a second before I toss the material at his face. As he’s catching it, I make quick work of my bottoms, yanking the side ties. I manage to toss the bottoms at him and slam and lock the door, a split second before he reaches it.
“Dammit, Charlie,” I hear him growl from the other side. “Open the door. Now.”
“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” I sing, pulling my sundress over my head. I purse my lips against the nervous giggle that demands to escape. After the afternoon we’ve had, I’m probably not in much better shape than he is, frustration-wise. I won’t let him know that, though. This new game is too much fun.
Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m having sex with Cain on DEA Dan’s bathroom counter and if I open the door, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
■ ■ ■
Cain lives in luxury.
I mean, top-floor, double-story, panoramic-view-of-the-water luxury. The place is sleek and modern, sparse one may say, but the second I step into it, it feels like Cain.
“Come,” he beckons, reaching out to take my hand gently. Cain has calmed down since I took my time, refreshing my makeup and fixing my hair, before finally emerging from the bathroom at Storm and Dan’s.
He leads me through the kitchen, into a gorgeous living room. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and anticipation as we climb the stairs and he leads me into a plain all-white bedroom with a king-sized bed and a spectacular view through a complete wall of windows, the city offering enough of a glow within the room that there’s no need for additional light.
I watch as Cain shuts the door, as his fingers flip the lock.
He walks over to his dresser. Without a word, he calmly unfastens his watch and places it down on the dresser’s surface. Next come the contents of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, some loose change. He places rather than tosses each item. It’s quite methodical, as if he does it every night, and though there’s nothing particularly enticing about the steps, blood begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain do it.
Grasping the hem of his shirt, he slips it up over his head.
I’m not sure if he wants me watching him like this. Am I supposed to be doing the same? I glance at the large, neatly made bed and I wonder absently if Cain has had women standing in this very spot, watching him do this very same thing. I wonder how often.
And then I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, scolding myself, knowing that it’s just my subconscious trying to sabotage my time with him. Or trying to protect me from falling any farther.
I’m beginning to believe that the depths to which a woman could fall for Cain are endless. To a deep, dark, infinite pit with no ladders to get away, no cushions to soften the impact.
