by K. A. Tucker
No safety net.
No escape.
With a deep, calming breath, I open my eyes. Cain is standing in front of me.
chapter twenty-seven
■ ■ ■
CAIN
I’m not afraid of anything, yet I think I’m afraid of Charlie.
Not afraid of her.
Afraid of having her.
Of losing her.
To what, I don’t know yet because she won’t talk to me. But I can’t ignore the sick feeling in my gut that Charlie is deeply conflicted and that I may lose her because of it.
She’s hiding something. Herself, maybe. Some truth, most definitely. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m seeing the real Charlie half the time. Not many people surprise me anymore and Charlie keeps surprising me. In the past forty-eight hours, she has surprised me at least a dozen different times. One second she’s shyly tensing against my touch, the next she’s stroking my cock when there are five people at the other end of the pool. One second her lip is quivering as a silent, inexplicable battle goes on within her and the next, she’s whipping her bikini bottoms at me with a lascivious grin.
And now, here she is in my bedroom, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. And I sense her mood has shifted once again. It seems to shift with the snap of a finger.
Sometimes I feel myself getting past the superficial exterior to the person underneath, only to question whether it’s just another facade. Sometimes I wonder if I know anything about her at all. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who she really is.
None of that scares me away. If anything, it’s just pulling me in deeper. No woman has ever thrown me off balance like this before, made me feel like I’m losing control.
She’s hiding something and I’m guessing it’s something painful. I know I told her I don’t care and I don’t, but, fuck it, I want to know what it is. I’d rather just get it all out in the open and move on. She’s clearly still afraid. I mean, if there was ever a chance for her to admit to something, wouldn’t it have been last night, during my own purging? It should have been so easy for her to explain who Ronald Sullivan is to her, why he was ready to smash her face in. But she continues to pretend that it didn’t happen.
I’m thinking of getting John here to tail that fucker until I get answers. I’m thinking of stopping by Sullivan’s house and holding him down by the throat until I get answers, faster.
“What?” The question slips softly from her lips as her eyes slide over my chest. She hasn’t stopped doing that all night.
I reach up to smooth my knuckles over her cheek, freshly made up after being in the pool. I wish she’d just wash it all off. I wish she’d take those damn contacts off, too. My mouth opens, the demand on the tip of my tongue, when she shut her eyes and leans into my touch, her full lips parting slightly. I feel her hot breath against my skin, bringing a throb to my balls, reminding me how long today really has been.
What a single-minded asshole I can be, sometimes.
I really can’t wait any longer.
With my help, her dress hits the ground soundlessly. She remains still, watching me as I unclasp her bra and peel her panties off without ceremony until, in less than thirty seconds, she’s naked for me again.
I’m practically salivating.
Her fingers reach forward for my belt but I grab them and ease her down to sit on my bed. She watches as I remove my own pants directly in front of her, sliding my boxer briefs over yet another raging hard-on that Charlie has given me.
Her eyes flash wide for a second before she schools them. Even in the darkness—lit only by the city lights outside—I can see the blush.
The woman has removed her own clothes onstage in front of hundreds of men and yet she blushes at the sight of me, naked.
I fight the urge to laugh. What an unpredictable woman! It’s frustrating, but . . . I also love it. “Give me a minute?” I ask, not waiting for an answer as I head out the door. I try not to run. She’s still perched on the edge of the bed when I come back with a strip of condoms hanging from my grasp. “Sorry, I don’t keep any in here,” I explain.
A light frown curves across her forehead. “Where do you keep them?”
I sigh as I take in those creamy-skinned, muscular thighs, waiting to be pushed apart. I don’t really want to explain this right now. In the spare room . . . in the kitchen cupboard next to the fridge . . . in the side table of the living room . . . on my main floor balcony. Everywhere that I fuck women.
I don’t fuck women in my bedroom.
Tossing them onto the nightstand beside the bed, I stand naked in front of her, letting her take me all in for a moment. And she does, her lips parted slightly. I can hear her shallow breaths. Lifting her chin with my index finger until she meets my gaze, I explain in an even voice, “I’ve never invited anyone in here.” As if that isn’t clear enough, I add, “You’re the only woman who’s ever come near this bed.”
I hold her gaze as I try to convey the truth to my words, feeling her hard swallow beneath my touch as a myriad of emotions begin whirling within those eyes.
The tension in the air is suddenly palpable as her fingers reach forward to slide along my stomach, up to my chest. She stands, leveling me with a calculating look of her own. One that says she’s weighing the truth of my answer. “Why me?”
“Because you’re all I’ve thought about for weeks.”
“Is it because of . . . I mean,” her eyes dart to my neck, “do I remind you of someone?”
Ginger told her about Penny, obviously. “You’re not a replacement for anyone,” I answer slowly, evenly. Truthfully. Charlie is so much stronger, smarter, more confident than Penny ever was.
A shimmer coats her eyes. I think she’s beginning to understand . . . this. What the fuck is this? I honestly don’t know. When did it truly start? Was it last night? Was it when she threw me that first wink onstage? Was it the second she walked through my door?
I sense a tremble in her body and I instantly pull her into my arms. A nervous giggle tickles my chest where her mouth sits. “It’s all happening so fast. I just . . . when I took the job, I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I’m sorry, it’s me. I warned you.” The soft chuckle slides out of my mouth. “I don’t like wasting time.”
“Do you believe in fate, Cain?”
I hesitate. Something tells me that Charlie does. I’d hate to tell her that I don’t. That I despise the very idea of fate because it means I was destined for this life the second I was born. And that I’d be a fool to think I have control over any of it.
Suddenly, she pulls away. Tilting her head in that playful way of hers, she sits and edges backward until she’s in the middle of the mattress and lying on her elbows, knees bent but together, her back arched naturally. Like an alluring angel amidst a sea of bedsheets.
I can’t help but gaze at her for a moment.
And then her legs fall apart and that coy smile curves her lips.
My hands are locked on her ankles and pulling her to me in an instant.
And I know in my gut that each kiss, each touch, each thrust tonight will sink me further.
Until there is no escape.
■ ■ ■
“What did I teach you?” His voice registers a split second before sharp fists bombard my chest, my ribs, my stomach.
My fifteen-year-old body—already hardened for a good beating—has come to refuse more than four hours of sleep at a time, always on guard. After all, longer sleeps only increase the odds of getting caught unconscious. I must have been exhausted, though, because this time he caught me in a dead sleep.
I spring out of bed in seconds and raise my fists, ready to fight. Dad’s dark eyes—still red and glossy from whatever he’d snorted or smoked the night before—bore into me. “Always be ready, son. Every second counts.”
My brain regi
sters a weight against my chest and my eyes fly open. I’m a split second away from jumping into defense mode when floral perfume fills my nostrils.
I sigh. No one is attacking me. It’s Charlie—her body nestled into my side, her head resting on my chest. And it feels fucking incredible.
“Nightmare?” I hear her sleepy voice ask. With the predawn light coming through the window, I can make out her features. She’s at peace.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I apologize, pushing a strand of hair off her face. A glance at the clock tells me we’ve been asleep for a few hours.
Asleep.
Tonight was the first time I’ve ever fallen asleep with a woman.
I’m almost twenty-nine years old and I’ve never slept with a woman.
I’ve never even tried.
And now, feeling her silky skin against mine, her body relaxed and finding comfort molded into mine, I know what I’ve been missing. What I never want to miss again.
Her hand rubs over my chest affectionately. “Your heart is racing,” she murmurs. It’s almost like a purr.
“I’m fine.” Unless you break it. The thought suddenly creeps into my mind unbidden, leaving me feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach.
Charlie could break me. By the volcanic eruption of anxiety suddenly bursting, I acknowledge that she could shatter me worse than Penny did.
Permanently.
A second later, I feel her tongue dart over my nipple before her mouth covers it in a kiss. I groan, shifting to my side so I can face her. A tiny giggle escapes her but her eyes are still closed. I simply watch her, as her breathing slows and steadies, telling me she has fallen back asleep.
chapter twenty-eight
■ ■ ■
CHARLIE
I’ve given up all pretenses that I’m leaving today or tomorrow. It might be in a week from now, or three weeks from now. But I’m not leaving until I absolutely have to.
I thought the night on the pier was intense, but last night felt somehow . . . binding. Cain showed me just how much more demanding yet gentle, how much more passionate yet considerate, he could be. Raw emotions—feelings I can’t even comprehend, let alone verbalize—passed through each intimate touch, each time we surrendered ourselves to each other.
I don’t understand how or why I’ve garnered Cain’s interest, but I’ll hold onto it as long as I can.
Every inch of me is sore. And yet, if Cain needed more of me, I would give it to him right now. I’ll give him everything that I possibly can. Which doesn’t feel like very much, especially compared to what he’s so freely offered to me.
My heart aches with that knowledge. I don’t know what to do. I don’t see how this can go on indefinitely. And yet no part of me will allow the thought of leaving right now.
Perhaps he senses my presence because Cain suddenly turns to lock eyes with me, pulling a light gasp from my lips. His gaze drifts down my body, that deadly curl touching his lip. “I hope you don’t mind me going through your dresser.” My fingers stretch the plain gray T-shirt of his that I’m wearing as I make my way down the steps. I found it folded neatly in his top drawer and I couldn’t help but put it on. It reaches my thighs, it’s soft, and, though obviously laundered, it still somehow smells like Cain.
He places the cup in his hand down on the side table and silently strolls over to wait for me on the landing. By the sudden tilt of his head and his focus, I’m thinking the shirt isn’t entirely long enough to cover the fact that I have nothing on underneath. When I reach the landing, his hand grabs onto the front of it, hiking it up around my waist as he pulls me into him. “I would prefer you without this.” His hands slide down along my back to get a solid grip of my bare ass.
“What, like some sort of sex slave?” I tease as I inhale the scent of soap. Cain has showered. I, most definitely, have not. After last night’s bedroom marathon, I’m regretting this fact right now. It doesn’t seem to bother him, though. He pulls me into him tighter.
“I tried to wake you up this morning but you sleep like the dead,” he says absently, a soft smile on his lips as his attention roams my face.
I scrubbed my makeup off before I came down. I also took out the contacts. I can do that much for him, at least.
“I could use a slave,” he murmurs. Then he leans down and lays one of his knee-buckling, thigh-tingling kisses on me and I silently thank God that I at least used his toothbrush to clean my teeth.
“Hmm . . . I thought you said you weren’t a pervert,” I tease against his mouth.
His dark chuckle sends shivers skittering along my skin. And then suddenly I’m being turned and my feet are moving backward to keep my balance as his powerful frame overwhelms me. Before I know what’s happening, my T-shirt is gone and I’m falling into the couch, just as Cain’s track pants hit the floor.
The smirk on his face is downright dangerous. “I lied.”
■ ■ ■
“I really like waking up to you in my home,” Cain says as he slides a cup of coffee across the counter to me.
“I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.
He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.
But he won’t.
I think he likes me gawking at him.
It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.
With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got . . .” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “. . . condiments . . . orange juice . . . bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”
Cain is making a grocery list. For me.
I hesitate for a second and then grin playfully at him. “Frosted Flakes?”
I get an arched brow in return. “Really?”
“Childhood vice.”
“Okay . . . children’s cereal. That will spark Karina’s curiosity, no doubt.” A slow smile touches his lips as he jots it down. His penmanship is exceptionally neat. “Ten pounds of coffee . . . your own damn toothbrush, so you don’t use mine again.”
I feel the sheepish grin touch my face. By the wink he throws me, I think he’s only kidding.
“Brass pole for my bedroom . . .”
“They have those at the local grocery store?”
His phone starts ringing as he adds while scribbling, “Ten economy boxes of condoms.”
“What?”
He answers his phone with a chuckle and I use that opportunity to snatch the paper out from under him. He actually wrote that down.
“Nate,” I hear him say as he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and places the cup in the dishwasher. “Yup . . . good.” His gaze flickers to me. Listening for a moment, his eyes absently settling on my bare legs, Cain’s face suddenly turns serious. He stands up straighter. “Seriously? Fuck . . . Why didn’t you call me? . . . Yeah. I’ll have to deal with her tonight.” Another pause as he listens, his hand scratching his chin. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be in by four. I’ve gotta take Charlie back to her place . . . Yeah.” I can hear Nate’s deep rumble on the other line but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “See you later.”
I sense the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting as Cain’s mood sours.
And I hate it.
“I s
hould get you home, Charlie,” he mutters, now focused intently on the granite pattern. I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, moving out the door to head back into his own reality. Everything about him—his body language, his facial expression, his tone—feels like it’s closing off. Shifting back to the Cain that I first met. It’s as though he’s pulling a door shut to leave me and whatever this is between us on the other side. Separated from that other part of his life.
Cain and I have a lot in common.
I dive for that doorway to wedge myself in. “What happened? I assume it involves Penny’s?”
After a pause, “Yeah.” He leans down onto the counter and I don’t hesitate to reach forward and begin rubbing the muscles in his back, knowing that his body is tense again. I’ve noticed that the longer he’s away from the club, the more he relaxes. “China and Kinsley were at it again last night, fighting over a customer like two alley cats.” He shakes his head. “China threw a drink at Kinsley that accidently hit a customer. Now the guy’s threatening to sue.”
“Shit,” I groan, silently piecing together the conversation. “What does that mean? You’re firing China?”
He scowls. “No . . . Kinsley.” His eyes drift off toward the window.
Wow. I don’t doubt that Kinsley is at least half-deserving, but . . . even with China physically abusing customers and putting his business at risk, he won’t fire her?
His bottom lip pulls into his teeth. “I’m really starting to hate that place.”
I lean in to press my lips against his shoulder, wishing I could help him somehow. “But you can’t walk away from it.”
“But I can’t walk away from it,” he repeats with a slow nod, more to himself. Breathing in deeply through his nostrils, he mutters, “I hate firing people.”
“Want me to do it?” I offer casually, letting one hand settle against his chest while I gently run my index finger of the other hand down his spine. “I can pretend to be a mean-ass bitch boss for you.”
