by Dakota Gray
I blink having forgotten what we were talking about. Right. I’d asked him to be my hiking guide, the whole point of being in this bar with him. “A week is preferable, but two isn’t stretching it. I want to get this trip done and over quick. I have a job lined up in three weeks I can’t miss.”
He pulls back, his gaze never wavering from mine, and he climbs out of the booth. My desperation gets the better of me. I grab his wrist and close my hand tight. He pulses with tension but doesn’t tear his arm from my prison. When he looks down at my limb, I drop my hand.
“Tarek, if I told you I needed you to make a trek across California in a week at the minimum, two tops—and that all starts in the next week—would you have met me for drinks?”
The way his face turns to stone, I know the answer. It’s the answer he’s about to give me for the offer.
“Everything isn’t a hike,” I rush to explain. “Just the six waypoints where I have to take a picture. Most of it involves sitting in the car and sleeping.” I smile again and try to wrap humor around my offer. “You’ll have full control of the music choices when we’re in the car.”
In the scheme of things what I’m asking of him isn’t huge. Who says no to an all-expense paid road trip?
Yet California is one of the largest states in the US, clocking in around 800 miles long. There are mountains, cities, deserts and beaches. Hiking, from what I’m told from several people, is hard on the mind and body. I started my training two months ago (and still that isn’t enough), and asked around for a partner in this contest. One after another wanted insane fees or just outright refused.
The last qualified person I could ask is Tarek. I need him to say yes. If that meant prancing around just to get him to consider my proposal, I was willing. I did it. I don’t regret a single moment I wore Lycra.
His jaw flexes then he sighs. “Why do you need this?”
This truth is easy to speak. “When I was eighteen, I found an old Nikon buried in my father’s belongings. I saved and scrimped every year since for a better camera, better equipment. I’m skating by, and nearing an age where my passion seems more like a whim, since it refuses to pay off in a way that covers all the bills.”
I bite my lip and consider telling him about the years I lost when I was married. The years I lost piecing myself back together. I lost a lot of things. Some I don’t even mourn anymore but telling him that is a surefire way to get pity. I deserve better than that. My talent and drive should be enough. Me, as I am right now, is enough. I tamp down those words and say, “I need a loan, since no investors are banging down my door. There is no collateral for a loan.”
He raises a brow, looking unmoved. “Everyone has a passion, and that doesn’t mean it pays well or that it ever will.”
“I didn’t take you for a cynic.”
“You know me from stalking me, now?”
“Stalking is a strong word. I was…”
His laugh is deep. “Trail, shadow, stealthily watch?”
“See. I knew you were a smartass from seeing you interact with your clients, and I’m not even offended right now.”
He scrubs a hand over his scruff, chuckling softly. God. He’s delicious to look at. “Nina Williams, make your case before I decide the smart thing to do is wish you luck and leave.”
“I can photograph anything. Anything. Preparation simply hasn’t met luck. This could be my luck. If that means wandering around remote places in California, I’ll do it. The prize money would allow me to rent a studio for a long enough time I can get a foothold for customers, buy even better equipment, and, dear god, properly advertise.”
His gaze narrows, and I know the exact phrase he’s latched onto. “The prize money is twenty grand.”
He nods and slides back into the booth. “Three grand, then, to be your guide.”
The urge to throw myself at him rises up, but I turn to my purse instead. Paying him is a gamble that will eat into my slow-but-steady savings to buy a studio and better equipment the long and hard way. I tell myself, if nothing else I’d get national exposure from the contest. “Fair warning, I do have to do a daily video diary of the trip. You don’t have to be part of it.”
His rumbled reply is too low for me to make out. I glance at him, sizing him up from what I know, then write an amount on the check. I place it between us. He leans forward to look at the numbers then gives me a look that would have melted a glacier.
I blink, innocently, and say, “Half upfront, and half when we’re done.”
He relaxes back into the red cushions. “I’m guessing there are some ground rules.”
Ground rules? I hadn’t believed he’d agree. Life didn’t work like that for me.
I have an appointment to meet up with my friend who works at a temp agency. Once again, I’d answer phones, or type memos to make ends meet and save as best as I could. There is no inheritance from a rich relative for me to dip into. I’ve already asked for way more than I should have from my sister and parents.
So, it’s me.
Me and luck.
I consider his words though. “You don’t stay until the end, you forfeit the last of the $1,500. I’ll cover hotels and food. That includes gas and the rental car, insurance, etc. If you need clothes, soap, whatever, that’s on you...If you’re hurt during this trip, we’ll have a mediation to see where I’m at fault and you’re at fault. If I’m hurt, you’re not liable. Unless you get really pissed at me and try to push me off a cliff. I don’t think that’ll be the case, ever.”
A genuine smile finally breaks out. “No. I doubt it very seriously.
I frown to think of anything else I need to say. My mind draws a blank. “I think that’s it.”
The check I wrote sits on the table as though forgotten. He hasn’t moved to pick it up, but he leans in and crooks his finger under my chin to force me to meet his gaze. His touch renders my brain inert. Sensation radiates from where he touches me. I can’t describe it. I’ve never experienced something this small and intense.
Why can’t I breathe? Usually I’m kind of boundless. I can’t keep still. A quiet room makes me need to bounce my leg or click a pen incessantly. It’s just his thumb and forefinger grounding me, yet I’m rooted in the moment. I’m so focused on the way the brown in his eyes have melted into ebony, his pupils so dark and large.
The smile goes completely crooked and his mouth becomes a target for my gaze. A buzz fills my ears. His lips are moving, forming words, and there’s just the rumble of his voice in my very being. It’s a heartbeat. A thrum. One that starts in my head and works its way down to my chest and between my legs. He might as well put his mouth to my pussy and whisper sweet nothings because sound has muted and all I can feel is the soft thud of him, right there against my clit.
“Nina...” he says my name with a touch of exasperation.
“Hmm?”
His laugh is dark, knowing. “How about you pay me in full when I get you to your last destination. I’ll bill you for any expenses outside of what we’ve just agreed on.”
“Expenses could be a special massage.” What the fuck am I saying? I punch the lust down harder until it’s flat. “I would like to have approved expenses ironed out before we embark.”
“I can take care of special massages myself.”
I’m no wilting violet, but dear god, the image that pops into my head is graphic enough to make my cheeks warm. And in the gym, he had on sweats. That soft cotton tends to cling to anything thick, long and ridged. Tarek had plenty to cling to. “I—”
There’s something sarcastic and witty rattling in my brain that refuses to fall out of my mouth because he’s now rubbing his thumb back and forth.
I could pull away, but his thumb has lulled me. I’d sprung a trap for him to say yes, but here I am, caught in him. I’m not sure if I want to be free until he drops his hand to the table.
Thoughts rush back in, and I remember I’m so not trying to fuck him. I’ve hired him to do the very opposite of turning
me on. Who gets hot and randy while hiking? I scrounge up my voice, and professionalism. “Do we have a deal, Tarek?”
“I’ll be your guide, Nina Williams.”
My gut tells me I should force him to specify, because he could mean anything in that deadly sexy voice he’s using.
But he’s saying yes. I’ll take it.
4
Tarek
* * *
I pull up short after locking the door on my apartment. A week has passed since I made a devil’s bargain with Nina. It’s D-day, and it’s four in the morning, and she’ll be here soon so we can try to beat traffic.
Yet two figures are leaning against my car. Even in the dark of early morning, I can make out the gleam of the chrome grill of my Dodge Challenger. A black hoodie hides Nate’s dirty blond hair. He’s stuck his thumbs into his jean’s pockets, and one of his boots rests just inside the bumper. Duke is laid back on the hood with his arms crossed over his eyes.
I stalk closer to them, both happy and irritated to see them. “Get the fuck off my car.”
Only Nate moves. Duke’s disrespectful ass remains on the hood, but it’s four in the morning. He’s probably asleep. Shit, he’s in sweats and tennis shoes and a zip-up sweater. The only time he’s not in a three-piece suit is when he’s working out.
He mumbles, “I’m here under duress.”
“This is your form of a last-minute intervention?”
Nate’s shoulders lifts. “Duke expressed concern...”
I glance at Duke. His chest rises and falls in a slow, deep rhythm like he’s fallen asleep. “I can see that.”
Nate slaps his hands together as though in prayer and steps forward. “Do—”
“I’ve racked up paid vacation time, and it’s more than enough to fuck around in the backwoods for a few weeks. Also, my client's name is Nina Williams. She’s a photographer who hired me to do a job.”
I don’t tell them the check she wrote out remained on the table until she retrieved it. Both of my friends know I’m far from a pushover. She wants me to take her hiking, and the schedule is going to be grueling. At some point she’s going to wish me dead. Might even try to end me, but I’m going to get her to every planned destination.
But I can’t take her money. Partly because I could see how much Nina wanted this longshot, pie-in-the-sky plan to work. The other part, the part that makes me a good guy between a fetishist and an emotionless bastard…If she paid me, I’d be in her employ. A subordinate should never fuck their boss. I’d rather her not have that excuse.
I stare at my friends. Their faces—well, Nate’s face—is etched with worry that maybe I’ve finally fucking cracked. Not yet. I am simply grappling with finding another woman who will see my ugly and won't flinch, much, because she knows the world is uglier. I didn’t seek her out, but I damn sure didn’t run when I had the chance.
I shift my bags and push my shoulders back. “You guys know where I’m going. I’ve told my family I’ll be out on a job and with who. I sincerely doubt she’s going to leave me stranded with a knife in my back.” I point to Nate. “You of all people don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to women a man shouldn’t trust.”
Nate gestures behind him. “That’s why I brought Duke.”
“I need coffee,” our friend grumbles.
Nate spreads his hands as though that tells the full story. “He came over here with me at four in the morning sans coffee because he’s worried that you’ve fallen off the deep end.”
Duke straightens, only to lean forward to put his elbows on his knees and drag his hands down his face. “I think you just need a handjob. It has been months since Keisha, and I don’t think you fuck women without being in a relationship with them.”
I open my mouth to tell him I do when Nate says, “Or he needs a really good blowjob. A really great one can clear out the cobwebs.”
Their replies are why everyone considers me the good guy. “Listen, this is a job. Just a job.”
Nate gives me a look that says bullshit. “Duke told me this is the same woman you’ve been eyeing for the past few weeks at the gym. You might as well have pulled your dick out as you watched her.”
Duke chimes in, “That’s what he plans to do on the road trip.” That is directed to Nate. To me he says, “Wear a condom. Remember she only sought you out to use you. Text us your whereabouts, in case my rushed investigation missed she was a serial killer.” Duke focuses his tired stare on Nate. “Can we go now?”
Nate shakes his head. “Don’t you want to menace Nina before they leave?”
And Duke seems to consider that. I laugh. My friends are ridiculous, and still I wouldn’t trade them for anything.
“Or,” I offer, “you can both try being polite to Nina. Is that possible?”
As though speaking her into existence, a Range Rover slows behind my car. Nina parks haphazardly and gets out. Her dimples are on full display. She’s dressed for the road in black tights and a long baby blue shirt that looks comfortable. She’s braided her hair and the singles reach just past her breastbone. The silver tips of her real hair glint in the light, not completely hidden by the weave.
I want her thighs around me. I want her pussy in my face, on my chin and weeping from the way I lick her. Her ass up, face down. I want Nina in any way she’ll have me. I crave to know her hurts, her kinks.
I want.
She, completely unaware of the gnawing desire trying to eat me alive, takes stock of the two men she’s yet to officially meet. Her gaze fixes on Duke. “You look like you need coffee. I have a thermos.”
Duke trains his stare on her for a long second and then smiles. “I like you. Please, give me coffee.”
She laughs, and it’s a real one. I can tell by the way her eyes twinkle. This woman, with her past, can still have a twinkle in her eyes.
Nina’s gaze skips from me and goes to Nate. “Would you like some also?”
“I’m fine.” He waits until Duke and Nina walks over to the trunk to whisper, “You’re fucked, you know that, right? This situation will only end in tears.”
I watch how easily Duke is charmed by Nina. Yeah, he’s softened around the edges because of Kennedy, but Nina is making him laugh while she preps his coffee. “Maybe,” I offer. “Or maybe this will be like any hiking gig I do, like I keep fucking saying.”
“Sure.” He claps my back, laughing, and it sounds a little evil. “Why did you agree anyway?”
Duke has proven, once again, to be a steel vault. He hasn’t told Nate the details of Nina’s past. If my friend knew, he wouldn’t have asked. He’s old-fashioned—a strange observation if you knew everything about him. All that matters now is that he’s Southern, loves his mama and his wife.
If Nate knew this woman who could charm Duke had been beaten by a man who likely told her he loved her, my friend would jump in the car with me. I almost want to tell him. I shouldn’t be alone with Nina. Her thighs are too full, her stomach too soft, her mouth silently begging for the depraved things I can do to it.
She’s so not fucking safe with me.
“What?” Nate asks as though he can read my thoughts.
I should tell someone how I wake up every morning, my jaw hurting because I’d ground my teeth in my sleep. I should confess about the low burn in my gut when I see Nate with Robyn and Kennedy with Duke. The sensation could be jealousy. It could also be fear. Or another episode of spiraling, destructive depression.
Bottom line is that things are changing. And where the fuck am I? Still standing in the same place, sloshing knee-high in shame of my past actions. Still searching for that thing that will fill the hole in me. I know that gaping chasm can’t be filled with a woman. Fuck, I have tried that solution a million goddamn times, but until I know what can close it, I’ll try anything.
That’s dangerous. I know because my last serious attempt ended up with me careening into a drunk driver.
Instead I find my lips forming into, “Nothing.”
I
grab my bags, not waiting to see if Nate will push for more. She left the trunk open. I toss my pack and duffels into the car. Nina continues her conversation with Duke, plying him with food. That’s when Nate finally gives in, rounding to Nina’s side to stuff his face.
I slip into the car and act like this is all fine. My dick and my sense to protect hasn’t dragged me into a fucked-up situation—again—that my friends think I should be saved from. I tell myself both Nate and Duke would have found a way to help Nina.
She was up to something, but she’s also been genuine and open. She’s not a threat to my well-being.
Only I am, and that’s part of the fucking problem.
NINA
By the time I’m done charming Tarek’s friends, he’s fast asleep in the front seat. Or pretending to be. I take this as a sign from the heavens to get on the road before he changes his mind and rolls out of the car.
My muscles refuse to relax as I head toward Oregon’s border. It’s a six-hour drive with good weather this time of year, and usually little traffic, except three hours in, we’re sitting bumper to bumper.
The only sound filling the car is the air conditioner on low. Every song on the radio involved some kind of sexual frustration, so I turned it off.
This is my life.
Blessedly, my phone belts out Rick James’s Mary Jane. I don’t think twice about digging out my earbud from the armrest and sticking it in my ear to answer. “Please distract me,” I beg Layla in a soft whisper.
“Why are you mumbling?”
“He’s asleep.”
“Oh, okay. Before he dozed off, how many times did you let him fondle you?”
I steal a glance at Tarek’s sleeping form. He brought a pillow and light blanket for the car ride. He hadn’t bothered with shaving this morning. Most people appear serene and unguarded while asleep. His brows cut a path along his forehead. Hard lines dig a trench around his mouth. Even his arms are in a protective pose around the pillow like someone can hurt him while he’s this vulnerable.
