The Middle Man

by Gadziala, Jessica

  I guess I was only considering it now because of what I had become.

  A pesky problem.

  One someone could pay to have disappear.

  While I understood that Bellamy's existence in the office was mostly because he could take down people Quin deemed too wicked to live, I was also not the naive girl I had once been. Not everyone was that upstanding, that moral. There were plenty of people who, for the right number of bills stuffed in a suitcase, would take anyone out of the world without pondering the right or wrongness of it.

  Anyone like me.

  I had known this plan was potentially dangerous when I signed up for it. But I guess I had figured it would be in a more traditional way. Handcuffs and jail time.

  Not potential disappearance.

  Not possible murder.

  I needed to get back in that computer, get into that file, get what I needed.

  Then get the hell back out.

  I believed in the bigger picture, in sacrifices for the greater good, but I wasn't so sure that I wanted to be sacrificed in such a literal way.

  If I got what was needed, then, yes, technically, in the scales of life, the loss of my life would be worth it. But not if I never got that far. And maybe not to the people who loved me the most.

  I was queasy the whole drive back to Lincoln's at the idea of my parents and sister finding out that something that had happened to me.

  And, as I was pulling into the garage, I couldn't help but let my mind wander where it had been wandering a lot lately.

  Toward Lincoln.

  And how he might handle something happening to me. The guilt because he had been 'on the case,' and hadn't brought in anyone else, hadn't told people who loved me that I might be in trouble.

  In a sick sort of way, I maybe even hoped he would grieve. Not because of a lost client. Not even because I was a former coworker. But because I had maybe started to mean something to him.

  That was probably projection.

  It just didn't seem possible to me that he managed to spend his evenings with me, talking, laughing, cooking and cleaning side-by-side without something more than client or coworker feelings developing.

  Especially a man like him. Always in need of female affection, having a soft place to land after a day of hard.

  As I walked through the garage door and into the kitchen, I could feel the day melting off me, dripping off with each step I moved into his house. This place felt more like home than my own apartment lately, a place of warmth and companionship, things my life had been so wholly lacking for longer than I cared to think about.

  As I went about making a more labor-intensive, hearty meal than usual, I decided to leave work at work, to go ahead and go through with my thoughts from earlier in the day before my mind got hijacked with darker, uglier things.

  This house was no place for dark and ugly.

  "That smells good," Lincoln greeted me with a nose lifted, breathing in dinner's potential. I was just dying for this same exact scene, just maybe him moving in behind me, wrapping his arms around my belly, leaning his head on my shoulder, and pressing a kiss into my neck.

  Then instead of us talking about our days while food cooked, making the time pass by him bending me over the counter...

  My sex clenched hard at the very idea, strengthening my determination to make sure we managed to get this relationship moving in that direction.

  After dinner.

  Because men were always a little lower on their defenses when their bellies were full, when they were feeling cared for and contented.

  Then I would go through with my plan.

  "You have to be open-minded," I demanded, turning, trying to keep my eyes on his face when they were dying to wander.

  There would be time for that later.

  "I trust you, Gem," he told me with that sincere smile of his as he ducked into the fridge to grab one of the blood orange sodas I had bought to replace the regular ones he usually kept there. He popped the top, took a long drag, then, misinterpreting my look that was decidedly of thirst--just not the literal kind--held out the can toward me.

  And, well, I wasn't going to pass up on that, was I?

  "So what are you making me, sweetheart?" he asked, making my belly flutter a bit at the endearment, even if a part of me knew they were just throwaways, things he said to all women.

  I was hoping that maybe, possibly, hopefully, I could get my very own endearment, one that he didn't give to everyone else.

  We would see.

  "I am making lasagne, but there are some changes."

  "I've been pretty open to your changes so far."

  And hopefully to more changes later tonight.

  "Okay, so the noodles are green lentil noodles. Don't freak out!" I added, holding up a hand.

  "Wasn't freaking out. You haven't done me wrong yet."

  "Okay. So they really aren't that different. Plus, they have more protein. For your manly muscles and such," I added, watching as his eyes twinkled at the turn of phrase. "There are also some veggies mixed into the sauce."

  "You've taught me to love veggies."

  When it came to praise, for me, that was some of the best.

  "And the cheese is half actual ricotta. And half cashew cheese."

  "Cashew cheese," he repeated, considering.

  "You won't notice a difference at all," I assured him. "Especially because I mixed it half and half. We might have to work up to full plant-based cheeses. They're not the same. Anyone who says so is lying straight to your face. And likely to themselves. But when they're mixed in, they're really good."

  "Now, you wouldn't be letting me down and not making garlic bread, would you?" he asked, and, God, the way his voice got deep and sexy when he was asking for something, yeah, it made me want to strip him naked right there. I could just imagine how that voice would sound when the demands he had were naughtier ones.

  "Would I do something like that to you?" I shot back, reaching for the Italian bread. "It is store-bought, but we must make some sacrifices."

  "Babe, nothing you make could be considered a sacrifice." He was killing me. My insides felt gooey with the praise. "You alright?" he asked a moment later, making me realize I had just been standing there, staring at him, Italian bread still half-raised in the air. "You're flushed."

  Yeah, I would be. I felt warm all over.

  "Cooking makes you hot." And, apparently, so did he. Almost intolerably hot.

  There was a second, just a breath really, where I thought something heated crossed his face as well. But it was gone before I could say with certainty that it had been there.

  "I'll crack the window," he offered, turning to do so, standing there in front of it for a long minute as I finally shook myself out of my sex thoughts and finished making the garlic bread. "Miller is back in town," he told me when he turned, still keeping most of a room between us.

  "Is the job done?" I asked, brows furrowing, distinctly remembering him saying it wasn't going as planned.

  "No. But I'm pretty sure Jules would kill her if she missed Em's birthday."

  "Did you finally decide on a gift?" I asked, knowing he had vetoed everything on Jules' list because they were all 'boring.' I, for one, liked that Jules tended to put things on her kids' wishlists that were somewhat educational or crafty or things they could work on and learn together. Lincoln did not agree.

  Kids don't want books for birthday presents. That is what the library is for.

  "I did," he agreed, smile wicked.

  "Oh, God. What is it? You didn't get her a critter, did you?" I asked, thinking of my sister's already overworked schedule. The last thing she needed was something else to clean up after and remember to feed.

  "You done with that?" he asked, jerking his head to the bread I was shaking some spices onto.

  "Pretty much."

  "Come see," he demanded, practically bouncing with his enthusiasm.

  There was no way I wasn't going to follow him out.

>   "You hate Jules and Kai, huh?" I asked a moment later, standing in his giant garage, looking at the massive box I wasn't even sure how he managed to get home in one of his sporty cars.

  "She is going to love it," he informed me.

  "Of course she is. It has a motor, music, and flashing lights," I agreed, shaking my head at the electric bright pink Hummer he'd gotten my niece. "You're going to be her favorite uncle. Short of someone buying her the golden retriever she's been begging for, no one's gift is going to come close."

  "I'd say I'm sorry for staging you up..."

  "But you're not sorry at all," I finished, smiling back at the grin of his that was undeniably infectious.

  "Not even a little bit," he admitted. "What did you get her?"

  "I got her a crystal growing kit and a geode breaking kit. Oh, and I found this really awesome board game called Herbal Adventure."

  "Herbal Adventure," he repeated, pressing his lips together. "Is that a gift for your niece, or for you?"

  "Hey," I laughed, shoving his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe a bit of both. I love playing board games with her when I babysit."

  "You go over there a lot?"

  "The time I have been here with you is probably the longest I have ever gone without seeing them. I like to drop over with some food on days when I know Jules is on her own because Kai is on a job. And I always give them at least one date night a month."

  "Geez, Gem. Way to make me the worst uncle."

  "Jules says you drop over."

  "Not enough, apparently."

  "They're at a tough age. Once they're a little older and it is easier to take them out places, I'm sure you'll hang out with them more."

  "You like the kids, huh?"

  "I love kids. They're just... refreshing. They are full of wonder at the world that so many of us lose. And their hearts are just wide open."

  "You are full of wonder," he told me. "And love very openly too."

  For some reason, I automatically looked for some kind of insincerity in his words. Some hint of sarcasm.

  There was none.

  "That might be the best compliment I've ever received."

  "Is it really a compliment if it's true?" he asked, closing the trunk of his car, bleeping the locks even though the car lived in a safer house than most millionaires. "Come on. You gotta finish that garlic bread," he told me, giving my hip a squeeze as he moved past.

  Taking a deep breath, I followed behind, willing my lady bits to hold on just a little while longer.

  We ate discussing the birthday party the next afternoon, about how we typically spent weekends, about food ideas for the next week, neither of us even bringing up the possibility that I might be back into my own house, my own life, before then.

  "Alright. I clean. You go do your bath thing."

  My bath thing.

  I had never had a 'bath thing' before.

  But there was no mistaking it now. Every night before bed, I took advantage of his clawfoot tub. I'd even bought a couple new things to make it even more special. Epson salt soaks, bombs, even some dried flowers for when I was feeling fancy.

  Tonight, with seduction on my mind, I was definitely feeling pretty fancy.

  I couldn't claim I had ever actually seduced anyone before, ever set out to get someone to want to sleep with me.

  Sex had always just been a natural progression of things. The right place, the right vibe, the right word or touch or whatever that tipping point was that made two people go from platonic to anything but.

  I had never been someone to overthink it either. Not even my first time. To me, sex was a natural part of life. Something that could mean a lot, or something that meant very little. And either way, it was a perfectly valid thing, a great way to spend time, something enjoyable and freeing.

  But there was no denying that overthinking was exactly what I was doing as I finally sank down under the slightly too-hot water, feeling it immediately start to ease the ache in my muscles, pull the tension from my bones.

  I sat there in silence, listening to the movements of Lincoln through the house, oddly thankful for the somewhat thin walls, hearing him finish up the dishes, walking around the house, likely turning off lights, locking up. He wasn't, as a rule, someone who stayed up late. He called himself 'useless' after midnight.

  Stairs creaked, the pipes groaned, water splattered.

  It took some serious self-control not to reach down, put an end to the ache that I had been feeling all day. All week.

  But, I reminded myself, not getting rid of that particular sort of tension would make it all the more amazing when he did it for me.

  Climbing out, I put extra care into my bedtime routine, slipping into a sexy silk booty shorts and tank top outfit Jules had gotten me for my last birthday, buttery smooth and a pale yellow, it was cool enough to make me shiver before it stole some of my warmth, wove it into its fabric.

  Pulling my hair down, I finger-combed it into some sort of order, then took a deep breath, flicking off the light, going into my room, then pausing in the hall, seeking the courage I needed to keep going.

  Insecurity was not something all that familiar to me. It relied so strongly on fears, on things that weren't inherent to me, sensations only felt when there was a real danger around.

  I'd been lucky to have been raised to know who I was and feel sure about that, to believe in my convictions, to understand that what people thought or said about me actually had nothing to do with my shortfalls, and everything to do with their own personal unexplored and healed traumas.

  I didn't fret.

  I didn't wonder how people might respond to me.

  Yet there was no denying the swirling belly and cold sweat sensations assaulting me as I forced one foot in front of the other.

  Lincoln's door was left a few inches open as it always was. My hand reached to press into the smooth wood, pushing it open wide enough to move within.

  Lincoln was standing at the foot of his bed, bent forward slightly, the light of his phone illuminating the otherwise dark room.

  The hall light snuck in behind me, lighting the slope of his bare back.

  A pair of gray sweatpants was slung low on his waist, offering the smallest of barriers to his full body.

  A creak was what finally drew his attention to my presence.

  The phone's light cut off, his body spun, his hand curled into a tight fist, ready for anything.

  Except, it seemed, for me.

  His body jolted back, brows furrowing, hands slackening immediately, enough that his phone slipped from his grip, clomping to the floor in its thick rubber case.

  "Gemma," my name rushed out from between his lips, airy, unsure. "Is everything okay?" he asked, recovering himself, immediately jumping to concern for my well-being.

  When I didn't answer him, his gaze went behind me, looking for threats, for a reason I might have found myself in his space when I hadn't dared to tread there before.

  Satisfied that no hooded man was lurking in a corner, his eyes slid back to me, staying on my face for an admirably long moment before sliding down, taking in my barely-there outfit. They paused for a long while on my breasts, the chill in his room from the open window making my nipples twist, poking through the barely-there fabric.

  He moved on, noting the sliver of skin between the hem of my tank and the waistband of my shorts, then gliding down the length of my legs before moving back up.

  Quickly.

  Too quickly.

  Like he caught himself in the act.

  "Do you need something, Gem?" he asked.

  For all the thinking I had been doing about this moment, I hadn't actually managed to come up with anything to say.

  Because, well, sometimes words just fell too short, didn't they?

  In times such as this, actions meant more, relayed things lips never could articulate accurately.

  Decision made, I took a breath, then a step, closing the space between our bodies, pressing my front to the hard lin
es of his, pushing up on my toes as my hand raised, encircling the back of his neck.

  A little tug had him finally close enough.

  I saw the spark of understanding a mere second before my lips sealed over his.

  There was a spark at the contact, something that sizzled and burned, became a roaring flame that overtook me completely, stealing away the cold that had been whispering over my skin.

  Beneath mine, his lips were pliant, accommodating, undemanding. For long enough that I was starting to think I had misread before, suddenly, his body loosened, his arms wound around me, squeezing my body tight to his, tight enough to make breathing impossible as his lips came alive under mine, grew bolder, harder, more demanding.

  The flame became a wildfire, encompassing us completely, cocooning us from the world and into a whole new one, one of ours alone, one that knew nothing but mutual need.

  A low, almost pained whimper escaped me as my fingernails ripped down the back of his shoulder blade as I struggled to hold on, get closer, when such a thing wasn't even possible.

  The sound seemed, for him at least, to be an ice bucket on the moment, on this new, beautifully warm world we had come to explore together.

  His lips ripped from mine, his hands releasing me onto unstable legs. The dreamy haze of desire took an embarrassingly long time to clear before my eyes finally fluttered open, finding him standing there, eyes open, jaw tight.

  "Go back to your room, Gemma."

  It was a voice I didn't know. If I heard it on the street, I never would have recognized it.

  There was coldness to it.

  And a harshness I'd never heard before.

  Neither of those things seemed like Lincoln to me. Yet there was no denying it had been Lincoln who had said them.

  "W...what?" I asked, hearing the airlessness of my own voice, making it hard to hear even to my own ears.

  "Go back to your room, Gemma," he demanded again, turning away from me.

  Brain fuzzy, I figured this was just him thinking there was something inappropriate about the two of us getting physical.

  Undeterred, my hand went out, closing around his arm, turning him back.

  But his eyes refused mine for a long moment. His hand moved out, closing around my wrist, hard enough to force my hand away, holding it in the air for a long moment as his eyes found mine. There was none of the warmth he was known for there.