by Aleah Barley
What Jack would feel like inside her, filling her over and over again.
“Yes?” She bit her lip, hoping he would sweep her up into his arms and carry her off for an afternoon delight. Like Snow White, Cinderella, or some other fairy-tale princess.
“Did you put sunscreen on? You’re starting to look a little pink.”
Honey closed her eyes and moaned. Here she’d been thinking about sex, and he’d been worrying about her getting skin cancer.
Though at least it meant he was looking at her body.
“I like the sun.” She stretched her feet out toward the end of the lounge chair, enjoying the heat across her skin and Jack’s sharp intake of breath when she crossed and uncrossed her legs. He was right. She was beginning to look a little pink.
“I burn easily.”
The words left a dry taste in her mouth. If she’d been at home when the arsonist arrived, she’d be dead.
She changed the subject, following the direction of her thoughts. “How do you think Logan survived?”
“He’s got a panic room built into his study. Besides, the arsonist wasn’t interested in doing any real damage. He was looking for something.”
“Any idea what that is?”
“No idea, but it’s interesting. The arsonist wanted something from Logan. You, he just wanted dead. But you wouldn’t know anything about that.”
This was it. Her opportunity. Her big chance to tell him about Logan’s mysterious will.
Jack was a good man, a trained investigator. He’d figure out what was going on if it was the last thing he did.
But her breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to give him the information. It wasn’t even about them—not really. Her body, her laughter was all his for the taking, but this was something else entirely. This secret wasn’t hers.
She didn’t know what was going on, but until she talked to Logan, she wasn’t about to betray the old man’s trust. Even if she hadn’t earned it in the first place.
“Money, art.” She forced herself to laugh. “Logan probably has the lost treasure of the Sierra Madre in his bedside table. How should I know what would interest a firebug?”
A breeze nipped playfully at her legs. Somewhere in the distance, birds were singing and firemen were reassuring worried multimillionaires that the long-dead fire wouldn’t suddenly jump to their cookie-cutter mansions. She could smell salt water and hear the ocean.
So much trouble in the world, and she just wanted to tear Jack’s clothes off and have her merry way with him. “Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“You’re not sore?”
“You’re worrying about my health?”
“I’m worried you’ll be too banged up for my purposes.”
“That sounds ominous.” Jack laughed. “What purposes did you have in mind?”
“Sinful, wicked, deviant purposes.”
Honey stood slowly, pivoting so they were face to face. Only, his face wasn’t looking at her face. His face was looking at the way her borrowed bathing suit supported her breasts, lifting them up in a feat of engineering that had almost nothing to do with reality.
“I hate this swimsuit. I look like an extra on Baywatch.”
“I love that swimsuit.”
“You would. The color’s all wrong. They say redheads should never wear red.”
“The color’s perfect. You should wear red all the time.”
It would be a cold day in hell before Honey wore red where people could see her. The only reason she’d chosen the bathing suit was because the housekeeper’s other options had offered as much coverage as postage stamps connected with dental floss.
“Shouldn’t you be off looking for clues, detective? I thought you were a fully-trained investigator.”
“I’m finding plenty to investigate right here.”
Great, more questions. She bit her lip to keep from swearing. “I don’t know anything, Jack. I swear on a stack of carburetors. The only time I talked to Logan Burrows, it was about a car, and the only reason I wasn’t in my house when it burned down was happenstance and hormones. You’ve already asked me a bunch of questions. I don’t know what else there is.”
“You’re right. I’ve asked a lot of questions.” A cheeky grin erupted across Jack’s face. “There’s only one thing left that I need to know.”
With her luck, he’d use this opportunity to accuse her of yet another crime she hadn’t committed, something violent and messy. “What’s that?”
“Do you want to see my bedroom?”
Jack’s bedroom. Jack’s childhood bedroom. “Does it have black silk sheets and a champagne fountain?”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I guess the rich aren’t that different after all.” The champagne fountain was a stretch, but she’d always wanted to try out silk sheets. “I’d love to see your room.”
Now that they had a plan, Honey found herself moving faster than she’d thought possible. She stood, slinging her backpack up over her shoulder and following Jack into the house. The air-conditioned interior raised goose bumps on her arms after so much time in the sun. The housekeeper who’d been omnipresent earlier seemed to have vanished.
Two sharp turns, and they were racing up the stairs, across a long balcony, and into a huge bedroom.
“This is your room? It’s enormous.”
“Not really.”
“Uh-huh.” She snorted. “This room is bigger than my house.”
It was a masculine room, full of glittering metal, glass, and blue upholstery. An expensive stereo system sat on the dark desk beside a rack of CDs. The bookshelves along the side wall held books that were required reading at Black Palm Park Academy, beautiful hardcover editions completely unlike the paperbacks Honey had scrounged at used bookstores. Above the books, two solid rows of trophies and medals were on display, showcasing Jack’s talent at everything from tennis to boxing to kindergarten attendance. A poster advertising one of his fights hung framed on the wall above them.
It was a perfect room, a shrine to Jack created and carefully curated in perpetuity by his doting mother.
Not Honey’s Jack, though. The Jack who lived in Venice Beach, worked long hours, and played pool for penny stakes—that was the Jack she liked. The Jack she was beginning to fall in love with.
This room belonged to a different man, a stranger from the past who would never spend a lazy day in bed with her drinking coffee and reading the New York Times. Until a few hours ago, she hadn’t even known that was something she wanted, but now it was all she could think about.
Until he kissed her, and the entire world fell away.
Chapter Nine
Jack pushed Honey back onto his bed and ran his hands down over her body. Muscles contracted against his fingers, making her quiver.
All that time they’d spent fighting each other tooth and nail when they could have been doing this.
The fact that he still didn’t know what had started the fighting scared him. If he didn’t know what he’d done wrong, he could make the same mistake a second time. One day, he could wake up and she’d be screaming her head off, filling his shampoo bottle with maple syrup, or—worse—missing from his bed.
“Take off your clothes,” Honey ordered.
Even when they weren’t fighting, she was always making demands. “You don’t want to see my body.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Normally, I’d be more than happy to play this game, but at the moment I look like a slab of meat.” Rare meat that had been pounded in preparation for cooking. Rub a little salt on him, maybe some garlic, and he’d be good to go.
Jack rolled sideways until his back was flat on the bed and stared up at the smooth, white ceiling. “Can’t we just make out?”
“Not a chance.” Honey rolled over on her side, her body curving toward his. A hand reached out. Nimble fingers went to work undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I want a show.”
His lips twitched into a grin. “You’re going to drive me straight into an empty grave.”
“You want me to stop?”
“Never.” Honey might be the death of him, but what a way to go.
Big as life and twice as bold. Honey was more than just some teenage rebellion. She was smart, funny, and quick on her feet. She made him feel alive.
His entire life, he’d been struggling for independence. The fancy car, college education, and career plan his mother had given him when he was younger had all been steel shackles locking him in a single place. So much of what he’d done—dropping out of college, boxing professionally, even becoming a cop—had been an attempt to free himself.
And he had it, finally—the freedom to drop everything and backpack across the country if he wanted to. The freedom to drink too much, stay out all night, or start a fight for the hell of it.
The freedom to be with a woman who’d give outrageous orders, call him on his bluffs, and kick his ass when he was late for dinner.
The final button on his shirt popped open. To take it off, he’d have to stand up. He’d have to give in to her demands.
During all that time spent earning his independence, he’d never promised a woman anything past the next few weeks. Being a cop didn’t leave much room for dating. But maybe they could try it out. Walks on the beach, laughing in the rain, and beers on Saturday night with her cousins.
He’d just have to make sure not to run their names for any open warrants.
It wasn’t the life he’d planned when he signed up for the police force, and it certainly wasn’t the life he’d dreamed about when he’d stared up at his bedroom ceiling so many years earlier. He’d wanted to be a pirate. But the idea of having Honey next to him in bed for the foreseeable future was gaining appeal with every passing second.
The aches and pangs he’d been feeling most of the afternoon disappeared, replaced with energy that popped and fizzled in his veins like good champagne.
He turned to face Honey. “If I’m going to do this, I need some music.”
By the time he levered himself off the bed, Honey was already moving toward the stereo. He dropped his jacket to the ground, undid his shoulder holster, and placed his gun carefully on top of his bedside table. Then he waited, patiently, for the music to start.
After a few minutes, he heard the thrum of an electric guitar. Supple fingers spun across the volume dial, turning the music up until it was pounding in his head. Standing ten feet away, waiting to see him strip off his clothes, Honey bobbed her head up and down in time with the beat. Fire-colored hair and a fire-engine-colored bathing suit. The combination was spectacular. When she shimmied, her breasts floated up and down. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips.
He couldn’t breathe, but that didn’t stop him from being able to smell the smoke that clung to her hair and the hint of citrus she always carried on her skin.
So much sex appeal packed into one tidy container. If she kept moving like that, he’d explode.
A hot-blooded rock anthem blasted through the stereo system, his pulse pounding in time. His already unbuttoned shirt came off, dropping to the floor. He kicked his shoes into the corner, trying to concentrate on the way his body moved.
Honey wanted a dance, and he wasn’t about to let her down.
His hips rotated in time to the music, the fast beat like the rumbas he’d learned during ballroom dance lessons at the country club. He’d hated those lessons. At eleven years old, he’d been a foot shorter than all of the girls, and his fancy shoes always pinched.
Honey watched him, her gaze strong, steady. Wandering across the bedroom floor, she tried to mimic his actions. One step forward, one step to the left, a step back, and a step to the right. A neat box step made exotic by the sway of her hips. “Like this?”
“That’s the man’s part,” Jack murmured. “The aggressor.”
He reached out with his right hand to touch her waist, guiding her until they were moving together. “The man pushes forward, and the woman takes him. That’s what my dance teacher taught me.”
“Hmm.” Honey’s hands dropped down to move at his waist, unbuckling his belt. “What if I want to push?”
Damn, she was beautiful. Her crazy red curls floating in the air.
“Honey.” He leaned forward, so that when he spoke, his lips brushed her cheek. He kissed her softly, waiting for her to make the next move before drawing her tongue in to his.
For a long while they stayed like that, kissing and dancing in his childhood bedroom as the music changed. Then his hand dipped to run across her tight butt. He pushed his fingers underneath her red spandex bathing suit. “How do you take this off?”
“One sharp tug.”
The suit wasn’t the only thing that got off that way. The way Honey’s hands were moving between them, unzipping his pants and running along the length of his cock, all it would take was one sharp tug to finish him.
That was fine, but he wanted to do something first.
His free hand moved up, skimming her body, to pull the bathing suit’s straps off her shoulders. He was supposed to be the one getting undressed, but she didn’t object when he pulled the suit down and tossed it aside. His hand came to rest on her belly, fingers curling possessively through naturally red curls. He could hear her sharp intake of breath in the pause between songs.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Jack lied. His thumb reached down, stroking her.
“Please,” she begged.
Please, for the second time in as many days. The word made his heart beat faster in his chest. It made him want her even more.
“I want to feel you inside me. I need to feel you—” A ragged gasp escaped her lips as his hand’s easy motion slowed, his fingers resting near her innermost crevices. “Oh, god.” She moaned, half to herself. “I need to sit down. I need—” A sharp swallow. “I need something to lean on.”
“Lean on me.”
Her legs shook. Her knees were weak. He held her steady, wrapping one arm around her waist. He watched her face, the sharp intake of breath, the way her lips bowed and her eyelids fluttered as he brought her almost to the precipice, over and over again.
Sex with Honey was going to be amazing—almost unimaginably so—but first he wanted to hold her. To watch her face as he brought her over the edge.
Sharp nails dug into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, but Jack held still. Every move was slow, savoring her desire and the way she moaned with delight as his fingers moved deeper inside her.
When she finally came in a flood of ecstasy, her pleasure blocked out the music.
…
Hard muscles bulged as Jack stood, lifting her easily, and carried her over to the bed. He’d taken off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, but a soft white tank top still clung to his chest. Unacceptable. This entire exercise was supposed to have been about giving her a chance to look at his body.
It was also supposed to let him know that she was in control. He could bark orders all day long, telling her it was for her own safety, but when it got right down to it, he had to listen to what she wanted.
Instead, he’d turned everything upside down. Again.
Her throat went dry watching the way his arms moved as he reached down to pull off his pants. Tanned skin pulled tight, revealing solid muscles. Arms had never done it for her before. She liked looking at a man’s chest, his butt, but arms were different. They were just appendages hanging off a torso.
Except when she looked at Jack’s arms, thinking about the way they’d held her the night before, lust shot through her body like lightning.
Then there were his hands. Strong hands with lean, supple fingers, capable of running gently across her body or digging in tight to hold her.
With his pants on the floor, his cock sprang free, long and hard beneath his boxers. Her eyes widened. “That’s not going to fit.”
“Thanks for the compliment, babe. I’m sure it’
ll be fine.”
“Sure.” But she wasn’t. She closed her eyes, trying to recapture the afterglow from her orgasm. She waited a beat.
Nothing happened.
“What’s the hold up?”
“This is the bedroom I had when I was a kid.”
She was definitely losing the afterglow. If he didn’t start moving soon, she’d have to take matters into her own hands. “I’m aware.”
“I stay here sometimes after family dinners or tournaments at the country club.”
“Uh-huh. What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”
“You’re the first woman I’ve brought back here. I don’t have any condoms.”
Damn. Honey’s eyes fluttered open. Damn, damn, double damn. “You don’t have any condoms?”
“No.” An edge of desperation colored his voice. “What about you? Do you have one?”
“Are you kidding? How would I have a condom? It’s a miracle I have pants.” She stood up and made a decision. “I don’t care.”
The statement was bold, reckless, and impulsive. It was also true. She wanted to feel him inside of her, and damn the consequences. “I need you. Now.”
“You need to watch what you’re saying.”
Temptation made her open her mouth. A single word of encouragement, and he’d break a land speed record pulling off his boxers and burying himself deep inside her.
It was everything she wanted, and he was giving her the chance to turn him away. The chance to do the smart thing, the right thing, even if those navy boxers showed her exactly how much he wanted to do otherwise.
She closed her mouth and swallowed, hard.
Kneeling down in front of him, Honey reached out. Her fingers curled into the waistband of his shorts, dragging him forward.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jack asked, his voice rough.
“Whatever I want.” Honey grinned. “Necessity is the mother of invention.”
She gave the boxers a sharp tug, pulling them down. This was what she’d wanted to see when she’d asked him to strip for her. It was rock-hard and solid, with a slight curve at the tip. So inviting. She wrapped her hand around his girth, feeling him twitch.
