Inside Out: Behind Closed Doors

by Lisa Renee Jones

  The gun in his hand is a real problem, though, one that says this blackmail is the real deal. I step forward and shove the knife in his hand, which earns me a howl and the reward of his weapon falling to the ground. He also grabs my damn leg. “Bitch,” he hisses.

  “Thanks for the compliment,” I say, planting my boot in his face. By the time he’s grabbed my other leg, which is damn irritating, I’ve picked up his gun and bashed him on the head. He passes out. And that’s when someone in all black storms down from the second level and leaps, clearly meaning to land on top of me. I step to the left and watch in disbelief as the man lands against the wall and knocks himself out.

  “Well, this is disappointing,” I murmur, and sigh, retrieving the small flashlight and utility tape I keep handy in my pockets for just such occasions.

  I stick the light between my teeth and quickly tape the big dude’s legs and wrists. Moving to Mr. Graceful, I grimace at the odd angle of his neck. I kneel beside him and check for a pulse. Unbelievable. The guy actually killed himself. “Damn it,” I murmur, because yeah. I’ll kill a killer in a heartbeat, but this dude wasn’t a killer. He was just a fool.

  With flashlight in hand, I rush up the stairs, cringing at the mess that is now Skye’s living room: the couch, carpet, and pictures are all shredded. Skye, who lives on pennies, and who I hope has insurance, because I can’t fix this for her without getting attention I simply can’t risk. Going into her bedroom, I find the light on and more of the same mess.

  Crossing the room, I open the closet and find the box I’m supposed to grab, untouched. I then locate and search the designer bag Skye told me to look inside, and find the Baggie with the poker chip and the nasty note. Flipping off the light, I use my flashlight to head down to the front door, cautiously shining my light on my playmates. The one who’s alive is still on snooze. And I still can’t believe the other one actually threw himself to his death.

  Cautiously exiting the town house, I leave the door unlocked and make my way to my car. I drive a few blocks to a store, pull into the parking lot, then reach under my seat. Removing a disposable phone, I punch in a number. When the recording comes on, I say, “Ace112759934. Code 22.” There’s clicking and then silence before I hear, “What service do you require?”

  “I need cleanup.” I give him the address. “This is unrelated to the current mark. It needs to look like a robbery gone wrong, which it was, but without my involvement.”

  “Understood,” the person says. While he might understand, there are others who won’t, but I can’t think about that right now.

  “Two men. One’s dead.”

  Silence. A beat. Then two. “Understood.”

  The line goes dead and I destroy the chip in the phone, then dig through the box and remove the Baggie with the poker chip. I consider the dilemma of needing to help Skye, yet also to keep my nose clean, and make a decision. I drop the Baggie back in the box and reach under my seat, removing another phone and dialing.

  After three rings I hear a gruff, “At this hour, this call better be worth money.”

  “Hey, Buddha,” I say, using his famed albeit ridiculous nickname.

  “Oh, fuck. Ella. I know this ain’t about money.”

  “Nope. It’s about that favor you owe me. I’m headed to Vegas, and I need Vegas muscle to do a job I can’t.”

  “Why can’t you do it?”

  “I’m an innocent schoolteacher, remember?”

  “Then why are you coming?”

  “To introduce you as my father’s buddy, who will save the day so I don’t have to.”

  “Fuck. How much am I getting paid?”

  “Favor, Buddha. Remember? I’ll see you around lunchtime.”

  I end the call. It’s all fun and games until the games turn dangerous. And this one has.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Skye

  I BLINK AWAKE TO the beam of sunlight and the ache of a body with too little sleep, made better by the hard perfection of Jason’s body wrapped around me from behind. And somehow, he still smells good, like spice and, hmmm … rum? Not rum. I don’t know what. It’s just delicious. He’s delicious. My cell phone buzzes on the nightstand and I resist reaching for it, clinging to the warm, wonderful cocoon of male perfection surrounding me.

  “That will be my parents,” Jason murmurs, easing over me and grabbing my phone, which I suddenly realize is his phone. “Yep,” he confirms, shifting away from me to sit up and answer. “They call me after every tournament.”

  I roll to my back to take in the sight of his naked chest and mussed-up light brown hair. “I’m going to brush my damn teeth and make coffee before I call them back, because my father will have to analyze every move I made at the table last night.” He throws off the covers. “It’s a tradition.”

  I grab my phone and look at the caller ID and text log. “It’s early, baby,” Jason says. “Only seven in the morning. We talked to Ella around two thirty. She probably isn’t even out of bed.”

  I glance up and nod. “Yes. You’re right.”

  “And considering we don’t have to be downstairs until ten, we shouldn’t be out of bed, either. But my pops loves these damn calls.” He motions to the bathroom and heads that way, and I get the feeling he looks forward to the calls as well, which makes him all the more sexy.

  Climbing out of bed, I join him at the double sinks in the bathroom where I set my stuff out last night. Jason grabs his toothbrush and I grab mine. “Toothpaste?” he asks, offering me the tube.

  “Yes, please,” I say, accepting it, and when we look at each other, there is this funny flutter in my belly that remains as we both freshen up.

  And when I would exit the bathroom, he snags my fingers. “I haven’t brushed my teeth with a woman since college,” he confesses, then cups my head and plants a quick, sexy kiss on me before he smiles and says, “Minty fresh,” at the same time I say, “Cinnamon.” We erupt in laughter at our different reactions to one taste and he motions me to the other room. “Let’s go make coffee. I have about ten minutes before my father calls back.”

  “How can you be sure?” I ask, following him into the bedroom and then the hallway.

  “The first call is always my wake-up call,” he says, as we enter the kitchen. “The second is the talk.”

  “It sounds like you have a really special relationship with your father,” I comment, while we both look through a selection of coffee pods in the drawer by the pot.

  “I’m close to both of my parents.” He sets two cups on the counter. “Ladies first,” he says, his lips curving with the reminder of what he’d said to me last night.

  “This time, I’ll agree,” I say, popping my pod in the machine. “I’m not used to this little sleep.”

  “You can hang out here and sleep while I’m at the charity event, if you want.”

  “Oh gosh no,” I say. “I want to be there. I’m not wasting a moment we have here.”

  “We can come back, Skye,” he says, his tone serious, his eyes warm with affection and this growing bond between us, which both frightens and excites me.

  “Careful about the early invitation,” I warn. “I’m still the woman who freaked out on you last night.”

  “And I’m still the asshole who backed you against your couch in your apartment and accused you of blackmailing me.”

  My brow furrows. “That’s true. Hmmm. I think I should hold that against you—but then you might hold the hallway thing against me.” Hating I’d just opened that can of worms, I reach for my coffee.

  Jason steps to me, cupping my jaw and tilting my gaze to his. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  “We do, actually, if we’re going to keep seeing each other.”

  “Eventually, yes, but we removed the ticking clock. There’s no rush on anything. Okay?”

  I am overwhelmed in all the right ways with how understanding he is, how different from anyone else I’ve ever known. “Yes,” I say. “Okay.”

  He kisses m
e, a gentle brush of lips over lips, before he grabs a pod. “Now we make coffee,” he says, his tone lighter now, releasing me and holding up a pod. “Death Wish Coffee,” he explains, popping it into the machine and pushing the brew button. “Enough caffeine to make you dance even if you don’t dance. The next best thing to Red Bull.”

  “No thank you to that.” I laugh, lifting my cup. “Chocolate-flavored coffee. The only calorie-free way to get a chocolate fix.”

  “That’s what creamer is for,” he says, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle. “Almond Joy flavor.”

  “That’s not calorie free.”

  “It’s Vegas, baby. Nothing has calories.”

  I laugh. “Oh, well then. I’ll take some.”

  He pours the creamer in my cup and I sip the yummy sweetness. “That’s really good.” I tilt my head. “Didn’t you drink sweet coffee on the plane, but then complain about mine being too sweet on your break last night?”

  “I don’t do sugar or booze when I play,” he explains, leaning on the gray marbled counter while I rest an elbow on the island. “Sugarfree Red Bulls hit me up with just the right amount of caffeine high.” He tilts his head, studying me a moment. “You know, brushing my teeth isn’t the only thing I haven’t done with a woman since college. I haven’t done morning coffee and conversation, either.”

  “That’s a long dry spell,” I say, but I can’t help it, I’m secretly pleased that this is now our thing. “Surely one of the women you were with stayed the night.”

  “I don’t do the morning after,” he says. “I told you. I was honest with everyone, and I made sure I sent a clear message. But back in college, I did do the whole ‘steady girlfriend who was going to be forever’ routine, which was never going to be forever. Ashley was her name.”

  “What went wrong?”

  “She was all about the three kids, two dogs, and a house, while I just wanted to play cards. She’s married to a doctor with three kids now, and damn happy it wasn’t me.”

  “I doubt that,” I say. “You’re a rock star in the poker world.”

  “Whose only love affair was with the cards, but like I said. I’m retiring now while I’m on top, which was always my plan.” He circles back to me. “What about you?”

  “What do you mean? What about me?”

  “When was the last time you brushed your teeth with a man, or had coffee with him while wearing his T-shirt?”

  Never when it felt this comfortable and right, I think, but I stick to fact. “Coincidentally,” I say, “college for me as well, but he wasn’t a student, rather a corporate raider and an attorney.”

  He narrows his gaze on me. “So is this the challenge I have to face? I’m not an attorney and you like attorneys?”

  “No, actually I dislike most attorneys. And Greg, my ex, gave me even more reasons to feel that way.”

  “I’m confused. You dislike attorneys but want to be one?”

  “It’s not crazy at all. I put myself through my first couple of years of college working for a wonderful attorney who was all about the good guys winning—not the people with the most money winning. He had a small staff and I pretty much worked like his junior attorney, and he really encouraged me and believed in me. He was like a father to me.”

  “Was?”

  “He died of cancer my junior year. One of those ‘diagnosed and then gone six months later’ stories.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “Me, too. I loved that man. It was hard to lose him, and I had met Greg right before he died. He was opposing counsel on a case and pursued me hard when the case ended. And he was ultimately very bad for me, something I stupidly didn’t see for far too long.”

  “How long?”

  “Two years.”

  “And since then?”

  “I’ve been focused on getting into law school. I don’t date.”

  He arches a brow. “Until me. Right?”

  My lips curve. “Yes. Until you.”

  His cell phone rings. “That would be my father. This is going to take a while, baby.”

  Spontaneity hits me and I step into him and kiss him. “Enjoy your call.”

  He catches my head and kisses me again, his eyes simmering with warmth as he releases me, holds my gaze, and answers the call. “Hey, Pops. Or Mother. How are you?”

  There is an instant pinch in my chest at the reminder that I’m lucky to hear from my mother once a month. Hiding my reaction, irritated I’ve let my mother’s behavior invade my thoughts, I quickly step back to the coffeemaker to place a new pod in the machine. Pressing the brew button, I force myself back to the present, an effort made easier when I hear Jason say, “I’m aware that I need to eat healthy, Mother. Yes. I know. Yes, I will get my cholesterol checked.”

  Officially charmed by this man’s relationship with his mother, I laugh and turn to face Jason, who points at the phone and grins. “I’m still single, Mother.” I blush and cover my face, looking at him again as he adds, “Yes, I know I’m getting old. You keep reminding me.”

  Laughing, I walk to the fridge to grab the creamer, freezing as he says, “No, Mother, my nonexistent wife is not pregnant.” My cheeks are now burning hot. “And yes,” Jason continues, “I know that if I’m gay, you are perfectly fine with it, and I could adopt because I’d be a great father just like Dad. And if I were gay, I’d consider that. But I’m still not any more gay than six months ago when you asked me this.” A silence as he listens. “Why what? Why am I not gay, or why am I not married?”

  This exchange continues, and at this point all of my embarrassment has faded into outright laughter until my coffee is sweetened, the creamer is back in the fridge, and Jason is saying, “I love you too, Mother, and yes, I’m ready for Dad.” He winks at me, takes a sip of my coffee, then says, “Hi, Pops,” and the poker talk begins.

  I step into the living room and cross to the window, staring out at the skyline, picking up little pieces of his conversation with his father. I love that he’s this way with his family. I love that I can already tell he’s a good man. Jason’s laughter lifts in the air and it makes me smile. He makes me smile.

  I think too of my own father, who’s been gone for so many years. Why, why, why am I still clearly affected by how he treated my mother and me? Why do I let him, or my mother now, get to me?

  Deciding that I need a hot shower, and to shake off the past, I head into the bedroom, and the instant I see my phone on the nightstand, I realize I could have missed Ella’s call. I rush forward and look, but there’s no call or text. I glance at the clock, and it’s only eight. I need to let her sleep at least another hour. Leaving my cup on the nightstand, I take my phone into the bathroom, where I strip off Jason’s T-shirt and step into the fancy white-tiled shower with a bench in the back.

  The hot water flows over me, but my mind hasn’t had time to chase the past or the present. The door opens and Jason stands there still in his sweats, his eyes on mine, not my naked body. “The shower doesn’t make you claustrophobic?”

  “Actually, no,” I say, kind of stunned by my own admission, “but I didn’t realize that until now.”

  “If I join you, will that change?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “God no, Jason. You aren’t the problem. I promise you that.”

  He studies me several long, unreadable moments, in which I feel naked inside and out, yet remarkably, I have no desire to hide. I want this man deeply, passionately, in ways I didn’t know I could ever want another human being. Wordlessly, he strips away his pants, joining me in the shower. And while I’m aware of his naked body, which is just as impressively long, lean, and hard as I remember, and I am aware that he’s aroused, his shaft thick and jutted forward, I’m not thinking about sex right now. I’m thinking about him feeling that he had to ask to get into his own shower. “Jason—”

  “Skye,” he says, already backing me into the corner. “I said I wouldn’t ask about the hallway or the elevator, but I really fucking want to ask
right now. Did Greg—”

  “It’s not because of Greg. He was just an arrogant ass who thought he was better than everyone, including me. He fucked his secretary on his desk, on a night I stopped by the office. Which was a good thing, because I got the hell away from him. I felt trapped with him, and I don’t even know why. It was like some sort of manifestation of my claustrophobia, which … It’s a result of something that happened when I was a kid, Jason. That’s how screwed up I am. It’s still messing with me.”

  His hands settle on my shoulders. “You’re not screwed up, baby. You’re human, and I find that sexier than you can possibly imagine. And I didn’t mean to push you, but the idea that this guy hurt you was clawing at me the entire time I was talking to my father.”

  “You were worried about me when you were talking to your father?”

  “Hell yes. I was, and he would have been, too, if the roles were reversed.”

  “And while that means so very much to me, Jason, I hate it, too. I don’t want my problems to interrupt you and your father. I feel horrible, and—”

  He kisses me, a slow caress of lips and tongue, before he says, “I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Emotions, crazy, wild emotions, tighten my chest. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”

  “Everything about you intrigues me, Skye. But those ghosts of your past challenge me.”

  “How?”

  He strokes a thumb over my cheek. “I want to make them go away.”

  “You only just met me, Jason.”

  “Which means I’ve only just gotten started learning about you and them. But I’m big on strategy.” He presses his hands on the wall beside me. “I’m going to overwhelm you with me.”

  My lips curve. “Is this where I say ‘yes, please’? Because in this case, yes, please.”