But the fantasy. Oh, the fantasy had been so good. Of course she wouldn’t want it to end. What sane woman would?
Well, the bubble was officially burst now. The eggs had been cracked and nothing could be done to put Humpty back together again. For a smart woman like her, the best course of action was to move on. Good thing this happened now before she did something über-stupid, like fall in love with him.
She sniffed and looked around the interior of the car. Damn it, where was a crate of tissues when she needed one?
Aunt Bridget would have a coronary if she knew Fiona’s thoughts. “Giving up so soon, lass?” she’d say. “Where’s your fighting spirit?”
The spirit evaporated the moment he turned his back and cuddled up to the sheriff. And right in her field of vision no less! No way was she going to even contemplate a relationship with a man she couldn’t trust.
But she had trusted him, and that’s what stung the most. Cam coaxed truths from her she never shared with anyone. Now that connection was gone and she felt the loss as surely as if he cut off her mixing arm.
No, no, no. She swiped at her cheek at the lone tear that escaped and glared at her hangdog reflection in the rearview mirror.
You will not cry over a man. Never.
Never, she repeated during the rest of the day every time her vision blurred and her eyes stung. When the urge to curl into a ball in the middle of the kitchen struck, she plunged her hands in too-hot water, or scrubbed the front counter until the tiles glowed. In the middle of the afternoon, it was an innocent batch of cinnamon rolls that paid the price of her repressed anger.
“What did that dough ever do to you?” Bridget asked as the sound of dough hitting wood echoed around the kitchen.
“It’s my favorite part,” she muttered as an excuse and imagined the mass of flour and butter was a miniature version of the Chameleon. She lifted the dough over her shoulder and threw it down on the butcher block table with a satisfying grunt.
“Not too hard, dear. We want tender rolls, not rocks.”
Rocks would be good. A good pile of rocks the size of softballs that were perfect for throwing.
No. You will not think about that man.
Thwak. Just. Thwak. Don’t. Thwak. Think.
The sky turned dark and Bridget had long gone home while Fiona continued to work, dusting and scrubbing until the shop sparkled brighter than it had since move-in day, probably even more. Every time she thought about calling it a day and heading home, her throat closed up and her stomach rolled. Memories of Cam were branded in every room and every surface of her home. There wasn’t a spot that didn’t remind her of what she once held in her hands. Perhaps it was delusional to think that Cam could ever be hers. But for a few days he had been.
Whoever said memories kept one’s bed warm should be punched in the throat to prevent such silliness to be spouted again.
There was a couch in her office. It wasn’t the most comfortable piece of furniture, but would be more than adequate if it meant staying away from home for a while.
“Ugh!” Fiona shouted and slammed the office door shut. The loud crack sounded so good she whipped the door opened and slammed it again.
What happened to not giving that loser a second thought? As if he had a clue as to the turmoil that had rolled through her all day. He was probably out flirting with every woman in town while playing superhero and here she was contemplating sleeping on a lumpy sofa because of a little heartache.
Not acceptable.
“Strong, independent woman. That’s what you are,” she repeated as she jerked on her coat and tied the sash around her waist with an extra-vicious twist.
She was going to go home, pour herself an extra Irish coffee and unwind by watching The Avengers. Seeing the Hulk beat the crap out of Loki always made her smile.
As she reached to open the back door, a heavy knock vibrated the reinforced steel. Since Bridget had a key, Fiona could only guess as to who might be on the other side. A tiny, traitorous kindle of hope flared before she could squelch it to sodden ashes.
“Fiona?” Even through layers of wood and metal, Cam’s rich accent had the power to make her quiver. “Fiona, it’s me.”
The fact he didn’t say his name, as if she would automatically know who was calling, brought the fight back into her spine.
“Just a minute,” she called out, then folded her arms and counted to twenty. “Strong, independent woman.”
When her heart rate slowed, she opened the door and leaned a nonchalant arm against the frame. “Cam. What a surprise. What are you doing here?”
The thick brush of his lashes fluttered as his eyes narrowed. “I came for you. You weren’t at home and I was worried. The question should be what are you still doing here? Did you have storm damage? You could have contacted me and I would have been right over to help.”
Her tight smile hid the fangs she wanted to bare in anger. “I don’t have your number, remember? Anyway, the only damage we sustained was food related. Everything’s hunky-dory.”
“Good.” He cocked his head. The stiff set in his shoulders warned her that he may be picking up on her anger.
“Well, it was good to see you. Have a good night.”
“Wait.” He stepped across the threshold before she could close the door in his face. “What is wrong?”
She backed away and stumbled when she hit the edge of the butcher block table. “Nothing. It’s been a long day and I have an early start tomorrow.”
“Oh.” His posture relaxed. “You work so hard, Fiona. Let me take you home and I will help you relax.”
She gripped the edge of the counter to keep upright. Damn, the promise in his smile still melted her bones. “That’s okay. I can make it home alone.”
“But I want to be with you.” He closed the gap between them and slid his hands around to cup her backside. “I’ve thought of nothing but you all day.”
“Bullshit.” The curse shot from her mouth before she realized she thought it.
Cam froze. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Obviously it is not nothing.”
“And obviously you’ve forgotten about this afternoon.”
Trying to disengage from his embrace was like untangling herself from a cat’s cradle from hell. She slapped against his chest, but he didn’t budge.
He feinted left and right, trying to catch her gaze. “What about this afternoon?”
Agh. She fisted her hands to keep from tearing out her hair. She refused to become the screechy, jealous girlfriend. The idea made her want to retch. Better to end this entire farce of a relationship now before she became someone she despised.
“Look, Cam. The past few days were great. But it’s time to return to reality. You have your life, and I have mine. I understand that, so you don’t have to pretend that we’re a…we. Us. Whatever. You are free to go on your merry way. Goodbye.”
Cam stared at her as if she had hit him over the head with a baseball bat. His chest rose with his indrawn breath and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was told Earth women were complicated creatures. I know English is not my native language, but I think you are, what is that phrase, giving me the brush-off? What has happened since I last saw you this morning?”
“I—you—what?” Her ear-piercing shriek drew her up short. “Vine Street? You lifting a huge tree? You looked at me as if you had no clue who I was then went and flirted with the sheriff.”
“I did not—” He sucked in a breath and looked off into the distance as his eyes bounced as if he were watching the replay of his day. A second later he breathed out, “Kristos.”
“Yes, she’s married to Kristos, who I think can totally kick your ass. But that’s none of my business, because there is no us, so why should I care if you get beaten to a pulp? Just, oh, never mind.”
“Fiona.” He was on her in a flash, covering her mouth with his broad hand. “There has been a misunderstanding. My feelings for the sheriff are like what on
e feels for a favorite cousin. I respect her, and her husband, too greatly to offend them in such a way. And if I did not recognize you earlier, I’m sorry. It’s been quite a day today, but please know that I will never ignore you again.”
Despite the heavy coat surrounding her, a shiver shot down her back as his hand shifted and the pad of his thumb brushed her lower lip.
“I can’t promise that I will be able to greet you as…enthusiastically as I want, but please believe me when I say you mean so much to me. More than you can guess, and more than you may want to believe.”
In the shadows of the bakery his words wove a fantasy she never wanted to wake from, but that’s all they were. Words.
“Cam. I don’t know—”
“That’s right, Fiona. No one knows. Please don’t be afraid to take a chance on us.”
But she was afraid. Terrified.
Was Cam telling the truth? Her heart wanted to believe him, but if he meant what he said, look how one misunderstanding ruined her day.
It hurt her to look into his big, pleading eyes, so much so she had to turn away. But Cam wouldn’t let her. His hands cupped her cheeks. That all-seeing gaze of his dared her to look away as he pressed a kiss to her firmly set lips. Again and again he peppered her mouth until she sighed and gave in.
Who was she kidding? A crook of his finger and she’d be there, clothes ripped away, tossed carelessly on the floor, followed by her supple body spread out upon the fabric to wait for his possession.
What a wuss.
“You’re thinking too hard.” He unbuttoned her coat and shoved it off her shoulders.
“You’re trying to seduce me.”
“Obviously I’m not doing it correctly.”
Heaven help her, he intended to try harder.
His hands sliding down her back and the glide of his tongue along hers communicated his mission to obliterate all her objections. In the quiet of the kitchen, the sound of her breathing was as smooth as one of her stand mixers with a broken whisk, while Cam’s was deep and even, heavy like a man enjoying a decadent meal.
He edged the fingers of his right hand under the waistband of her jeans and panties and curled them around her bottom, slipping the tips between the slick folds of her sex. Damn her body for succumbing to his charms so easily.
“Say what you want, Fiona, but I see the truth in you, because it’s the same that’s in me.”
“It’s just sex,” she choked out the lie.
His answer was to fill her slick channel with his thumb and squeeze the hard bud of her clit. “I won’t be satisfied with sex alone. I want all of you, Fiona. But if it’s sex you’ll respond to, I’ll gladly give you what you need.”
Not the neck. Not the…ah. Her head fell back as he scraped his teeth along the vein frantically pumping blood to her cloudy brain. He hooked his other arm under her leg, opening her body farther to his hand. Those wicked fingers plunged and pressed, stoking the fire in her loins and causing sweat to trickle down her hairline.
“Think this is good, konkattie? Imagine how good we can be together if you’d only let go.”
Let go? She was allowing him to finger-fuck her in her place of business. How much more did he want?
Spots danced in her vision and her heart raced as if she were schussing down the longest ski jump in the world. Except there was no soaring off the end and the exhilaration of flying. Nope. Instead there was a wall and she hit it hard, breaking into a million electrically charged pieces that throbbed and ached.
She screamed into his chest. Her fingers flexed into the muscles of his shoulders with only Cam’s strength keeping her upright.
“You are magnificent when you come.” The husky rasp of his voice sent shivers along her neck. “You are also magnificent when you smile, and when you’re reading, or cooking or just being you. Trust me on this.”
She had to grasp the edge of the table when he set her back on her feet and bent to scoop her coat off the floor. Confusion furrowed her brow as she watched him. The hard length of his cock was still imprinted on her belly yet he made no move to relieve the ache he must be feeling. He bundled the coat around her, taking care to make sure each button was fastened.
“Cam.” She clutched his hand. “You can’t make everything better with an orgasm.”
His smile was white in the shadows. “How about five?”
“That’s an odd number.”
“Six?”
She laughed. It was impossible to stay mad at him when he was at his most charming. “I mean that’s an arbitrary number. Has five worked for you in the past to get you out of trouble?”
“No, Fiona. I’ve never had to use sex to get what I want.”
“What do you want?”
“You. I’m going to take you home and do more to convince you how much I want you.”
Home. He said it as if he thought of her house as his home.
She was beginning to think of it as theirs too.
* * * * *
Sparks flew off the end of the lit cigarette as it sailed out the window of the car and sputtered a quick death in the soggy grass.
This was good. This was damn good. Trevor punched the number on his cell phone he was told to use only under the direst of circumstances.
“Donovan,” came the reply after the tenth ring. At least the call didn’t go to voicemail.
“Yo, man, it’s Trevor. Get me Smithwick.”
“It’s Mr. Smithwick to you, Skeeter. And no.” The line went dead.
Motherfucker. He hated that nickname. The senior assholes got to name the new recruits and they usually chose a moniker that tended to piss off the recipient.
Trevor hit redial and waited. And waited. And waited. The second the line picked up he shouted, “Fucking prick. I will own you one day.”
“Lofty ambition, Skeeter.”
“Mr. Smithwick.” Holy shit. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.”
“You contacted me. Didn’t you?”
Trevor shivered in his seat. He didn’t know where Mr. Smithwick was from, but the accent was foreign, a mix of Indian and British that sounded cold and menacing, yet undetached at the same time. It was a dangerous accent, like the man could cut you to ribbons and not give a damn. There was no passion, just precision, and it scared the shit out of him.
“Yes, uh, yes sir. I did.” He swallowed hard and worked to produce enough saliva in his suddenly parched mouth to continue the conversation.
“Skeeter, my time is money. Do not contact me again.”
His gut tightened with the knowledge that if Mr. Smithwick cut the line, his life would be cut next just as quickly.
Spill it quick, bud, or dig your own grave.
“The Chameleon has a girlfriend.”
Silence.
Trevor held his breath, willing that the soft whoosh in his ear was Mr. Smithwick breathing on the other end of the line.
Sweat gathered on his brow and trickled into his eye, but he didn’t make a motion to take a swipe at the drop.
“Continue,” came the reply in a tone that was just as cold as before, yet held a light note of intrigue.
“Well.” Trevor shifted to a more comfortable posture in his seat and ran the sleeve of his shirt over his forehead. “I figured the Chameleon would be out today helping with storm stuff, so I tracked him down and followed him around and saw him going into one of the shops in town. It’s a bakery owned by a chick named Fiona. When they left, I followed them right to her house where they went inside. Together. He’s still in there now.”
“And you are certain they are a couple?”
“Yes sir. Saw them through the window of the shop myself. He had his hand down her pants and had that bitch howling good.” A tingle shot through his own cock as the memory of Fiona’s legs thrown over that man’s huge forearm flashed through his mind. Damn, he didn’t know the frumpy baker could be so hot.
“Keep me posted. The second he leaves her residence, call me.”
<
br /> “Yeah. Yeah. Will do.”
“You’ve done well. Mr. Skeeter.”
Trevor slapped the steering wheel in triumph. Mr. Skeeter. He was a mister now. Ha. Before long Donovan would be kissing his ass and taking orders from him.
He reached for the handle of his seat and reclined just far enough to be able to see the lit window on the side of the house. His zipper rasped loudly in the dark as he took his cock from his jeans and gave the shaft a firm squeeze. Hey, if the Chameleon was getting some ass, he could indulge as well. Wouldn’t that be something? The Chameleon’s ho on her knees, sucking his prick while he made the fucker watch.
Now that fantasy was almost as good as taking Donovan’s place at Mr. Smithwick’s side.
* * * * *
Dhavin let himself into his cousin’s house and closed the door behind him with a loud slam. “Kristos. Quit fornicating and get out here. I must speak with you immediately.”
“Uh, good morning?” Brett greeted him in the hallway in her pajamas and sex-tousled hair. “One morning, Dhavin. One morning a week I’m allowed to sleep in. Do you have any respect for your superior?”
“I have a great deal of respect for you, but we are not on duty. Therefore you are not my commanding officer at this time. Sorry, cousin.”
She emitted a sour grumble and shot him a glare over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. “You say that now, but wait until you’re assigned to Breathalyzer enforcement duty for a month.”
Oooh. Dhavin cringed. Normally verifying photos from the home monitoring systems wasn’t so bad a task, however Mr. Johnson thought it was funny to take his test completely nude. A seventy-year-old’s half-erect penis was not a pleasant sight.
No bother. Fiona was worth Brett’s retaliation. “I wouldn’t have come, except this is an urgent matter.”
“This better be good, cousin.” Kristos greeted him with a solid smack to the back of the head. “Your key is for emergency use only.”
Dhavin watched with envy as Kristos kissed his wife on the cheek and set about making a pot of coffee. They moved in harmony, each anticipating the other’s needs. After all these months, it still took a moment for him to adjust to the sight of Kristos with hair the same blond shade as his mate. During the mating ritual, more than the couples’ emotions melded together. Their hair and eye color changed, with one gaining the other’s coloring, to identify the mated pair. The last time he had seen Kristos on Skandavia, his hair had been as blue-black as his brother’s.
Hero Unmasked: 3 (Heroes of Saturn) Page 10
