by Jo Davis
“Um, sure,” she said, sounding a little hesitant. Then her voice warmed. “I’d like that. Ready for directions?”
“I’m not in my car right now, and I don’t have a pen or paper. I’ve got an errand to run, but as soon as I’m done, I’ll call you back. Shouldn’t take me more than half an hour. Work for you?”
“Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”
“Absolutely.” He snapped the phone shut. “Yes!”
A couple passed him on the sidewalk, giving him a funny look, but he couldn’t care less. Grace’s visits while he’d been recovering had been nice, but this had an altogether different vibe. She wants to see me. As a man, not because she feels sorry for me.
Any plans he might’ve had to linger at the bar and drown his loneliness took a flying leap. He did have a specific reason for going back there, and now he’d simply satisfy this inner voice nagging at him, and get going.
Inside, he made his way to the bar with ease. The hour was prime for the after-work barflies, yet too early for the die-hard party crowd. He’d counted on a quieter atmosphere so he could speak with the bartender without shouting.
When he sidled up to the bar and took a stool, however, the bartender on duty wasn’t the one he sought. The guy ambled over and slapped a napkin on the wood in front of him.
“What’s your poison, my man?”
“Jack and cola,” he said, glad he hadn’t needed one of his powerful painkillers today.
“Long day?” the big man inquired jovially, flipping a high-ball glass in his hand and reaching for the bottle.
“Long fucking week.” And how.
“Heard that.”
“Say, I was wondering if Cody’s here. I’d really like to talk to him.”
The bartender gave him a sharp look from under bushy brows, never slowing in his task. He topped off the Jack with cola, stuck a wedge of lime on the lip and a thin straw inside, then slid the glass toward Julian. “What would you be needin’ to speak to Cody for?”
He’d rehearsed this, just in case, and decided a portion of the truth was the best policy. “I’d like to talk to him about something strange that happened in here about three weeks ago.”
The man stilled, braced one burly forearm on the bar, and leaned over, his voice for Julian’s ears. “Yeah? You and every other frickin’ guy who’s come in here.”
“What . . . what do you mean?”
“I mean you ain’t the only one who’s been real interested in talking to Cody in the last few weeks.”
Julian paused, unsure what to make of that information and the bartender’s sudden tense body language. “Oh. Well, I just want to speak with him about something we saw. I’m sure he’ll remember, so if you could maybe pass him a message—”
“Sorry, man. He don’t have nothin’ to say to anybody.”
“But—”
“Listen up good,” he said in a low voice, glancing around them to be certain no one heard. “Cody’s dead.”
7
Grace surveyed her place with a critical eye. She’d tidied a few magazines on the coffee table, thrown out the empty cartons from her frozen dinner, and put on a pot of coffee. She’d also run the vacuum and swiped the woolly duster thing over the furniture, though the touch-ups really weren’t needed—the apartment was a moderate size and easy to keep clean.
Last, she ducked into the bathroom to check her appearance. Not that she was eager to look fabulous for Julian or anything. She wasn’t. There was nothing exciting about worn, faded jeans and a soft cotton blouse, hair loose and in need of taming. Automatically, she reached for her brush, and tried to quell her puzzling case of nerves.
She hadn’t felt this unsettled when she’d dropped by to visit Julian this past weekend. She’d looked forward to seeing him, sure. Despite his being laid up with his injuries, they’d had a good time watching movies, eating pizza, talking. Snuggling on his couch, sharing a few stolen kisses. To her delight, she’d found him to be funny and genuine. Julian was a wonderful companion and she hadn’t been nearly this frazzled. Why now?
Setting aside the brush, she stared at herself in the mirror, thinking of his phone call. How her stomach had flipped when he suggested coming here. For a couple of seconds, she’d considered putting him off with some sort of excuse, or simply telling him no. This place was her cave, her refuge. Allowing him inside seemed much more intimate than her visits with an injured friend. Like she was agreeing to something deeper between them, when she wasn’t.
So why hadn’t her refusal formed?
The soft knock at her door made her jump despite the fact that she’d been expecting it, and her hand went to her chest. Her heart knocked against her palm and she heaved a breath. This was just Julian. Her friend.
Her charming, roguish, very sexy friend.
Nothing more.
Which didn’t account for her rubbery knees as she hurried through the living room, the little thrill zipping to every sensitive spot in her body as she put her hand on the knob, pretty sure who stood on the other side.
A quick squint through the peephole confirmed her visitor’s identity, and she opened the door with a cheerful greeting. “Come on in! I see you didn’t have any problems with the directions.”
Julian moved inside and turned as she closed and locked the door behind them. “None at all.” Stepping up to her, he took her hands and brushed her lips with a kiss. “This is a nice complex, a security gate and everything. I’m impressed.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks.” Her brain was still on the kiss—a sweet gesture of hello that could’ve been more if she’d taken his cue. Tingling all over, she studied him from head to toe. Good Lord, the man looked fantastic!
He wore a dark blue button-up shirt tucked into nice jeans that emphasized his narrow waist, cupped his sex nicely, and hugged legs that went on forever. Good enough to eat.
Abruptly aware of ogling him, she jerked her gaze to his face and noted the lines of strain around his fine mouth, the haunted look in his dark eyes.
“Your hands are cold when it’s over seventy degrees outside. You were in such good spirits when I phoned earlier and now you seem upset about something,” she said quietly. “What’s wrong?”
“Me? Upset? No, no, I’m great. Wow, is that coffee I smell?” A weak smile curved his lips as he sniffed the air, his attempt to make light of her concern falling flat.
“You are so transparent, I hope you don’t play high-stakes poker. Sit down and get comfy while I get us a mug,” she ordered, waving at the couch. “Then you’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
He complied with a heavy sigh, offering no argument or witty comeback. For Julian, that was telling. And a little scary. She poured two mugs of coffee and called out to him. “How do you take yours?”
“Cream if you have any. No sugar.”
“Got it.” She poured cream in both, adding a liberal dose of sugar to hers, then carried them to the living room.
“Thanks,” he said, taking his. “God knows I don’t need more alcohol tonight.”
She frowned as she sat next to him. “You didn’t have too much before you drove, did you?”
“What? No, I just meant . . . never mind.”
“Uh-uh. You’re not getting off that easy,” she said, tucking her legs up on the couch next to him. “Let’s have it. What’s happened since we spoke to make you look like you’ve lost your best friend?”
Settling back into the cushions, he ran a hand down his face. “I don’t suppose you’d just let it go, would you?”
“Nope. Not when it would sit there between us all evening whether you tell me or not. So you might as well get it off your chest,” she reasoned.
“Why do women always have to be right?”
“Because we usually are.”
“Spoken like a true lawyer.” He paused, apparently considering where to start. “Have you read in the paper or seen the story on the news about these young adults who’ve disappeared in the past few months?”<
br />
“I’m not sure—oh, wait. Yes, I have.” She thought back. “I read something about a college student who vanished from a club downtown. I can’t remember his name.”
“Brett Charles. He went to Vanderbilt.”
“That’s the one. Someone saw him leaving the club with a man, and was probably the last one to see him alive. But what does that have to do with you?”
“I . . . I’m the unidentified witness,” he said quietly.
Grace stared at Julian, the import of his revelation washing over her like a bucket of ice. “But . . . that means you’re the only link to a serial kidnapper and possibly a murderer.”
“Maybe.” His shoulders slumped. “Yeah, probably.”
“My God, Julian.” Her anxiety ratcheted up several notches, along with a spark of anger. “So when I asked you whether your hit-and-run might not be an accident, you lied—”
“I didn’t mean to mislead you. How could I lie when I didn’t even know what to think myself?”
Okay, calm down. He’s right. “Point taken. What’s changed, then?”
“I wasn’t the only witness, just the only one to talk to the police. But apparently, that didn’t matter to the evil bastard who’s behind this,” he said, looking away, expression miserable.
She reached for his hand, squeezed it gently. “I don’t understand.”
“Someone besides me noticed Brett Charles leaving with the strange guy—Cody, the bartender who always waited on me whenever I came in. We talked about the two of them, about the weird vibe they gave off. The kid seemed out of it, but the older guy hadn’t been drinking. Told Cody he was the designated driver. The two of them left shortly after that.”
Grace shook her head in confusion. “Since he had the same concerns you did, how do you know Cody didn’t go to the police, that he wasn’t the witness the paper referred to, and not you?”
Julian gave a bitter laugh. “He didn’t have much faith in cops, thought they were a bunch of dickheads, but he never told me why. Guess he wasn’t so far off base.”
“Julian—”
“Cody’s dead. Oh, Dios.” Bending over, he buried his face in his hands. “He’s dead, Grace.”
Dead. The only other man who’d spoken to a possible kidnapper was dead. And Julian had survived a close brush with death just one week ago. “When? How?”
He sat up, gazing at her with sorrow. “That’s where I went after I talked to you. I dropped by the club to talk to Cody, see if the older man had been in there again. Another bartender told me Cody fell off a ladder and broke his neck while fixing the rain gutters on his house—the day before I was hit by the truck. There were no witnesses and the authorities ruled it an accident.”
“Wait. When Brett Charles disappeared, didn’t you tell the police about your conversation with Cody?”
“Yes, but with the way Cody felt about cops, he probably didn’t make it easy for them to catch up with him for an interview. And I doubt they connected his so-called accident with a missing-persons case. Shit, it’s possible the cops working the disappearances don’t even know Cody’s dead.”
“But you’re going to tell them,” she guessed.
“Hell, yes. I’m going back to the police station tomorrow to talk to the detectives about all of this. It might not make a difference, but they need to know.”
Seeing his tortured expression, Grace wondered how she ever could’ve typecast Julian as a man who didn’t take life seriously. How could she have misjudged him so badly? “Then you’re doing all you can. Give yourself a break, okay?”
He shook his head. “How can I? I went after them when they left the club and got part of the license plate of the guy’s Mercedes. But I didn’t chase them down. Not a day has gone by when I haven’t asked myself, what if I had? What if I’d trusted my instincts and caught up to them, confronted the older man? If I had, that kid might still be alive and I—” His voice cracked and he looked away.
“Hey, look at me,” she said softly, cupping his face in her hands. She waited until he reluctantly met her gaze before she continued. “You don’t know he’s not alive. And perhaps he left of his own free will and doesn’t want to be found—have you thought of that? Either way, the police could still locate him, honey.”
“I told myself that at first. But after Cody and I both have accidents? Bella, my gut tells me this is bad and I’m in the middle of it—”
Grace kissed him. Gently at first, because it was the only thing she could think of to take away his anguish. Then deeper, more demanding. Because she couldn’t stop.
She had to taste him, savor him. He met her exploration, tangling his tongue with hers, stroking. The tension in his shoulders gradually dissolved and he buried a hand in her hair, taking charge.
The woman in her thrilled at the shift of power even as the steadfast lawyer quivered at giving it over to him. But, oh, had anything ever felt so wonderful as the slide of his palms down her back? Had any man ever smelled so masculine, so potent, his hard, muscular body fitting to hers perfectly?
Nimble fingers inched under the edge of her shirt, skimmed her side, eased upward. Searching. They caressed the swell of her breasts and she arched into his touch. “Julian . . .”
Reason fled when he plucked one nipple through the sheer fabric of her bra, sending mini bolts of pleasure to every nerve ending. She gasped as he rolled the peak between his thumb and forefinger, pinching, skirting the edge of pain, shredding her resistance.
He nibbled along the curve of her jaw and pushed up her shirt, treating the other nipple to the same attention. “Tell me what you want.”
What she wanted? Her brain could form only one word.
“More,” she breathed.
His throaty laugh sent tendrils of heat curling through her insides. “Your wish . . .”
Slowly, he pulled her shirt over her head, dropped it to the floor. Her bra went next, Julian reaching around her to unclasp it, draw it forward. Down and off, exposing her to his hungry gaze, the nubs tightening as the air teased them.
“More lovely than I dreamed,” he said reverently.
Then he bent his head, flicking one with his tongue, teasing just the tip. She raked her fingers through his hair, helpless not to touch him, wondering which of them held the power now. Or whether it mattered. He seemed as enthralled in his endeavor as she, suckling one peak, then the other, heightening her arousal to a near-unbearable level. She squirmed, seeking relief for the ache between her thighs, asking without words.
He raised his head, eyes dark and hot, one hand sliding to the button of her jeans. “More?”
“Yes! Julian, please.”
He wasted no time unfastening and unzipping them, sliding them off her hips along with her panties, but neither did he rush. He slid them off and tossed them aside, and she had a brief flash of relief that she’d shaved her legs that morning. Silly, but the notion fled as he spread her thighs, hooked his arms under her knees, and urged her forward.
“Like this, querida,” he murmured. “All the way over the edge so I can taste you.”
Leaning over her, he kissed and rubbed her tummy gently, almost lovingly. His fingers trailed over her pale blond curls, then dipped low to stroke her slit. His touch ignited a flame that coursed through her sex, her belly, to every limb. She moaned and her knees fell open wider, inviting him to take what he wanted. Past caring about the wisdom of doing this.
“So beautiful, my sweet Grace.”
His tongue replaced his fingers, licking at the tender folds. So hot, wet, and wicked. He stroked and teased her needy flesh, toyed with her throbbing clit, swirling the bud until she thought she might lose control.
As though sensing she was getting close, he changed tactics and cupped his hands under her bottom, lifting her off the cushions, to his mouth. A feast, his for the sampling. His tongue stabbed into her core like a cock, sliding deep, stroking and lapping. In and out, tongue-fucking her with single-minded determination.
W
rithing, she clutched at his hair, desperate to take him deeper, give him everything. Let him take her. “Oh! Oh, God, yes! I want—I need—”
“Tell me.” Lick. “What do you need?”
“I—don’t stop!”
“Don’t stop what? Say it.”
“Eat me,” she cried, pulling at him.
He complied with enthusiasm, fastening his mouth to her sex, sucking her clit. Relentless, like a starving man savoring his last dessert. Driving her higher . . .
At last she unraveled, shattered, hips bucking, shouting, heedless of the neighbors who might hear. On and on until the last of the orgasm subsided, leaving her lying there like a limp noodle. Completely sated.
And physically vulnerable, though the position itself didn’t bother her at all compared with the vulnerability of having given in to . . . intimacy. Not uncomplicated sex. Not with this man. She shook her head to clear the disturbing notion.
“Wasn’t that good for you?”
She blinked into his earnest eyes, covering her confused thoughts. “Are you kidding? I think I disintegrated.”
“Ah,” he said, a satisfied grin curling his lips. “Success, then.”
“Oh, yes.” She smiled, smoothing his hair out of his face. “In spades. But what about you? I’d like to return the favor.”
An odd expression flickered across his face, and was gone. “I’m good, bella. That was for you,” he said softly. “Because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return.”
“But—”
“Shh, no worries.” Reaching down, he fished around for something, then handed over her shirt.
She took it from him and pulled it on, more confused than ever. Since when did a lover not expect his attentions to be reciprocated? The idea caused a warm flutter in her middle.
Why did Julian have to be so damned gallant?
Nothing about the man was what she’d expected so far. Quite the contrary. She’d never felt so off-balance around a man, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
