by Staci Hart
I thought about his hand on my jacket, remembering the feeling of his fingers against the small of my back when he tightened his grip and pulled me onto his cock. I dipped a finger inside, then another, finding a rhythm between my hand and hips. My free hand trailed up my body to my nipples, and I pinched and rolled, yanked down the low neck of my tank to touch myself. My thighs clenched, drawing my fingers in deeper. They were my hands, his hands that brought me closer, and I arched my neck, remembering what it was like to be so full, stretched and taken. I curled my finger, rubbing the sensitive spot inside in a steady tempo until I couldn’t breathe, and my pussy contracted around my fingers, squeezing fast at first, then slower, finally leaving me with lingering shudders as I stroked my body.
In that moment of satisfaction, I knew only one thing. I could tell myself all day that I didn’t want more of him, that what happened didn’t affect me. But it was a lie.
MY STOMACH DROPPED OUT of my ass when a car door opened in front of me, and I swerved on my bike to miss getting taken out. A cabbie laid on his horn when he slammed his brakes to avoid nailing me, and I flipped him off over my shoulder, turning the corner just as double bass drum and a guitar rip wailed out of the portable speaker hooked on my messenger strap.
The day had been long and busy, which wasn’t typical. The need for messengers had been on the decline over the last few years. There were fewer legal papers and letters to deliver, leaving mostly actual goods: shoes for a fashion show, blueprints for a meeting, things that were late or needed to get somewhere in a hurry.
My radio went off from its pocket in my strap, and Sam’s voice came through the tinny speaker. “Got another run for you when you’re finished with the drop you’re on. Check the app for the details.”
I hit the button and sped up. “Roger, boss.”
Erin’s voice came through the speaker. “Aye, aye, aye! Ride, bitch!”
A laugh ripped out of me, and I hit the button to answer. “Haul your sweet ass. See you at home in a few hours.”
“Rrrrrrodger dodger!”
Sam barked over the radio. “Stop jamming up the lines fucking around, please!”
Erin just laughed. “Sir, yes, sir!”
The apartment building that I stopped in front of was a gorgeous gothic building with wide, silver letters that read The Kyle Building. I locked my bike and pulled out a legal envelope as I headed for the door, which was propped open by a portly, middle-aged man in a red coat with brass buttons.
“Delivery?” he asked when I passed.
“Yeah, for a … ” I glanced down at the envelope. “Sullivan Collins.”
“Mr. Collins is on the sixteenth floor.” He motioned to the elevator well. “You can find your way up just over there.”
“Thanks…” I glanced down at his shiny name tag, “George.”
“Happy to help, Miss.” He smiled with a tip of his hat.
I couldn’t help but smile back as I headed for the elevator, a little lighter. Most people saw messengers as a nuisance, annoyed by the inconvenience of our presence, so when someone actually treated you like a person, it was like getting a full-sized Milky Way in your trick-or-treat bag.
Once in the elevator, I pulled out my iPad to check the next address, then opened the app for the signature. The elevator doors opened, and I walked briskly to 1622, where I knocked on the door with my mind already routing me to my next job.
But then the door opened, and every single thought left me, along with my ability to function.
It was him.
The image in my mind from the roof hadn’t even remotely done him justice. I stood for what could have been seconds or minutes with my mouth hanging open as I stared at him, lingering on his eyes, rich brown and gold with flecks of green. His hair was dark, almost black, pushed back from his face, the sides shaved short. The line of his jaw, his brow, his lips pulled into a smile, every curve on his face told me something supremely fucked up.
He’d planned the meeting.
I took a step back, my voice low when I broke the silence. “What in the fuck?”
“I, ah …” He ran a hand through his hair, even though it hadn’t moved. His smile faltered as he looked down at me.
“How the fuck did you find me?” I demanded with my body wound tight.
“Listen, I—”
“How did you find me?”
He shifted on his feet, and his voice lowered a hair, his body tightening at my response. “Chase— I mean, a parkour buddy of mine knows one of your friends, recognized her the other night. We figured out who the rest of you were, and then … well, you weren’t hard to track down.”
Every neuron in my brain fired at once. “This is the single most creepy fucking thing that has ever happened to me.” I handed him the envelope and iPad. “Sign for this.”
He didn’t take it, just shook his head and looked at his shoes when he raked a hand through his hair again. “Fuck,” he whispered. “I’d somehow convinced myself that this was romantic.”
“Wrong answer. Sign this.” I pushed them at him, nudging him in the chest.
His eyes locked onto mine. “Just come inside for one second so I can explain.”
“I’m working, and you’re fucking crazy. I’m not coming inside. Now fucking sign this or I’m leaving with your delivery.”
His lips were a flat line as he nodded and took the iPad and envelope. When he stepped back into his apartment and looked at me with an apology behind his eyes, I realized my mistake. “I’ll sign it after you come in and let me explain. Give me five minutes.”
My nostrils flared. He was hot, so hot, but I couldn’t even fathom what he had gone through to find me. The sick part was that a tiny slice of me wanted to see him again. How could I not after shocking, confusing, adrenaline-fueled random sex on a rooftop? But he’d taken ‘creep’ to the next level. I wanted to leave, to get the fuck out and run. But he knew my name and where I worked. He had my fucking iPad. And I had a feeling he wasn’t going to give it up until I heard him out.
“You have five minutes.” I blew past him and into his apartment, too pissed to fully appreciate the beauty of the space.
Black wood floor stretched wall to wall in the open room, the kitchen and living room visible. Several tall windows spanned the long wall, looking out over Manhattan, and in between were massive photographs in black and white. Off to the side looked to be a small gallery with a huge painting showcased in the center, rectangles in shades of cobalt blue with the bottom rectangle in deep, blood red. A Rothko, if I was guessing right. If it was, I was certain that single piece of art was worth millions.
Hot and loaded. Great.
I folded my arms across my chest, anxious to maintain some level of control as I tracked him across the room, noting that he’d left a path to the door clear. My eyes lingered on the entryway before finding his again. “Say what you need to say.”
He took a breath and stood up a little straighter. The action stretched his Henley a bit tighter across his wide chest, and he set his jaw. He looked determined, and I shifted, sending the sentiment right back at him.
“I turned around and you were gone, just like that. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I had to know who you were, and when I met back up with the guys, one of them said they knew your friend Morgan. They used to run together, and he remembered meeting you. I found out your name and that you were a messenger, and once I had that, it was easy to get you here.”
I just stood there, trying not to explode. “This is so fucked up.”
He ran a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know why I expected you to be happy to see me, not after you ran. Not after you wouldn’t give me your name.”
“Me neither.”
He stared at me, his eyes so intense that I almost buckled under the pressure. “I’m Van.”
His name reverberated through my body. “You already know my name.”
“Yeah, but I want you to tell me.”
“Why should I?”<
br />
He held up the iPad and gave it a little shake. “Well, I do have this.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if my dignity is worth that.”
His lips twitched into a small smile. “You weren’t too worried about it on the roof.”
“Fuck you, man.” I stepped toward the door.
He didn’t move to follow me. “What are you afraid of?”
I stopped dead and glared at him. “I’m not afraid.”
He stepped toward me, and energy snapped between us. He stopped close enough that I could smell him. The proximity overloaded my senses. “Tell me your name.”
“Cory,” I answered, my voice soft. I cleared my throat and looked away. “Will you fucking sign now? I have another job, and you’re wasting my time.”
He touched my braid that hung over my shoulder, grazing my breast. “Tell me you didn’t think about me again.”
I swallowed and looked him in the eye. “I can’t.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry I sprang this on you.”
“Yeah, well, you should be.”
He looked down at me with eyes so deep and dark, I thought I might drown in them. “I want to see you again.”
“Not possible.” I took a step away to break the connection, and my braid slipped from his fingers. I looked at my watch to hide my discomfort. “Five minutes is up. I did what you asked, now sign that.”
His face was unreadable as he nodded and looked down to sign his name. He handed the iPad and envelope back to me.
“This is for you.”
I rolled my eyes and snatched them both with plans to throw the envelope in the first trashcan I came to. “Of course it is. What exactly did you expect me to do?”
He shrugged and smiled, though it faded as he spoke. “I was hoping for some heavy petting, maybe a marriage proposal for my ingenuity. I would have settled for a date, though. I definitely didn’t expect knives out, but now that we’re here, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“That’s the smartest thing you’ve said to me.” I turned for the door. “How about you don’t stalk me anymore?”
“On one condition.”
I paused with my hand on the doorknob and looked back at him.
“Say my name, just once.”
My heart kicked into gear, the tension between us like a physical tie. “Van.” I’d wanted to sound hard, pissed, but the word was almost a promise.
He waited through a breath. “Change your mind. Go out with me.”
I clenched my teeth. “Not in a million years.” I turned the doorknob, stepped into the posh hallway, and slammed the door behind me.
When I came to a trashcan on the sidewalk next to my bike, I had every intention of throwing the envelope in, but somehow it ended up in my pack instead. I pedaled my way through Manhattan trying to run my anger down, but each turn of my gears only pushed my temperature higher. By the time the day was done and I was walking into the loft, the world was parting like the Red Sea to let me through.
I slammed the warehouse door with a bang, and the faces of my roommates turned to me with eyebrows up.
“Bad day?” Jade called from the couch, saccharine, and Jace laughed.
I didn’t answer, just pulled off my pack. Erin looked up at me from the kitchen table, and the girls and Jace in the living room went back to talking.
“Want to talk about it?” Erin asked and pushed her bowl of lo mein at me.
I took her chopsticks and shoveled a bite into my mouth.
“Is that a no?”
I swallowed and let out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“We were busy today,” she prompted. “I had runs all day, and Sam was snapping at everyone over the radio.”
“It wasn’t Sam.” I pushed the bowl away and looked over at Jade. She was in the middle of a conversation with Jace, but I dropped my voice anyway. “I had an interesting drop today.”
Erin took the noodles back and eyed me.
“Erin, it was him.”
Her eyes went wide, her hand frozen with a bite of noodles hanging from her chopsticks. “Him him?”
“Yeah. He set up a drop, sent himself a package and requested me for the delivery.”
“What the fuck, dude. That is creepy as shit.”
“Right?” I rubbed my forehead. “He thought he was being romantic.”
“That’s scary. Did he have a shrine? Make you a coat out of human hair?”
I laughed. “It was definitely less creepy than that. I got the feeling that he wasn’t psychotic. Maybe just misguided. Either way, it was weird. And? He’s rich. Like, super rich. I’m pretty sure he has a Rothko hanging in his living room.”
Erin gaped, her blue eyes full of disbelief. “How did he find you?”
“One of those guys from the other night, Chase, said he knew Morgan.”
Morgan perked up from the living room. “Wait, what?”
“Yeah, I had a delivery today for the runner who was chasing me after the job the other night. You know some guy named Chase?”
Her eyes bugged. “How did he know it was me?”
“Probably because you’re, like, nine feet tall,” Jade snapped. “Who the fuck is this guy that hunted you down, Cory?”
“Sullivan Collins,” I answered dramatically, as if he were someone important. Van.
Erin dropped her chopsticks. “Van Collins? Are you fucking kidding me?”
A tingle ran up my back, to my neck. “No, I’m definitely not kidding.”
Everyone stared at me, slack-jawed.
“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
Erin shook her head. “The photographer? He parkours all over New York taking photos from crazy heights and angles. He did one series where he took all the shots as he jumped between buildings. Another was all of runners.” She took in my blank face. “How have you not heard of him?” she asked as she reached across the table for her laptop and opened it. Her fingers flew when she typed in a search, then turned the laptop to face me.
The image results were displayed, a mosaic of black and white photos of the city and runners. One caught my eye of Van hanging off a ledge, smiling. The shadows and light were dramatic, shading the muscles of his arms and chest, the cut of him visible even under his shirt. Something in his smile hit me, and I took a breath as Erin kept talking.
“He shoots for skate and surf magazines, parkour features. He has a huge gallery on 44th. You’ve seriously never heard of him?”
“No.” I closed the laptop to banish him.
“Well, that explains why he’s rich enough to have a Rothko?”
I glared at her. Everyone in the room was listening.
“Like, a Mark Rothko? Those are worth a fuckton of money.” Jade turned to Jace like no one else was in the room. “Can you sell a painting worth that much?”
“Wait a fucking second,” I spat at her.
They ignored me. Jace bobbed his head. “I might be able to. I need to ask Blake, but I think we have a contact that deals in fencing high ticket art items. They’re harder to come by since there’s always a shitload of security, but this guy’s place can’t be that well-guarded.”
Jade turned to me, smiling like a piranha. “You’re going to con him.”
The temperature in the room went up by at least ten degrees. “The fuck I am.”
“What’s the matter, Cor?” she asked, mocking. “You like him?”
“Fuck you, Jade.”
She unfolded herself from the couch and walked to the table, her long legs like scissors. “If he doesn’t matter, then let’s steal it. He’s rich. He doesn’t need it. Insurance will reimburse him. What’s the harm?”
“We’ve never done a job this big.” I shook my head, not even believing what I was hearing. “This is stupid to even consider. Why should we risk it? Because you know whose ass will get hung out? Mine.”
She shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to get out of i
t.”
My eyes narrowed. “You sound so sure of yourself. I’m not doing it.”
Jade’s lips twisted into a smile. “I don’t think you want me to have a little heart-to-heart with Jill, do you?”
I froze.
“Doesn’t she ever ask you where you get all this money?”
Anger did more than flare. It was a cyclone in my chest. “Jade—”
Her voice slipped into ice, and her body hardened to match. “You’ll do it or you’ll pay. Do not fuck with me, Cor. You’re lucky you get away with the shit you do. If I didn’t need you, you would have been gone a long time ago.”
My teeth ground together so hard that my jaw hurt. I didn’t have a choice. She could bring everything down, pull everything apart with a word. It wasn’t worth fighting, not with the stakes being what they were. But she wouldn’t push me without paying for it. “You know what? What the fuck ever.” I played it off. “I’ll do it, but I get fifty percent.”
Jade laughed. “Right. Sure.”
“My risk, my rules.” I stood and leaned on the table, inches from her face. “You’ll give me fifty, or the deal is off. You scam me, I end you. Take it or fuck off.”
It was a long moment before she gave a single nod. “Fine. You’ll find him and figure out how we get that painting without getting caught. And find out which one it is so we can look up how much it’s worth.”
“Yes, sir.” I gave her a salute, and she narrowed her eyes before turning to walk back into the living room. She dropped back onto the couch to glare at me from across the room.
Everyone watched me scoop up my backpack and storm to my room with my stomach in my throat. I closed the door, and when I sank onto my bed, I dropped my head into my hands, pressing my fingers into my eyes, trying to grasp what the fuck I’d gotten myself into.
That was when I remembered the envelope. My heavy arms reached for my bag, pulled out the envelope, and opened it. When I tipped it over, a square business card tumbled into my palm. It was printed with a photo of Van tricking as he hung off a fire escape. I ran my finger over his name before setting it on the bed, then reached into the envelope again to pull out a stack of eight-by-ten photos. They were gritty and beautiful shots of the city, and when I came to the last one, I set the others down. It was a group jumping across a building gap, hands up and full of joy with the sun flaring behind them.
