G-Men: The Series

by ANDREA SMITH

  “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed.

  chapter 22

  I’d been slammed not-so-gently against the side of a building that bordered the alley Slate had ducked into. I could feel the rough edges of the uneven bricks against my back. His face was in front of me.

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see his blue eyes were blazing into me with something I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t really total anger. It wasn’t really total lust. It was a combination of the two.

  “What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, Sunny?” he asked in a low, controlled voice. His arms were on either side of my head, trapping me.

  “What I’m not doing, Slate, is holding someone against their will.”

  He brought his lips to where they were centimeters from mine. “Seriously? That’s all you fucking have to say for yourself?”

  “What the hell do you want me to say? You don’t own me.” I raised my chin, defiantly.

  “I believe I told you before that I’d be the one to decide when it’s over. I’ve never once told you that I’d come to that decision. Why haven’t you returned my text messages or voicemails?”

  He had me stumped there. I hadn’t checked my cell phone in a few weeks. I’d presumed it was all a done deal for us. This took me by surprise.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, blinking cluelessly.

  “I’m talking about the numerous text messages and voicemails I’ve fucking left for your ass that have been ignored. That’s unacceptable, babe.”

  “I haven’t checked my phone. I assumed we were over.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well as I said before, I’m the person to make that decision and it’s not been made,” he said, nuzzling my jaw line. I had to let in a quick breath when I felt his tongue graze over the soft skin beneath it.

  His closeness was melting my reserve. God, I so wanted the feel of him again; his nakedness, his passion, his body entwined with mine.

  Stop it - I can’t do this again…

  Before I had a chance to shove him away or to try and escape, he brought his lips down to mine. He sucked hard on my lower lip, owning it. I relaxed my mouth, not responding; not giving in.

  When he caught on to my tactic, he swiftly changed his. He gently bit down on my lip, rolling it with his tongue. I let out a gasp at the feel of it; and he used that as an opening to steal inside, licking deeper into my mouth. Slate brought down one of his arms to cradle the side of my face, his thumb resting below my ear as his other fingers tugged on the hairs at the nape of my neck.

  He worked my lips and mouth in the way that only he could. And it was splintering my self-control, because he would alternate between sucking hard on my tongue and kissing my lips gently. He’d finish by pulling back slightly, to see if I would finally take the initiative and kiss him back. The first strand of times, I wouldn’t. He’d then just start over, never getting frustrated. He would just continue slowly fucking my mouth with his.

  “Give in,” he said, pulling back once again. He faintly brushed his upper lip over my bottom one. My hands were shaking. My body was fighting the silent battle that my mind was trying to win.

  Slate brushed my hair behind my ear, and leaned in again. His teeth nipped my sensitive earlobe, “Just one, Sunny.” He soothed the bite with his tongue, “Kiss me once, and then try to tell me you’re done.”

  He pulled back. Softly resting his forehead against mine, he waited for my next move.

  Before I had the chance or the opportunity to reinforce my resolve my body, the traitor that it was, defied my better judgment. My arms laced up and around his neck. My body melted into his. My lips parted and accepted his tongue; my tongue explored him. I felt his body pressed into mine now. I felt the rock-hardness of his erection against me. My body was aching for the fulfillment that I knew he could provide.

  I fisted my hands into his thick mane, sighing audibly as I capitulated to his touch. I pulled him even closer, making no secret of the fact that I wanted him right here, right now, no matter what. I had to find some strength against this man. My self-preservation depended upon it.

  “Slate, no,” I pleaded, breaking off from our passionate kiss.

  “Baby, your lips are sayin’ no, but the rest of you is screaming hell yes,” he said, stepping back.

  “I don’t want you to hurt me,” I said, bowing my head in shame.

  “Sunny, I’d never do anything that you didn’t like,” he replied, totally clueless.

  “I’m talking about my heart. I’m talking about what I feel for you that you don’t feel for me. Please?” My eyes were imploring him to understand, to get a clue.

  He moved back from me almost immediately. He raked his hands through his hair, turning his back to me as if he was ready to go off. His frustration was apparent as he whirled around, facing me once again.

  “You’re too good for me, Sunny. You don’t need the aggravation of what my life involves. Can you please trust me on that?”

  I looked into his intense blue eyes, and all I could see was sincerity and pain. His admission hadn’t come easily. I wanted to be back in his arms again.

  “Slate,” I said softly, “can’t you let me be the judge of that? I can’t fuck you and not love you. I’m sorry, that’s just how I am.”

  He wasn’t comfortable with my words. It was fairly obvious. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to dance around the issues any longer.

  My feelings had to count for once. If they didn’t, then I’d learned nothing from the past nineteen years of marriage to the mannequin. I was done being the type of person who allowed someone else to define their existence.

  Done.

  “Jesus Christ, Sunny,” he growled. “I’m not that person. I’m sorry.”

  “Then please let it alone, Slate. Please don’t break my heart.”

  His gaze penetrated me totally as he took several moments to consider what I had said.

  “Babe,” he said softly, “Come here.”

  I obeyed and moved closer to him. His strong arms reached out and pulled me against him. He held me tightly, his chin resting on the top of my head. We rocked back and forth in the embrace. The cold February wind brushed against us.

  “Can I ask you something, Slate?”

  “Go ahead,” he replied, tucking another lock of hair behind my ear.

  “How’d you know I was working again?”

  I wanted to make damn sure that Jackie had kept her promise to me and not told anyone.

  “Indy’s a small town, Diamond. Your private-viewing dances are somewhat notorious with certain patrons of both clubs. I have good hearing and I listen. I had to see for myself. But I don’t want you dancing, babe.”

  “I know you don’t Slate, but it’s not really for you to decide.”

  “Can we reach a compromise?” he asked, his expression softening.

  “What do you mean?” I asked warily, wondering what he had in mind.

  “Can we spend a day together this weekend? We’re supposed to have record high temps for February. I want to take you out on my bike. I want to feel you behind me as we travel the roads together and just hang out. What do you say?”

  My mind was racing. There was no reason to not go, with the exception of the major issue of my heart being broken.

  “If I agree, will you please lay off about my working and agree that we go as friends and not fuck buddies?”

  “I can do that,” he said, his wide grin allowing the appearance of his sexy dimple. “Well, I mean, I can do that for one day.”

  I had to smile back at him. He was so freaking cute and hot at the same time.

  “Okay, then,” I said, returning the smile. “What time?”

  “My place? Around ten in the morning?”

  “I’ll be there,” I replied, a hint of amusement in my voice. He sure as hell was an expert at getting his way.

  chapter 23

  It seemed to me as i
f Saturday would never arrive.

  True to the weather forecast, Saturday dawned sunny with the high temperature projected to be in the mid-sixties. A warming trend had started on Thursday, and was to carry though into mid-next week.

  I fussed over what I was going to wear. I finally decided on a pair of my skinny jeans, a cotton tee, a comfortable hoodie, and boots. I did my make-up carefully, and put my wig on, making sure that I wore it tied back so the wind wouldn’t tie it into knots.

  I’d taken my cell phone from the drawer earlier in the week, and listened to the multiple voicemails that Slate had left. I decided that we would definitely address the language that he’d used in the later messages.

  He’d also left several text messages that weren’t quite as graphic. I erased them all, not bothering to change his name on my contact list from “Asshole” just yet. As I put the phone back into the bedside drawer, I spotted my diaphragm case.

  What the hell?

  I stashed it into the pocket of my jeans.

  Better safe than sorry.

  Slate was waiting for me at the bus stop when I got there. I couldn’t help but smile inside at the fact that he was looking forward to our day together as much as I was.

  I even saw a slight smile grace his rugged good looks as I stepped off of the bus. He was right there, putting his arm around me as we walked to his apartment.

  His bike was out and ready to roar.

  “You ready to ride, babe?”

  I nodded, genuinely enthusiastic about spending some time being that close to Slate. His nearness made me tingle inside.

  “Let’s get a lid on you,” he said, as we approached the bike.

  What the hell is a lid?

  I understood once he reached for the helmet that was perched on the back bar thingy on his bike. Slate handed it to me and I situated it onto my head, having no clue how to fasten it properly. I heard his smirk as he gently brushed my hands aside and fastened the strap to fit snugly.

  He quickly tied his do-rag into place and then motioned for me to climb up behind him as he fired the engine up. I wondered why he’d insisted I wear a helmet, when he didn’t. I suppose it was a “club” thing. At any rate, the helmet was much better when wearing a wig, I decided.

  I climbed in back of him, wrapping my arms around his torso as he revved the engine a couple of times before we took off into the unknown together.

  Slate took a route out of town. We headed out into the country northward from Indianapolis. I’d never been on a motorcycle before. I loved the feeling of freedom that came with being out on the open road, feeling the sun and the wind around me, and pressed up against Slate as he kicked the bike into higher gears.

  We’d been on the road for a while before Slate pulled off the main highway onto a county road that was winding and remote. It was a beautiful day. It seemed like spring, not winter. The road continued on up around hills and woods. I knew this area from years back. We were getting close to Forest Woods Reserve. It was comprised of hundreds of acres of woods with trails, streams, cliffs and waterfalls.

  It was a gorgeous, well-preserved area that offered year-round activities for those who wished to escape from the city and enjoy remote nature.

  I was beginning to wonder just what Slate had in store for me. This area was extremely remote and secluded.

  He continued on until we were out of the park reserve and turned on to another county road. A couple of miles into it, he turned off into a gravel parking lot in front of a log building that had a flashing sign that read, Katy’s Café.

  Slate cut the engine and hopped off the bike. He turned to me, unfastening the chin strap of my helmet, lifting it off and affixing it to the back of his bike. Wordlessly, he started off towards the door of the café.

  “Uh, Slate?” I called out, not budging from where I was standing.

  He turned and looked back at me, seeing my questioning gaze.

  “You like chili, Sunny?”

  I nodded.

  “Come on then, best in the state,” he replied, waiting for me to catch up.

  I followed behind him as he entered the café. It was dark and faintly musty. There was a big stone fireplace against one wall that wasn’t going because of the balmy February day.

  The inside of the café was rustic, with a long bar that spanned one whole side of the café. There were tables and a few booths along the opposite wall. Several patrons were seated at the bar and another couple at one of the tables, eating.

  A tall, dark-haired woman, who looked to be in her mid-fifties, came bustling out of a swinging door behind the bar which, I could only guess, led to the kitchen. She had two steaming bowls of something on a tray, which she promptly delivered to two of the customers at the bar.

  She looked up, a smile and a look of recognition crossed her face.

  “Slate,” she said, grinning, “It’s been a while. Where have you been keeping yourself these days?”

  “Oh, you know, Katy, busy with stuff in the city.”

  “Uh huh,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “Up to no good is my guess, handsome. Who do you have there with you?”

  Slate looked over at me with a look of warmth.

  Wow! That’s different.

  “Oh, this is a friend of mine, Sunny.”

  “Hi there, Sunny,” she greeted. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Katy, the owner of this establishment. Slate’s my favorite customer. Any friend of Slate’s is welcome here.”

  She was extremely friendly. I was having a difficult time in drawing a connection between bad-boy Slate and this seemingly warm and friendly woman who knew him.

  “You two sit anywhere. As you can see, there’s plenty of room.”

  Slate headed over towards a booth in the corner. It was a little more private. Katy was eyeballing me. I could see it out of my peripheral vision.

  Slate ordered for both of us, which didn’t surprise me, since he seemed to have the need to control everything.

  What the hell had his mother done to him? He ordered two bowls of chili and grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “You’re gonna love Katy’s chili,” he promised me.

  Katy brought us two tall glasses of iced tea.

  “How do you know about this place?” I asked, taking a sip of my tea.

  “Oh, I’ve been coming here for years,” he replied. “I guess I don’t remember how I first found it.”

  “But I thought you moved around. Didn’t you say your last home was in Virginia?”

  Slate looked at me suspiciously. “I thought we had the rule about personal stuff,” he remarked.

  “Okay, fine. It’s going to make for a pretty boring day if we can’t make small talk,” I griped, taking another sip of my iced tea.

  His hand reached over taking mine, gently caressing my fingers with his. He played with my wedding band, frowning.

  “So, has the rat bastard been on good behavior?” he asked.

  “What about our rule?” I chided.

  “How about we amend the rules just a little bit?” he offered, giving me a sexy wink.

  “Oh, I get it. I have to answer your questions, you don’t have to answer mine,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

  I actually was surprised to see a smile spread across his face. Don’t tell me my bad-boy biker had a sense of humor buried somewhere deep down inside.

  “No, smart ass, we simply keep it to generic type stuff; no names, no specifics, no family history.”

  “What the hell’s left?” I asked.

  “Plenty,” he said. “Now answer my question.”

  “He hasn’t bothered me physically or otherwise, okay?”

  “Good,” he said. “Where does he think you are today?”

  “He’s out of town. He travels quite a bit with his career.”

  “I see. What is he? A truck driver or something?”

  “Yeah,” I lied, “something like that.”
>
  Katy brought over our chili and sandwiches. I was surprised at how hungry I was. We dug into our food. It was silent for several minutes.

  “Okay, my turn,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin.

  Slate stopped spooning chili into his gorgeous, sexy mouth, looking over and cocking an eyebrow at me.

  “Have you ever been married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Engaged?”

  “Hardly.”

  “In love?”

  “That’s enough questions for you. My turn.”

  He’s been in love. He clearly avoided answering.

  “How often is hubby on the road and for how long?”

  “Often. It depends. Why?”

  “Just wondering why you always run off afterwards,” he replied with a shrug.

  I’m going to have some fun with this.

  “Afterwards? I’m not following you, Slate.”

  “The hell you’re not, Sunny. You know exactly what I’m talking about. After you and I… . . . fuck.”

  The fact that he had to put emphasis on the F-word totally pissed me off. He sure as hell was making sure I was clear on that.

  I shrugged. “Maybe he was home those times, I can’t really recall. I don’t remember you asking me to stay, anyway.”

  “That’s not my thing. I don’t want you staying at my apartment when club members can stop by without an invitation.”

  “Oh, I see. They’re allowed to come by without an invite, but I’m not?” I was giving him a semi-glare.

  “That’s right,” he replied smugly.

  “Then what exactly was the point of your question?”

  “Just wondering why you’ve never suggested your place.” He gave a non-committal shrug, spooning the rest of the chili into his mouth.

  “Hey Slate, wait a minute here. I believe you’re the one that outlined the rules. It was never on the table.”

  “So, what about now?”

  “What about it? Don’t you think it’s kind of a moot point since you want to sport fuck and I want some feelings in the mix?”