by Laura Kaye
His expression went dark and his jaw ticked. She saw it in his eyes the minute he made the decision to spill. Her stomach plummeted to the floor. It was bad. He didn’t need to tell her that much. Everything inside her braced for the onslaught of bad news.
When he spoke, the words were even, straightforward, factual. “Someone ransacked your house. Picked the back door lock again. Went through just about every room.”
The brick walls bent and warped around her, but she shook off the dizziness and forced herself to focus on Nick’s face. His presence was the only thing grounding her. “Why would they do that? Could you tell if anything was missing?”
He shook his head. “The why of it I intend to figure out. I promise you. But the place was too much of a mess to—”
“Take me.” Becca pushed past him and hit the handle on the door.
Arms wrapped around her from behind. “Becca, we—”
“No!” She threw off the hold and scrambled away, her back coming up hard against the wall.
Nick’s expression was a roiling sea of emotion. Surprise. Fear. Anger. Concern. “I’m sorry. What just—”
“That was how he grabbed me.” She swallowed hard and shuddered at the remembered press of the man’s flesh against hers. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, embarrassment heating her face, despair and exhaustion sucking the fight out of her.
He came forward slowly. “Don’t apologize,” he said, his voice cranked tight. “And don’t cry.” His thumb swiped under her eye, once, twice, and then his knuckles caressed her cheekbone. The little touches were comforting, sweet, and she thought maybe he needed to give them as much as she needed to feel them. He tucked the loose strands of her destroyed ponytail behind her ear.
“I’m not crying,” she said despite the wetness plain on her face. She shook her aching head, then pressed her cheek into his hand. “I’m not.”
“I know.”
Peering up at him, her breath caught.
The moment their gazes connected, his expression shifted from sympathetic concern to uncontrollable desire. His mouth fell open. His chest rose and fell against hers. His fingers burrowed into her hair.
Becca went hot all over, like the sun had hung itself in the stairwell above them.
He leaned closer, closer, his free arm bracing on the wall above her shoulder. The warm puff of his breath caressed her lips as his gaze bore into hers. She couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe.
He kissed her on a groan so needful it made her dizzy and wet. His mouth devoured hers, his big hand cupped the back of her head, his body completely surrounded and trapped hers against the bricks. It was a full-body onslaught, with every part of him engaged in the act of claiming and seducing.
Becca clutched at his coat, his shoulders, his back, his hair. Anything to bring him closer, deeper. His lips pulled and tugged, his tongue stroked and twisted. He smelled of leather and mint and tasted like sin.
The harder he came at her, the more her conscious mind let go. Her aches, the stitches, her house, even Charlie—for a few minutes, just a few precious minutes, Becca let it all go.
The surrender was euphoric. It rushed through her blood and sent her flying.
“That was so close, Becca. Too close,” he rasped, kissing her jaw, her ear, her neck, and sending her heart flying. His fingers stroked down over her breasts and found the hem of her shirt. And then those warm, calloused hands snaked up her stomach, pulled down the cups of her bra, and caressed her breasts skin to skin. He massaged her, teased her with roughened fingertips, and tormented her nipples until she was panting.
She gripped the collar of his coat, half afraid her knees would go soft and give out. Nick pulled his body away just enough to tear the coat off his arms and throw it to the floor. Geez, the gun holster was sexy hugging tight over his shirt, but he slipped out of it, too, and eased it to the floor with a thunk. Then his hands were back on her breasts and his tongue was back in her mouth, stealing her breath and convincing her she could live without it.
God, this kiss. It was the kind she’d remember forever, that would invade her dreams and haunt her in quiet moments. The kind her older self could look back on and know, once, she’d really lived. The kind that, no matter what, she could never, ever regret.
And it made a part of herself bloom with affection for the man who’d made her feel that way.
She snaked her hands under his shirt, moaning when her palm smoothed over the hard planes and muscled ridges of his abdomen, his sides, his chest. Her fingers swirled through the light covering of hair on his chest and swiped light, teasing brushes over his nipples. The low growls he released into the kiss as they explored each other thrilled her, made her yearn for the opportunity to bring a man as powerful and deadly as him to his knees in ecstasy.
“Closer,” he ground out. With one arm, he ripped the cotton over his head, revealing a body that was no doubt capable of inflicting pleasure and pain in equal measure. Desire roared off his skin and his hands were everywhere, plucking at her nipples, kneading at the swell of her ass, pulling them harder together.
The heat of his demanding touches ripped through her and settled a pressing ache low in her abdomen. She squeezed her thighs together in response, emphasizing the wetness of her arousal against her panties.
“I want you, Becca. I’m not gonna lie.” He spoke in low tones against her cheek, but pulled back to meet her gaze. “But I think—”
She placed three fingers over his mouth. “Don’t think.”
His eyes flared and his mouth dropped open. He caught her middle finger with his teeth and ran his tongue in tight circles over the tip, making it perfectly clear how good that particular action would feel if applied elsewhere. With a groan, he released her finger and dragged his hand around to cup the space between her legs. “Are you wet for me?”
Becca nodded, her heart doing its best imitation of a jackrabbit.
One of his eyebrows arched. “Yeah?” He slipped his hand into her scrub bottoms and under her panties. He kicked one of her feet to the side, opening her thighs to his touch. “Oh, fuck, sunshine, you are so wet.” His fingers stroked through her folds, and her heart skipped a whole stanza of beats. Did he just call her—
His mouth came down on hers at the same time his thick middle finger penetrated her. He swallowed her moan as he mimicked the act they were barreling toward. “I am wound too tight, Becca. Do you understand? In about ten seconds, I’m going to be all over you. And I’m not going to be able to go slow. It’s gonna be hard and fast and rough.”
He meant it as a warning, but Becca heard it as an engraved invitation on fine linen paper. That was a party she sooo wanted to attend. “Good,” she said, groaning as he removed his hand.
Green eyes blazing, Nick slipped his visibly wet finger between his lips and sucked. It was one of the most erotic things she’d ever seen.
With a sound that was nearly a growl, he retrieved his wallet from his back pocket and removed a condom. His gaze trapped her against the wall as if she couldn’t move unless he told her to.
Suddenly, the floor went wavy under her feet, challenging her hold on reality. Was this really happening? Would someone see them? Did she care? Her headache flared behind her eyes and Nick went blurry, and then a rush of white noise shoved the questions away.
OUT OF NOWHERE, Becca swayed to the right.
Rixey grabbed her by the ribs, holding her steady. “Whoa, you okay?”
She sucked in a harsh breath and flinched away from his right hand, eyes flying wide, her pretty mouth shifting into a grimace.
Ice trickled down his spine and extinguished his arousal. “Shit, your stitches. I’m sorry.” He dropped his righty to her hip, afraid she wasn’t yet steady. What a fucking dog he was, crawling all over her when she was this vulnerable. Exactly what he’d said he wouldn’t do. No matter how hard his body craved the connection. And not with just anyone. With her. But not like this. And not with everything that was going on. “I
’m sorry,” he said again, a wave of self-loathing turning his voice to gravel.
“It’s okay,” she said with a small, embarrassed smile.
He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s about a million miles from okay. I shouldn’t have—” The words stuck in his throat, because so many failures competed to flesh out the sentence. I shouldn’t have let you go to work this morning. I shouldn’t have sent you away that first day. I shouldn’t have tasted your juices on my tongue, because now I’ll never be able to forget just how sweet you are. “Something about you Merritts screws with my judgment every time.”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, that little frown of hers filling the space between her eyes.
Smooth, Rixey. “Nothing. You steady?” Because he really needed to stop touching her.
“Steadier. It’s just a headache. But I want to know what you meant.” She fixed her bra and crossed her arms over her breasts. Fierce animation roared back into her eyes.
“Not a goddamned thing, Becca.” Giving her a last, searching look, he dropped his hands and bent for his T-shirt. He tugged it back on, failing to force away the remembered feeling of her hands on his skin, then grabbed his jacket and slung his holster loosely over one shoulder. “I’ll take you upstairs. You should rest.”
“I’ll go upstairs, but I’m not resting. We still haven’t finished talking, you and I. If someone broke into my house, I should go there. Call the police. Something. This can’t all be coincidence.” A flush on her cheeks replaced the pallor from moments before.
“I know, but we can’t.”
She froze. “Why the hell not?”
He heaved a weary sigh, not sure what he was going to do if she insisted. “On the phone earlier, Miguel made it sound like there’s a reason we shouldn’t report the second break-in. He wanted to tell us in person. I trust him implicitly, so I’d like to wait to hear what he says. He’ll be over as soon as he can. But it is your decision.”
She rubbed the skin above her eye, bringing his gaze to the bruise forming on her forehead. “You really think it’s better to wait?”
“I don’t think Miguel would advise that unless he had a good reason.”
“God. What now?” Her shoulders sagged and she rubbed her forehead again. “Okay. I’ll hear him out. And thank you for being straight with me.” She sighed and turned, then crossed the stairwell to where the puppy lay curled in a ball by the door to Hard Ink. “You’ve been waiting patiently, haven’t you?” she said.
Rixey caught up with her, hollow pressure expanding in his chest at the sadness saddling her shoulders and dimming the lightness he’d admired about her from the start. He wanted that back. For her. For himself. “Wanna see something funny?” he asked, hoping his idea might replace the anger and hurt in her expression. She shrugged, her guard back up again. “Open the door and let—what’s her name?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said. “Maybe Sadie. Or Georgia.”
“What about Cujo?”
Her disapproving expression was almost comical, and it was a lot better than what she’d worn a moment before. “Cujo is a boy’s name, and he was a crazy killing menace. Plus Cujo was a Saint Bernard.”
Rixey winked, and she rolled her eyes. “Well, then, open the door and let Sadie-or-Georgia in by herself. We’ll hang back and see what happens.” All right, it was probably stupid, but if it made her smile, he was all for it. No plan was stupid if it worked . . .
She glanced from him to the puppy, who was now sitting up and watching the two of them talk like she knew the conversation was about her.
Nick opened the door from the private stairwell, and Sadie-or-Georgia loped in. He and Becca followed, and she now wore an amused expression. They peeked around the corner and watched as the puppy sauntered around the empty lounge for a few minutes before making its way up the hall between the tattoo rooms toward the front.
“What in the hell?” came Jeremy’s voice out of one. “Hey, Jess, what is walking—”
A shriek sounded from the lobby. “Holy shit.” Jess’s laughter followed a moment later. “Somebody lost a tripod,” she snickered.
Becca had her hand pressed to her mouth, and the rise in her cheeks told him she was enjoying the show.
“Hey! No! Gimme that back,” Jess yelled.
The puppy trotted down the hall again, something red in its mouth. Jessica barreled after her with a scowl on her made-up face.
“Is that a dog?” Jeremy yelled. “Why is there a dog?”
Beside Nick, Becca was giggling.
And then the dance started. The puppy rounded one of the tables with its prize clutched tight between its teeth. Jess chased her to the right, and the puppy dashed left. Then Jess veered to the left, and the puppy ran right. “C’mere, you little thief!”
Becca snorted. “I should help her.” They stepped out from their hiding place and Jess glared. “I’m sorry,” Becca said, humor coloring her voice. “I’ll help.”
Jess waved her away. “No, no. I’ll get it. It’s fine.”
“Come here, puppy,” Becca called and snapped her fingers. “Come here, girl.”
Jess hiked herself up on the table, scooted her butt across, and dropped down on the other side, surprising the dog by changing the rules of the game. The puppy growled and took off like a cartoon, her legs taking a minute to find purchase before she shot around the other table. “You little fucker, c’mere!”
Rixey stood with his arms crossed and watched the circus unfold. Much as she tried, Becca couldn’t stop laughing. This was even better than he’d hoped for.
Jess got in a swipe at the dog’s tail and the shepherd barked around the scrap of fabric in her mouth.
Jeremy stepped out of the tattoo room wearing his mask and gloves. “What in the holy hell is going on out here?” The dog shot toward him and Jeremy crouched and caught her in a body hold. “Uh, hello.” He looked up. “We have a dog now?”
Becca smiled. “She’s mine.”
Jess stepped forward. “Um, Jeremy.”
Wagging her tail, Sadie-or-Georgia deposited its prize on Jeremy’s knee. He set the dog down and looped his gloved finger under a string. Holding it up, he pulled his mask off and arched a brow at Jess.
It was a thong.
Jess dove for it.
Jeremy rose in a flash and held it above his head. Short as Jessica was, she didn’t have a prayer.
“Jeremy Rixey, I will kill you.”
He hugged her tight against his chest and cocked his gaze up toward the panties. There was writing. If you can read this, it’s your lucky day. He barked out a laugh.
Becca grinned, her expression halfway between sympathy for Jess and hysterics. Nick should’ve known that between Jeremy and Jessica, letting the dog in here would lead to some sort of slapstick antics.
“I have to ask why you have panties here and how the hell the mutt got ’em.”
Jess stomped her knee-high black boot. “Just give them to me.”
Jeremy reached up with his other hand and held the thong so it hung straight, all except for one loose string. “Why are they—?” His eyebrows flew up under his long hair. “Are these ripped?”
The phone rang, the ringer echoing between the office and the front desk.
Jess braced her hands on her hips and tapped her toe. “Give. Them.”
“Not until you tell me why they’re—”
“Because, unlike you, I had sex last night and the guy ripped my thong off. Are you satisfied?”
Jeremy’s expression froze.
“Probably not as well as you are,” Becca said. Despite her bright red cheeks, she met all three sets of eyes that whipped her way. Damn, she wore that mixture of embarrassment and daring so well it shot right to Rixey’s cock.
Jeremy burst out laughing, and even Jess gave her a begrudging chuckle right before she punched Jer in the stomach. He grunted and handed over her panties. With a flip of red and black pigtails, she marched toward the front
desk.
Through it all, Rixey couldn’t stop watching Becca. The way she laughed and smiled, the ease with which she teased and joked with Jeremy. Rixey remembered back to when she’d first walked through Hard Ink’s front door. He’d thought her sweet and innocent. The girl next door. And maybe a part of her was those things. But she was also the woman who’d come at him with a knife, who’d resisted a significantly bigger man attempting to abduct her, who’d tried her hand at boxing without any self-consciousness. The woman who’d kissed him. The first woman he’d kissed in over a year. And the woman who made him want so much more.
Too bad he didn’t deserve any of it, though that didn’t stop him from wanting her comforting touch, her warm body, her light chasing away his dark. Selfish bastard.
“Hey, Nicholas,” Jess called, knowing he disliked his full name. “Miguel’s on the phone.”
Becca turned to him with a grin. “Nicholas?”
He arched a brow and made for the office. “It’s Nick. Or Rixey. Or ‘Hey you.’ ”
“Or asshole,” Jeremy offered, stripping off his now dirty gloves and returning to his client.
“Preferable to Nicholas,” Rixey said over his shoulder. As he turned into the office and lifted the receiver, he wondered why the hell Miguel was calling him on the landline. “Hey, Miguel.”
“Hi, Nick. Wanted to let you know I got held up with an issue with one of my clients. I’m still coming over, it’ll just be a while.”
“That’s fine, but why are you—”
“Calling on the landline? Because I didn’t want to delay getting you some information before I can get over there and fill in the details. And this is more secure.”
If someone was so inclined, it was much easier to pick up a conversation from a cell phone. The fact that Miguel was taking precautions against that meant he was worried. Rixey pushed the office door closed. “Okay. What’s going on?”
“I called my guy at BPD to report the break-in and find out who’d covered the scene the day before. Report hadn’t been filed yet. He couldn’t even readily put his hands on who the lead investigator was. And none of the evidence was in the database. So I asked about the missing persons investigation on Charlie Merritt—”
