by Angie West
“Got it.” She pulled back, triumphant, the final pin in hand. Her eyes became wide, serious, violet orbs. The teasing laughter in her tone faded and her hand skimmed the side of his face as she reached up and pulled the wig from his head. “You have dark hair,” she murmured.
The hair pins fell soundlessly to the plush, navy blue carpet. Jaxson brought both hands up and as if it had a mind of its own, one hand slid up to cup the side of Kate’s face, mirroring her own position. The other hand closed over her fingers. His breath hitched at the close contact. Kate’s fingers were cool and, like the rest of her body, felt delicate in comparison to his own. The rest of her slim form radiated a warmth that went straight to his head and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against hers. He had to tell her no. She had to leave. Now. He couldn’t afford to get involved. And even if it were possible, he didn’t do involved.
“Why are you doing this?” He whispered the words into her skin and tried not to wonder how she would feel, how she would taste.
“I don’t know,” she breathed.
He felt her shivered beneath his hands and tilted her head up. “I…don’t know,” she repeated, with only a little more force this time. Her fingers curled around his and she pressed her smooth cheek to his own.
Her heat leeched into him and he felt all at once surrounded, swamped in the dizzying mix of emotion that he was already beginning to somehow associate with Kate.
“You have to go.”
“Yeah,” she agreed.
Jaxson’s blood boiled at the small catch in Kate’s voice, and he dipped his head down a fraction of an inch. The slight move put him into even closer contact with her; his lips hovered only millimeters from her mouth. Close enough to drink in her soundless, gasping breaths. Close enough to touch…
Never in his life had he struggled so much. You can’t do this. Send her away. But a louder, more insistent voice was making itself heard now over the thready, barely-there hum of his conscience. Now, now, now. The litany kept time with his heartbeat, and then the roaring of his ears drowned out even that and he lost the battle altogether.
Jaxson’s lips opened against her skin, and he pressed a hot kiss against the corner of her mouth. Kate went rigid against him, and he tightened his hold on her, moved to cup the back of her neck. He trailed quick, furtive kisses along her the line of her jaw, pausing only to trace a slow path with his tongue. Her sharp intake of breath went through him like a spear, then he felt her press even closer to him. He groaned and caught her earlobe between his teeth, tugging and then swirling his tongue against her skin before moving to claim her mouth in earnest.
Oh, God, she felt so damn good against him. His lips settled over hers, his tongue darting out in between teasing, nipping kisses, and he was rewarded ten times over when she rocked her hips against him. Jaxson felt like he was on fire. His arms felt coiled and tense as they closed all the way around Kate. The juncture of her thighs rocked into his lap again and he bit down on her lip, one arm automatically coming down to circle around her hips. The soft material of her pink pants bunched in his fist. He inadvertently pulled the cloth tighter against her rear, groaning when her legs parted and allowed him even greater access to her body.
He had been wrong. Kate wasn’t delicate at all, but strong and lithe—and hot. He groaned, the sound coming out as more of a growl, and he wrapped his other hand around her hair, pulling her head back and kissing his way down her throat. Kate made a gasping, moaning sound, deep in her throat, and he felt an answering twinge in his body. Two steps back and he had her pressed against the nightstand.
“Jaxson…”
“Oh, fuck yeah…” he gasped as her legs parted even wider than before. His hands shot out to grip her hips, and he was yanking her forward even as he stepped between her legs. Kate made another sound in her throat, and one hand struggled with the pink-tasseled drawstring of her pants.
Jaxson shoved her hand away but was quick to replace it with his own. Kate reached out to grasp his shirt and she tugged at it, yanking the fabric up, trying to pull it over his head. The material caught on his earring and Jaxson winced, the fog in his head abruptly clearing. He let go of Kate and braced both hands on the bedside table, his arms framing her as glanced down at himself, chest heaving. He wasn’t wearing a shirt; Kate had been trying to pull his godforsaken dress over his head. Sometimes…there are no words.
He shoved away from the nightstand—from the bed—without looking at the blonde, violet-eyed creature whose breathing was still every bit as heavy as his own. What the hell had he been about to do? He chastised himself as he walked around the bed, and, when that wasn’t far enough, to the dressing table at the opposite end of the bedroom. His hands shook as he removed the gaudy, gold hoop earrings and tossed them onto the surface of the rented vanity. Kate was an innocent stranger, and besides that, the woman was a nurse. He bit back a groan and forced his eyes away from her in the mirror. He watched her slide off the nightstand, and eyed his own less-than-composed face, his guilt and frustration reflected back at him in stark clarity.
Kate was a nurse, and he was…a screw-up. A bookie from east Brooklyn who’d thrown away more chances in five years than most people got in a lifetime. Jaxson’s lips thinned into a harsh line and his hands tightened on the lacquered surface of the dressing table. He was still in full war paint, and angrily he removed the false eyelashes, pretending not to notice Kate hovering near the door.
He wished she would just go already. Even before he turned state’s evidence, he’d had nothing to offer a woman like her. A now that he was bait for a killer, for a man whose very existence he woke up cursing each morning? Well, now he had even less to offer. The possibility that Jaxson would end up winning his freedom, but paying for his association with Roger Klein, with his life…was very real.
He glanced once more at the woman behind him. A man like Klein wouldn’t care that Kate was standing next to Jaxson, he’d snuff out her life just the same. Hell, Kate was young and blonde; although her hair was a shade too dark, she was eerily close to the type of victim that fucking pervert seemed to prefer. Jaxson cursed the day he’d ever been stupid enough to do business with a man like Roger Klein. He’d known there was something not quite right about the man, but one dollar was as good as the next, right? Wrong.
He raised his eyes to his neighbor’s, in the mirror. Kate had to go; hanging around with him could prove hazardous to her health. But she wasn’t leaving; it looked like he’d have to turn around and speak to her. He thumped a fist against the top of the vanity and turned around to face her.
“Go back to your room, okay?”
“Hey, I wasn’t—”
“Look, let’s not do this, eh? I’m just not interested.”
“So, are you…”
Jaxson frowned when she paused and turned to leave, apparently unwilling to say anything further. “Am I what?” he asked, halting her progress from the room, against his better judgment.
She bit her lip, one hand on the door. “Well, are you…a, um…a lesbian? I mean, it’s okay if you are, I just…”
Jaxson froze. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, forget it. Just forget it. It doesn’t matter.”
“No, I’m not a fucking lesbian. I like women,” he growled.
Kate stared pointedly at him, but remained silent.
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I work at a club,” he ground out, “I’m a…dancer. This,” he swept a hand down the front of his body, “has nothing to do with my sexuality, okay?” He glared at her.
“Fine.” Her own lips thinned.
“I’m just not—I can’t—you have to go.”
“Yeah, I get it. I’m going.”
“Next time, keep your so called help to yourself,” he called out, staring hard at her retreating form, pissed off that even now he wanted to haul her back into the bedroom.
* * *
“That isn’t why I came in here!” she
protested, turning and stalking back into the room.
“Yeah, well, you can go now.” He shrugged and turned away from her.
“Okay, what’s with you?”
“Nothing. Just go, Kate,” he snapped, gripping the hem of his dress and yanking it over his head. He sent it sailing across the room before he turned to face her.
“Why are you acting like this?” Kate asked, making a valiant effort to keep her gaze on his face, only now beginning to calm from the turmoil Jaxson had thrown her into.
Hands on his hips, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. “What would you know about how I normally act?”
The question stung, much as Kate figured he’d intended it to. What was she supposed to say? That she’d lost control? Clearly, he knew that. She felt her face heat. The moment when she’d sat in his parlor and said “I’m Kate,” felt like it had passed weeks ago, not mere hours. But the reality was, she didn’t know how he normally acted. She knew virtually nothing about him. Shame flooded her again. She’d been about to take her clothes off on her transvestite neighbor’s bedside table.
“Goodnight, Kate.” Jaxson’s tone was pointed, final.
She had been dismissed. Slowly, her initial embarrassment turned to anger. “Hey, I didn’t force myself on you,” she argued. “You wanted me, too.”
“Well, I don’t want you here now.”
“Fine.” She hugged her arms around her middle, heat flooding her face at his icy, controlled words. “The next time you fall over your own pantyhose, don’t come crying to me.”
His face clouded, and he swung away from her to stare out the window.
Kate watched a muscle in his jaw tick as light from the street illuminated him in profile. “Lock up when you let yourself out in the morning.”
Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. When he didn’t turn around, she spun on her heel and stalked from the room, slamming the connecting bathroom door behind her. She leaned against the solid surface for long, agonizing moments while she struggled to find her bearings in the shifting, churning sea of night.
Chapter Eight
Not Alone
Kate was up with the sun; an easy enough feat, considering she’d spent the night tossing and turning after leaving Jaxson’s bedroom. On any other morning, she would have been dead to the world until at least six-thirty, maybe even eight. Now that she was pulling a later shift and didn’t have to wake Lilly up at seven, she’d planned to start sleeping in until ten or eleven. And here it was at…she yawned and glanced around in a half-hearted attempt to find a clock. There wasn’t one, but if the pearl-gray light that was just beginning to seep through the room was anything to go by, it was before six.
Scenes from last night assailed her almost the instant she sat up and put her feet on the floor, and she groaned. What in God’s name had she been thinking last night? If her mother had still been alive, Aria Delaney would have been horrified to know her daughter had thrown herself at a stranger. A transvestite stranger. Kate groaned, head in her hands as visions of the previous night tormented her.
She saw herself reaching up to remove the last pin from Jaxson’s wig—his wig!—the tips of her breasts grazing his arm for a brief moment. His lips on hers, her butt on his nightstand. His erection pressed stiffly between her legs, creating delicious friction every time she’d bucked against him. She cringed and squeezed her eyes shut as the full memory of her wantonness rolled over her.
There was no excuse for her behavior. That was all there was to it. Kate let her hands fall to the rumpled bed and forced herself to stand up and face the day. She did the normal, mundane things that would have been done on any other morning. First, she hit the bathroom and made an attempt to look semi put together. After a couple of minutes, she gave up; her hair was hopeless, the long, sleepless night had left her looking pale, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her purse had spent the night in the car.
Hell, what did it matter? Kate sighed, slipped on the same rubber soled shoes she had worn to work the night before and did a quick but thorough job of tidying up the bedroom. A glance out the window told her that maybe ten minutes had passed.
She stood in front of the door and took three deep breaths. Would Jaxson be up and about? Would he even still be in the house? She recalled his instructions about locking up after herself, and her mouth settled into a grim line. It didn’t matter if he was in the house; he’d made it clear last night that he didn’t want to run into her this morning. Well, that was fine because she didn’t relish the idea of running into him, either.
Kate thrust her shoulders back, twisted the doorknob, and strode into the hallway. Despite her intention of breezing past Jaxson’s bedroom without so much as a glance to the right, her eyes strayed to the closed door and her stomach clenched. Nerves, and it was no wonder. With a sigh, she jogged down the stairs and made her way through the lower level of the house. In the soft light of day, Kate was able to confirm her first impression from the previous night.
The pale pinks, champagnes, and golds provided the perfect backdrop for the Victorian charm the house seemed to exude. The home was warm and charming…completely unlike the man who lived there! The thick, beige carpet muffled her footfall and a minute later, her shoes squeaked against the linoleum in the kitchen and dining room. She was at the front door when a faint scuffling noise sounded behind her.
“Kate.”
“Jaxson…” She turned around. He was standing in the kitchen doorway, clad in a nondescript, navy blue bathrobe over a blue skirt and white blouse. His close cropped, dark brown hair was wet from the shower. Kate lifted one hand to tug self-consciously on her own wild hair, but quickly forced it back down to her side and steadily regarded her neighbor. “I was just leaving.”
“Yeah…” His green eyes traveled the length of her body. “Look, I just came down here to…”
“To what?” she prompted when Jaxson fell silent. Keeping her gaze locked on him required a herculean effort; it was impossible to see him this morning and not picture his hands on her body. Her heart rate kicked up a notch as she waited for him to respond, to make this morning less awkward, to say something, anything.
Jaxson opened his mouth, closed it, and finally dug into the side pocket of his robe. He pulled out an elastic band and tossed it across the dining room.
Kate scrambled to catch the black elastic hair tie.
“You left that on the floor last night.”
Now it was her turn to gape. “Thanks,” she finally snapped. Without a backward glance, she walked out the door, slamming it in her wake and stomping across the still-wet grass that separated her house from Jaxson’s. She was still moving full steam ahead as she took the steps up the porch two at a time, paused, remembered her purse, backtracked, and retrieved it from the Toyota. Back up the steps she went, slamming her front door behind her, so irritated that for a full minute she forgot to pause, forgot to be afraid.
Kate’s bravado deserted her a second later. She stood in the entryway, back pressed to the front door as dust motes swirled around her. Some long dormant self-preservation instinct made her slow her breathing and close her eyes, listen for any sound in the empty house. Hopefully it was empty. Her pulse kicked up a notch, and for a brief second she reached behind her back and went for the doorknob.
“No,” she whispered. Repeated the word with more force. The door had been locked a moment ago. Hadn’t it? The house was silent.
“There’s no one here.” She exhaled, hating that her voice sounded so shaky in the rambling space.
Kate squealed when the crash came. A thud, then the sound of glass shattering. The sitting room, it had come from the front sitting room, just off the entryway. She took two steps forward, a chill trailing down her back as she moved away from the safety of the front door. Get out!
Ignoring her internal voice of reason, for the moment, anyway, she scooted closer to the wall and crept to the edge of the entryway, skirting around the dark cherry wo
od secretary and a bare coat rack in order to get an unobstructed view of the next room.
There was nothing to see. Her gaze briefly swept the space before she turned her attention to the wide, open hallway beside the entryway.
The sudden jangle of bells put Kate’s heart in her throat. She turned tail and fled, her bravado having taken her as far as it was going to. Her feet pounded the floor, and she grappled with the doorknob for far longer than should have been necessary. Panic made her movements jerky, uncoordinated. Once she wrenched the door open, she stumbled out of the house and onto the porch.
Something moved in her peripheral vision. Kate whirled—and locked eyes with Jaxson.
The pale blue skirt swished around his thighs and his low cut blouse gaped open to reveal a smooth, muscled chest as he bent to retrieve the morning paper.
“Problems?” he called out to her, immediately straightening.
Before she could answer, the bells jangled again and with a cry, Kate spun around to confront—nothing. She paused, then looked down.
The scrawny gray cat stared up at her with baleful eyes and let out one of the most pitiful mewling cries Kate had ever heard. Hand still on her chest, she exhaled and slumped forward to grip the faded, splintered porch rail. “Just a cat,” she murmured, rolling her eyes skyward when the tabby cat shook itself like a dog and set the bells around its neck to jingling again.
“Kate.” She craned her neck to find Jaxson leaning over his own porch, corded muscle looking tense as he braced his arms on the glossy white railing and glanced from Kate to her open front door. His gaze dropped lower. “Is that a cat?”
“Yes…it’s…my cat,” she finished lamely, her face heating at the way she’d just run screaming from her own house.
“Ah.” Jaxson leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, making the satiny-looking material of his blouse pull down just a little.
