“My God,” he said, rising onto his knees.
He took hold of my wrists, locked them behind my back, and trailed tiny kisses over my stomach. Waves of delight shot to my core when he dipped inside my belly button. Then he parted my legs and lifted one over his shoulder, giving his mouth access to that most sensitive area. I clutched the back of the chair for balance as his scalding tongue coaxed me back to the edge of sanity. To the fringe of madness. I welded my teeth together and grabbed his hair, a pulsing need rocketing through me.
My legs shook, so weak with longing I could hardly stand.
The closer I got to orgasm, the more I wanted him in me. I pulled at his hair. Ripped at his shirt. He paused and jerked it over his head. Then I tugged him to his feet. My hands shook as I worked to unfasten his pants. With rushed movements, he pushed his jeans over his hips and exquisite buttocks. His erection stood firm, pulsing with anticipation. And it was my turn to stare in admiration. A fine sheen of sweat covered his powerful body, making him even more alluring, even more exotic.
The hills and valleys that made up his sensuous form were like a work of art and the evidence of his arousal was no exception. I raked my fingernails over the length of him and watched in fascination as his muscles contracted in response. Before he could stop me, I dropped to my knees and took him into my mouth. He hissed in a sharp breath.
“Dutch,” he said, locking a fist in my hair and fighting for control.
I looked up and his eyes blazed with unspent desire. I knew the feeling, wanted him to experience more of it. Drawing him in deeper, I grazed my teeth along the smoothness of his erection, reveled in the feel of blood rushing through it.
He tightened his hold on my hair as though trying to stop me. “Wait.”
But my arms locked around him to keep him close. His breathing grew labored. Tormented. On the inside, he trembled with the force of it, with the passion he held in check. He tensed each time I drew him inside, groaning until I’d milked him to the brink of orgasm.
Left with no other choice, he jerked me off him and pinned me to the floor, his body rock hard against mine. Without waiting a moment longer—unable to wait a moment longer—he spread my legs and pushed inside me. A shock of pleasure ripped through me so hard and fast it stole my breath. I clutched at his back, bit down on his shoulder, kicked at his hips, but he just wrapped me tighter in his arms and drove, faster and faster, harder and harder, the pressure bubbling and building until I came with a violent burst of white hot sparks. They cascaded over my skin and rushed through every molecule in my body like a shower of light, spilling through my entire being, crashing against my bones like the sea. I had imploded, and all that was left were shimmering flakes of gold.
In exquisite agony, Reyes buried his face against my neck, clawing at me, growling as his own orgasm shuddered through him, his body vibrating with pleasure. He quaked in the wake of it, panting on top of me, letting the orgasm run its course.
“Fuck,” he said at last. He relaxed and lay beside me.
I opened my eyes to look at him. “What?” I asked, worried.
He grinned. “Just fuck.”
“Oh.”
His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks as he lay in stunned satisfaction. I ran my finger along their fringe, and he frowned with a chuckle.
“Now I know the true meaning of perfection,” I said.
His eyes blinked open, and he stared at me with a deep appreciation. “You need to get out more.”
“So everyone tells me.”
But I hadn’t been kidding. It would never be better than this. Better than him. Reyes was the apex. It was all downhill from here. He was heaven and hell at once, angel and demon. I wondered how long I could keep him. How long I could call him mine.
He turned onto his side, rested his head on an arm, and put a large hand across my belly. With a mischievous grin that transformed his handsome face into that of an angel’s, he asked, “Do you know where the gods keep their nectar?”
I narrowed my eyes in suspicion, and said, “No idea.”
His hand slid down my stomach and between my legs. I sucked in a sharp breath as he leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Let me show you.”
After two more explorations of our stamina, a shared roast beef sandwich, a shower, and another exploration of our stamina, we lay on my bed, entangled in sheets and towels. Reyes wrapped me in his arms and was almost asleep when I said, “Who knew that all this time the nectar of the gods was in my va-jay-jay?” He laughed softly and let sleep overtake him, but I could not stop looking at his handsome face. At his sensual mouth and strong jaw. His straight nose and thick lashes. He was a miracle. A godsend. And a pain in the ass, but so was I, so I couldn’t fault him that.
I heard my front door open, so I disentangled our limbs, threw on a pair of pajamas, and headed out to the living room. Cookie was putting something in one of my kitchen drawers.
“Do you know what time it is?” I asked her.
She turned to me and raised a sucky thing. “This is a turkey baster. I’m not sure why you ordered seven, but I’m only letting you keep one.”
I had no idea either. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing?”
“I watched a scary movie and couldn’t sleep.”
“How many times do I have to tell you? If you’re going to watch scary movies, do it when I’m around so I can giggle when you jump.” There was nothing more fun than watching Cookie’s eyes glaze over in fear. Besides what I just did with Reyes.
“I know. So, how was your day?”
“Well, I was in a bank robbery, taken hostage by the Gentlemen Thieves, almost arrested as an accessory, and had one of the most interesting evenings of my life. Speaking of which, did you know the nectar of the gods is in my va-jay-jay?”
She shot me a mortified look of horror. “What the hell is a va-jay-jay?”
But I could tell she knew. Deep down inside. Otherwise, why the horror?
“Wait, what happened over there?” she asked, nodding toward Area 51.
“Reyes has been giving me therapy, though I don’t think he’s licensed.”
She gasped and dived toward me. “Oh, Charley, I need details. And an oil-on-canvas if you can get one done.”
18
That which doesn’t kill me
had better run pretty darned fast.
—T-SHIRT
“Where are you going?” I asked Reyes as he climbed out of bed.
“To your sad excuse for a kitchen.”
I gasped. No one insulted my sad excuse for a kitchen and got away with it. But then he flashed his nuclear grin and I forgot what the problem was instantly.
“Got anything to eat?” he asked.
“Does green, fuzzy stuff count?”
“I’m not really into health food,” he said with an even more dazzling grin.
When he walked by the dresser, the fact that I had taken out his picture that morning, the one of him bound and blindfolded, hit me with a jolt of panic. He didn’t even look at my dresser. He would never have seen it, but the panic that rushed through me stopped him in his tracks. I had to remember he was like me. He could feel emotion as easily as I could. Could sense it and taste it in the air. And my panic hit him hard enough to stop his forward momentum. I’d given myself away.
He turned to me, curiosity cinching his brows together. “What?” he asked, a half grin still lighting his face.
“Nothing. I just thought, I thought you were leaving.”
A deep suspicion stilled him. “Why are you lying to me?”
“I’m not. I mean, I am but only because there’s something I don’t want you to see.”
Without thought, he looked around. He didn’t spot it. It lay facedown, half covered by file folders and a brush and quite possibly a box of feminine products I had yet to transfer to my bathroom.
He turned back to me and crossed his arms. “Now I’m curious.”
I pulled my lower lip between my teeth. �
�What if I asked you not to be?”
“You don’t trust me?”
“It’s not about trust. Not really. Not on your end.”
He shifted his weight in thought. “So, it’s about trust on your end? As in, should I trust you?”
“Kind of, yeah. Or you’d see it that way.”
“What way, exactly?” He looked over his shoulder in confusion. If the picture had been a snake, it would’ve bit him, then he would’ve killed it in his manly warrior way. But, yes, he was that close.
“How about we go out and grab a bite?”
“Is it this?” he asked. Without looking behind him, he reached back and slid the picture off the desk.
“How’d you—?”
I stopped before digging my hole any deeper. He still had his beautiful gaze locked on mine when he brought the picture forward, but the minute it dropped, the minute his eyes landed on the image, a cold shiver of astonishment hit me. He blinked in shock.
I rose to my knees and crawled across the bed toward him. “Reyes—”
“Where did you get this?”
The next emotion to hit me was not anger or pain, but betrayal. Distrust.
“I just … A woman gave it to me. She found it in the apartment you were living in when I first met you. She’d saved it.”
“But why would you keep it?”
The storm of torment that swept through him made me light-headed. It made my chest contract and my heart ache. “I don’t know. I haven’t looked at it once since the first time.”
He rushed forward, and a blast of anger hit me. Finally, something I could deal with. “Then why keep it, Dutch?”
I raised my chin. “I don’t know.” How could I tell him I never wanted to forget what he went through? What either of us went through at the hands of that monster?
He strode out of the bedroom, picture in hand. I hurried after him as he headed for the stove. He was going to burn it. That was probably best, but for some reason—for some bizarre, inexplicable reason—I lunged for it and grabbed it away from him.
An astounded glare stole over his features. “Give it to me.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” I asked him, knowing full well he’d never open up to me that much. Not enough to tell me about his past with Earl Walker. I could hardly blame him, but it was worth a try.
“How about I burn that and we forget all about it.”
“I can’t,” I said, trying to curb the pain in my chest, but he felt it anyway.
With a growl that sent my heart racing into overtime, he wrapped one hand around my throat and the other around my waist. From there, he led me back against the wall.
“Don’t you ever feel sorry for me, Dutch. The last thing I need is your pity.”
“It’s evidence, Reyes. If what you went through is ever questioned again, we’ll have proof. And I don’t feel sorry for you. I empathize with you.”
The grin that spread across his face no longer sat at a playful angle. It held more animosity than warmth. More intimidation than affection. And my heart broke. I thought we were beyond this. Apparently not.
He leaned in, the heat of his anger like molten lava on my skin. The visceral reaction from my body anytime he was near seemed to multiply triplefold. I inhaled through my teeth and he paused. After a moment, he placed his forehead on mine and leaned in to me, seeming just as unable to fight the attraction as I. But in his eyes, I had betrayed him. He didn’t want me looking into his past, and that is exactly what this picture represented.
When he spoke, his voice was even, his tone distant. “The minute you can tell me the difference between sympathy and empathy where that picture is concerned, you give me a call.” He pushed me back in warning before grabbing his duffel bag, heading out the door, and slamming it shut behind him. I slumped back against the wall and fought to fill my lungs.
Cookie came over the next morning with new intel on the case, and I fought to keep the telltale signs of sadness at bay.
“Okay,” she said, reading from her notes as she made herself a cup of coffee, “it seems that the gardener Mrs. Beecher told you about, Felix Navarro, died a few months ago.”
“Well, that would explain why he’s no longer their gardener. Anything suspicious about his death?”
“No. His daughter told me he died of natural causes, nothing to investigate.”
“Well, then, he’s definitely not our guy. If he did have all those pictures of Harper in his wallet, maybe he was just really fond of her.” I took a sip of coffee and sat at my breakfast bar. The boxes in the apartment had dwindled down to almost nothing. Cookie had made tons of headway in the last two days. The only boxes that remained were the ones from Area 51.
“He was,” she said. “His daughter told me he carried pictures of all his kids, and he considered both Harper and her stepbrother, Art, part of his family.”
“Oh, well, that’s sweet.”
“It is. Very. Though I can see why Mrs. Beecher would see it as suspicious, considering everything that happened.”
“True.”
She flipped to the next page. “Oh, and your uncle Bob called. That guy torched another building early this morning.”
“Same guy?”
“It would seem so. I wrote the address on the file.” She pointed to a file folder lying on my kitchen table. “Apparently the arsonist pulled someone out of the building kicking and screaming before he set fire to it.”
I sat my coffee cup down. “Well, at least he’s civic minded.”
She nodded and continued to stir her coffee as I went to grab my bag.
“Okay,” I said, “call me if you get anything else.”
“Will do.”
Just as I headed for the door, I glanced at the file folder. The recognition didn’t hit me until I’d shouldered my bag and reached for the doorknob. I stopped, remembered the address, and whirled around so fast, the world tilted off center. Hurrying back, I tore the Post-it Note with the address of the latest fire off the folder. Then the world tilted for another reason entirely.
When I pulled up to the scene of the fire, the smell of smoke billowed in through Misery’s vents, acrid and irritating. Firefighters were still working on it, shooting water in the air from huge red trucks. The whole area was taped off, and bystanders stood off to one side, watching the firefighters do their job, filming the massive wall of smoke on their phones.
I stepped out and looked up. No way was this an accident. No way was this a coincidence. This was it—the very building I’d been talking to Reyes about not three hours earlier. The one where I’d first seen him. The one where the picture was found.
I called Cookie. “Hey, hon. I need you to check something out for me.”
“You got it.”
“I want you to get that list of all the addresses the arsonist has hit. It’s in the folder. Then crosscheck those with the known addresses Uncle Bob had on Reyes Farrow when he was first arrested for Earl Walker’s murder. I have his file in the cabinet.”
“Right, I remember it.” Her words were drawn out and wary. “Do you think there’s a connection?”
“That’s what I intend to find out. Or, you know, for you to find out.” I hung up and strolled to an officer on duty. “Where’s the woman?” I asked him.
“Excuse me?” He started toward me with his palms up in warning. “You need to stay one hundred feet back.”
“The woman the arsonist dragged out before he torched the place. Where is she?”
The guy glanced around. “How did you know that?”
“I’m working with APD on this case under the supervision of Detective Robert Davidson.” When he didn’t budge, I showed him my PI license and my APD ID that identified me as a consultant. “Would you like Detective Davidson’s number?”
Before he could answer, I heard Uncle Bob’s voice. “Charley,” he said, lumbering up to me. His knee must’ve been bothering him again. “I didn’t expect you to come over. As far as we can tell, the bu
ilding was empty except for that one woman. She is not happy to be out.”
I nodded. It had to be Ms. Faye—and, no, she would not be happy, but worry of a different nature knotted my gut. It must’ve shown.
“What is it, pumpkin?” Uncle Bob asked.
I offered him a weak smile. “Maybe nothing. I just … I hope it’s nothing.”
“Hon, if you know something about this case—”
“I’m not sure I do. Cookie’s looking into it now. If I get anything, I’ll call.”
He nodded.
“So, could Ms. Faye identify the arsonist?”
“Nope. Said it was too dark, but he was tall and thin.”
I wouldn’t exactly call Reyes thin, but I could see where Ms. Faye might. She had an odd way of seeing the world.
“Your Agent Carson has some pretty good leads on those bank robbers.”
“Yeah, sadly,” I said.
“Friends of yours?” he asked, his brows raised.
“Very good friends of mine. Well, except for one. He wants to take me out. And, no, not on a date,” I said, before he could ask.
“Oh, you mean like take you out take you out.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, glad we got that clear. How’s your other case coming along?”
I gave him my defeated expression. The one where my lips looked very much like they belonged in the duck family. “It’s not.”
“I’m sorry, kid. Let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks, Uncle Bob. And be careful with Ms. Faye. She has an arm on her—”
“Oh, no, already learned that.” He rubbed his shoulder. That woman was a menace.
I climbed back into Misery, going over what I knew to be fact in my head. Reyes had smelled like smoke. His shirt had been singed and he had scratches on his face, something Ms. Faye was very capable of, even with him.
For once in my life, I prayed I was wrong.
Since I was close, I decided to check in on Harper before heading to my next stop. I walked in the back to the sound of an ink gun buzzing away. One of them must’ve been working on a friend, because they didn’t open for hours.
Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet (Charley Davidson) cd-1 Page 26
