Man in Queue

by Shandi Boyes

  I slam my purse onto the table separating our seats before making a dramatic dash for the bathroom James is steering clear of. After shutting the door with force, I lean my back against it.

  Okay, maybe I’m a little stressed.

  At least this time, it isn’t just Luca’s memorial hammering me. It’s everything. Danielle and her crazy plan to replace my heart with a pig’s because supposedly mine is malfunctioning. The statement I was forced to give in front of my parents about how I discovered Danielle had been in my apartment, and uncovering I’m not the only Myers keeping secrets. Ayden has bucket loads of them, and Raquel’s are only just surfacing.

  I also feel guilty. Today is supposed to be about Luca, but all I’m worried about is gobbling up the scraps Alex is tossing my way before he returns to the “no touch” rule he instituted before we left for Texas. That’s why I invited him to Weston’s party. Taking him back to Texas may be my only chance of securing a second round with him.

  Ugh! Now I’m more mad than horny. I’ve never been more pathetic in my life. My momma raised me to take no shit from anyone. She knocked my dad’s pegs down an inch or two when he sauntered into her life anticipating a wallflower but discovering a tigress—and instead of emulating her, I wilted under the heat.

  Screw Alex and his above-par bedroom skills, way with words, and panty-wetting face. I was perfectly fine before he waltzed into my life, so I’ll be perfectly fine when he saunters back out.

  After scowling at the two-faced liar glaring at me in the mirror, I pivot on my heels and throw open the washroom door. I don’t make it one step out of the zesty-scented space. Alex’s imposing frame is blocking my exit. It is more rigid than usual since it is hardened with anger.

  I realize I still have a lot to learn about the man standing in front of me when he charges for me. The crash of our lips is so violent, James’s head pops through the curtains separating business class from economy. Upon spotting Alex’s fingers weaving through my hair as his tongue strokes my stunned mouth, James once again disappears into the abyss.

  In a flurry of bites and kisses, I somehow end up pinned against the wall of the bathroom with my skirt wrapped around my waist and Alex’s cock nudging between the folds of my pussy. I don’t know where my panties went. One minute they were there; the next minute they were gone.

  I call out in an erotic purr when Alex sheaths me in one quick motion. Stars blister in front of my eyes as his name topples from my lips. This is what I need. This and only this. I need to be claimed. Taken. Loved.

  As if he heard my private thoughts, Alex grunts, “The next time you need me, Rae, tell me. Don’t badger me to force a response. Don’t run from me so I have to chase you. Run to me.” He jackknifes his hips, creating a wave low in my womb. “Because no matter what you say or do, no matter how bad things get between us, I’m not going anywhere.”

  He stares straight into my eyes, the possessiveness in them piercing my heart as well as my senses. “And neither the fuck are you. Do you understand me? I’m here, Rae. I’m right fucking here.”

  He fucks me greedily, knowing my desires will subdue me enough that my heart can hear the truth in his words. The emotions powering our exchange are too much. The sensation, the energy, and the enlargement of my heart, it’s all too much. I can’t handle this. I shouldn’t be having feelings like this for any man, let alone one I hardly know. The last time I felt like this, the man I loved said he could never love me back. He killed himself the night I confessed my undying devotion, preferring to die than disappoint me.

  Alex’s thrusts slow when an unexpected sob tears from my throat. I try to cover it up with a moan, but he’s too perceptive to accept another lie. While his pumps switch from a man fucking in a wildly possessive rage to those of a man in love, he coerces my eyes to his.

  I fight his pull. I don’t want him to see me like this—defenseless and raw—but his pull is too intense. When I give him my eyes, he peers straight into them, not the least bit worried by the moisture teeming in them. He caresses my cheeks, lips, and neck with the same tenderness his cock bestows on my pussy. He accepts the utter rawness beaming from me without any hesitation crossing his features. He cherishes me, devastating lows and all.

  “I’ve got you,” he mutters when my body chooses its own response to his silent assurance by nuzzling into his neck. “And I’ll never let you go.”

  He doesn’t. He cherishes me the remainder of the flight, making me the most unhinged and vulnerable I’ve ever been.

  I knew this man was dangerous.

  It isn’t solely my life in his hands, though.

  It is my soul.

  4

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your door?”

  Regan’s eyes stray from her apartment building to me. One of the little nicks that hit my heart earlier tonight stops gushing when I fail to register any pain in her eyes. They are clear and bright, as free and open as she has been the past three hours.

  I never went into the bathroom with the intention of breaking her. I was merely banging my chest, acting moronic. It was only when our eyes met for the quickest second did I realize she wasn’t vulnerable because of Luca’s memorial or Danielle’s threat of harm. She was vulnerable because for the first time in years, her heart was open and willing to accept the numerous invitations I’ve been handing it the past forty-eight hours. She wanted to let me in.

  Although I hate seeing her so raw, it guarantees that every step I take from here on out will be a step in the right direction. She’s caught up in an investigation she doesn’t belong in. She is as innocent as Dane was that night on the hill five years ago, so I’ll do everything in my power to ensure her life isn’t impacted as badly as Dane’s was.

  I’ll even walk away from the role I was born to fill if it assures her safety.

  “It’s fine. It’s late; Danielle is in custody, and we both have important tasks to undertake tomorrow,” Regan replies, drawing me from my somber thoughts. “Besides, we have to go back to reality at some point, right?”

  “Not if you aren’t in a fantasy,” I deny, shaking my head. “This is the most real I’ve ever been. . .”

  My words trail off from Regan pressing her lips to mine. “Save the morality statement for when you’re not waking up in a made-up life with a fake license and job description.”

  Her lips curving against mine stuff my retaliation down my throat, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “I could always become an accountant? Then I can work with you and your boss crunching numbers all day.”

  The creepy feeling on my skin from mentioning Isaac isn’t as noticeable this morning. Probably more to do with the fact that Regan’s lips are hovering over mine than my dislike going away.

  She draws back so she can see my eyes. “You could, but. . .”

  She leaves me hanging as badly as she did yesterday morning.

  “But. . .?” I encourage.

  Her face screws up. “My boss has a very strict non-fraternization policy.”

  I huff to hide my desire to throw my fists into the air. “So you’ve never. . .?”

  I’d like to pretend I left my question open for her to answer how she sees fit, but in all honesty, I can’t stomach the idea of her with Isaac, much less articulate it, meaning the gag that ended my question was very much real.

  The bile scorching my throat eases when she answers, “God no. That’d be like having sex with my. . .” Her reply stalls as quickly as my question, her gag as authentic as mine.

  She takes a few seconds to clear the horrified expression from her face before asking, “What about you? Have you ever played office shuffle with your boss?”

  The crinkle her nose gets when she is jealous is fucking adorable—adorable enough for me to smash our mouths together. I kiss her long enough to quench my desire to have her beneath me for another thirty seconds, but not long enough for her to forget our mutual interrogation.

  She arches a brow, demanding I answ
er her the very instant we stop playing tonsil hockey. “There is only one way I’ll ever lie on the same bed with my boss—when we’re buried beneath the same pile of dirt.”

  “So your job is dangerous?” Regan stammers out, hearing something in my confession I didn’t mean to reveal.

  I shouldn’t love the worry clouding her eyes, but I do. “Yes,” I reply honestly. “But not in a way I can’t handle.”

  My cocky affirmation alleviates the fret brewing in her eyes, but it doesn’t wholly erase it. “Is your position to blame for the scar on your knee?”

  The air sucks from my lungs. I try to speak, but I’m lost for words. We’ve fooled around three times in a little under twenty-four hours, but with the exception of the time she scared the living daylights out of me, she’s never seen me fully naked.

  Not even two seconds later, reality smacks into me. “Ah, you saw my scar when you were on your knees.”

  Regan rakes her teeth over her lower lip, her pose as seductive as her scent. “I wanted to ask you about it then, but I was a little occupied.”

  I clutch my chest, feigning battle wounds. “A little occupied. Dear god, please save my ego.”

  She rolls her eyes, taking my comment as I intended: playfully.

  “I’m sure your ego is perfectly fine.” Her lustful eyes glide down my body in a slow and purposeful probe, only stopping when they reach the wound responsible for my six-month stint in rehabilitation. “Did it hurt?”

  I wait for her eyes to return to mine before shaking my head. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” Wounds doctors couldn’t heal are my biggest battle—some I’m still battling to this very day. “Does my scar bother you?”

  Regan’s brows furrow. “Why would it bother me?” Her eyes dance between mine before she mutters, “Visible scars have nothing on the ones people can’t see.” She leans in close, bringing her nose to within an inch of mine. “Besides, scars are as sexy as fuck because only big, strong, sexy men have them.” Her growled words have my cock thickening as rapidly as my tongue.

  After giving me a flirty wink acknowledging she’s seen the growth in my pants, she twists her torso, throws open the back passenger door of the cab we’re sitting in, then graciously slips out. I spot her tease from a mile out. She’s leaving me hanging—again.

  Her saunter to her apartment building slows when I roll down the cab window and shout, “Will I ever live it down?!”

  “Not any time this century,” she replies, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that she knows me better than anyone. “You don’t kiss a girl like me then run off like I gave you cooties without suffering the consequences.”

  “But we share the same cooties now. Doesn’t that mean my penance has been paid?”

  That forces her to turn around and face me. With a grin as devilishly wicked as her beautiful face, she replies, “I don’t know? Maybe we should discuss it over a bottle of wine this evening?”

  Even though the dip in her tone reveals her hesitation to ask me on a date, her confidence doesn’t falter in the slightest.

  “What time? I’m not sure how late I’ll be tonight.”

  I wish I were lying. Standard work hours aren’t a thing for FBI agents, much less when one is about to confess to half a decade of sins.

  Not turned off by the unease in my tone, Regan suggests, “Come around when you’ve finished.”

  “It could be late,” I warn her honestly.

  I’m ready to hand in my badge immediately when Regan replies, “That’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Right?”

  The relief that crosses her face when I nod makes my chest swell.

  After a final wave, she enters the door the doorman is holding open for her. I wait until she is whisked away in the elevator of her apartment building before signaling for the taxi driver to go. Before he gets two feet from the curb, the door Regan exited only minutes ago pops back open. A small part of me—mainly my egotistical side—is hoping it is Regan. Unfortunately, my luck appears to have run dry today.

  “Theresa, what the hell are you doing here?”

  After requesting for the cab driver to circle the block, Theresa swings her narrowed eyes my way. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It is. . .” Her eyes drop to the expensive timepiece circling her wrist. “. . . 3 AM. I’m all about the early bird catching the worm, but you’re not scheduled until tomorrow morning. And as much as we wish it weren’t the case, Ms. Myers isn’t known for her early morning theatrics. Her after-hours antics, though. . .” The mocking laugh she uses to finalize her sentence raises my hackles.

  “That’s not true. The surveillance team hasn’t spotted Regan with any companions the previous two months.” My teeth grit from my tone dipping at the “companions” part of my statement.

  “Hmm. True.” Theresa taps her index finger on her painted lips. She is either starting her day early or hasn’t laid yesterday to rest just yet. “It’s quite comical when you think about it. Just as you started working her case, Ms. Myers’ long list of men tapered off. Anyone would swear she was aware she is under surveillance.”

  Even knowing she is goading me doesn’t stop me from retaliating, “There has never been a list. I scoured the reports you gave me with a fine-toothed comb. Other than being photographed having brunch with Isaac, no other male associates have been noted in Regan’s file.”

  “Until now,” Theresa adds on, her voice arching as high as her penciled brow.

  Tension runs through my veins when she thrusts a manila folder into my hand. I don’t need to open it to know what is inside. The sardonic expression on her face answers all my questions. Smug bitch.

  Recognizing I have no intention to hammer the final nail in my coffin, Theresa throws open the confidentially marked document. A knot tightens in my stomach as I scan the photos inside. The dozen or more snapshots don’t just reveal the kiss Regan and I shared in the back of a taxi mere minutes ago; they’re a timeline of our trip to Texas—romp in a grassy field and all.

  Our pull and thrust routine of the past forty-eight hours is displayed in vivid detail: the tears she shed in the plane when memories of Luca became too much, our argument near the tree that claimed Luca’s life. Even the leverage her mother’s Jeep gained when we were launched into the air are displayed in graphic detail.

  “I must say, I didn’t think you had it in you. When I told you to go in hard, this wasn’t what I was anticipating,” Theresa mocks as her eyes absorb a picture of Regan and me wrestling in the cow dung-stained meadow.

  “So. . .” She snaps the folder shut and pries it out of my hand, which is virtually impossible with how hard I am clutching it. “The next question is, where do we go from here?”

  I expect her to demand my resignation be on her desk by 9 AM, but she shocks me for the second time in under ten minutes when she says, “You’ve knocked down her wall of trust; now you need to weasel your way into her inner circle.”

  My eyes snap to Theresa’s. “What? I wasn’t with Regan to—”

  “What are you saying, Alex? Spit it out. We’re all friends here.” Although she is demanding I speak, she continues talking, “Are you saying your actions this weekend weren’t for the good of the agency? That you soiled not only the reputation of the Bureau but the legacy of your family for that? A romp in a grassy field with a woman way below your league?”

  I don’t usually react in anger. Theresa is making me reconsider more than just my position in her team. I’ve also never had the desire to smack a woman before, but once again, Theresa has me considering a new approach.

  “Is that what you’re saying, Alex? Surely I’m mistaken. You’re a dedicated agent—a highly sought-after member of my team.” The sneer in her praise ensures I can’t mistake it as sincere. “You don’t break the rules for anyone because you understand what’s at stake. Am I right?”

  My lips move, but not a word escapes them. In this very moment, I recognize Theresa’s game plan. She’s not an ask questions, hope for a good respons
e agent. She crash tackles her mark, stunning them with half-assed assumptions in such quick succession, they believe they’re factual. That shit doesn’t work with me. Why? Because it’s the process I usually run with.

  Although my silence should reveal to Theresa her game plan is up, she refuses to acknowledge it. She continues chipping at my armor until she produces a hit so hard, it winds me.

  “This isn’t just about you and a five-year long obsession, Alex. This goes way deeper than that.” She smiles in a way that displays the evil running through her veins before handing me a second folder. “If you’ve truly placed Ms. Myers above your legacy and your team, this may force you to reconsider your objective.”

  My nostrils flare when I scan the article inside the folder. It is the contract I negotiated with the Bureau for Dane to be placed on Theresa’s team as a consultant. It is up for renewal at the end of the month.

  “Dane has nothing to do with this.” My words mince through grinding teeth. “He’s an agent—”

  “Was an agent.”

  I continue talking as if Theresa never spoke, “Who has given countless years of service to the Bureau. His family relies on this money, Theresa. They can’t survive on his disability insurance. He lives in the most expensive state in the country.”

  Blood floods my cheeks when Theresa says sardonically, “I guess he’ll have to move.”

  “Move?! He can’t move. It cost hundreds of thousands of dollars to have his house fitted with the equipment he needs to live a standard life. He’s over six feet tall; his wife can’t be expected to carry him up a set of stairs.”

  She looks down at me, her hideous, evil eyes scanning my face. “All facts you should have considered before traveling miles across the country with a target—”

  “Regan isn’t a target!” My voice is so loud, a lady entering a bakery next to us balks. After calming the anger scorching my veins with a few quick breaths, I say more respectfully, yet sternly, “She is a victim caught up in a world she doesn’t belong in.”