by Becky Flade
“Your date is gay.” His breath fanned over her cheek.
“It’s not a date. He’s a friend and we’re celebrating a big victory he had today.” She put her hands on her hips because, other than touching him, she wasn’t sure what to do with them. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That’s why he looks familiar. He’s been all over the news with a RICO trial.”
“Will you let me go now?”
“Am I making you uncomfortable?”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
He leaned closer. He smelled like she remembered. Her heart pumped, and she cursed it a traitor.
“What are you doing?”
“Proving something to myself.”
He stepped back. She tried to walk away with dignity, but she was embarrassed and confused. She’d wanted him to kiss her. She sat and ordered another round. Ed shook his head.
“No thanks. Jake called while you were in the ladies room. There was a multi-vehicle accident on the Boulevard, and he’s on his way into surgery. Since my significant other and designated driver isn’t making it, I’m done drinking.”
“I’m sorry. This is your celebration. How about we drive to my house, park the car, and walk back? You can crash at my place tonight.”
“Sweetheart, that’s a lovely thought, but I’m sleeping in my own bed where my man can find me when he does get home.”
“You want to call it a night?”
“No way. I don’t need to be drunk to have a good time. You almost never get out of the house. While I, on the other hand, have a thriving social life. You’re going to get lit and tell me what happened in that dark little corner between you and Mr. Blue Eyes.”
“Shut up.” She did his shot while he laughed at her. And she stared at Jayson on the other side of the room.
He looked at home behind the bar, serving drinks and chatting up locals. He looked at ease everywhere. The man’s a chameleon. No wonder DEA tagged him for undercover work. She knew other people were attracted to his confidence. She also knew the depth of insecurity he harbored. His childhood left him damaged and yearning for family. He kept a tight rein on the well of violence he’d inherited. His fear of becoming his father surpassed all others. He turned as though he felt her. She looked away first.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. I would be shocked if you woke up alone tomorrow. Shocked and grossly disappointed in the both of you.”
“It’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated. The almost lip-lock over by the bathroom was steamy enough, but the little eye-bang the two of you just engaged in damn near burned up the whole bar. It got me going, and I don’t do boy on girl.” He leaned close. “What’s wrong with having a good time? If anyone deserves to, it’s you.”
“He is Brady’s father.”
“Duh. I didn’t need him to tell me that. An idiot could see the resemblance, and I’m not an idiot. I’m not telling you to marry the man. I know casual sex isn’t your thing and I understand why not. But tall, dark and sexy over there presents a unique opportunity. He’s not a stranger, he isn’t a threat to Brady, and from what I’ve seen you know the sex is worth it.”
“This is no longer up for discussion. In fact, my sex life is never up for discussion unless I bring it up first. Got it?”
“Sure thing, counselor.” He looked Jayson over again; made a noise of approval in his throat. “A man can dream.”
“I’m telling Jake.” She tucked her tongue in her cheek and stifled the threatening laughter.
“Go ahead. I’m allowed to look. Especially at straight guys.”
She gave up and laughed. She snuck another peek at Jayson through her lashes. Was he slowly making his way down this end? He had a hint of a smile on his face and the devil in his eyes. He’s as dangerous now as he’d been six years ago.
She looked away. What are you thinking?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The bar had closed for the night, but being friends with the owners held certain perks. After Ed went home to wait for his husband, she’d called Retta and they’d been doing their best to drink their weight in tequila. She washed up, made a face at her reflection in the mirror, and strolled out to find her friend gone. “Ret?”
“Tim took her home.” Jayson explained, “She fell off the stool.”
“We had fun.”
He put two glasses and two bottles up on the bar.
“I should get going. It’s late.”
“I promised the boss I’d get you home. You’ll have to wait.” He poured whiskey into one glass and tequila in the other. “Have a drink with me.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Walk you home or have a drink with you?”
“Either. Both. What are you doing?”
“Being sociable.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “It’s one drink.”
She felt silly. He knows I’m competitive. This is a challenge. And she took the bait. Damn him. She picked up the tequila. “I’ll help you lock up.”
“Sláinte.” He raised his glass, and she tapped hers to it before they tossed back the liquor.
“I’ve been thinking about the things you said when I was sick, and I owe you an apology. You used to wear your heart on your sleeve. I didn’t realize how good you’d gotten at masking your emotions. I thought, well doesn’t matter because I should’ve known you weren’t okay. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I need to say something else. Twice now you’ve called what we shared my cover story. That’s not true. I wanted to be with you. It was risky and dangerous, and I should’ve waited to pursue a relationship with you. I acknowledge that. But I won’t apologize because it gave us both Brady. We know what we had.” His eyes flashed. “I don’t ever want to hear you minimize it again.”
She nodded, gulped more of her drink than she intended and gasped as the tequila seared her throat. I was wrong. He’s more dangerous now. She wasn’t frightened. The light of anger and shimmer of violence in his eyes didn’t intimidate.
“What happened when you were in college in Baltimore? How did you end up with the Drug Enforcement Agency?”
“I majored in pre-law…”
“You’re kidding?”
“I majored in pre-law with a minor in criminal justice. Had an idea I’d be a prosecutor. Fate has a sense of humor.” He smiled. “I attended a seminar on the history of organized crime investigations and the resulting prosecutions hosted by a visiting lecturer, former University of Baltimore alum and the then special agent in charge of the Philadelphia field office, Robert Williams.”
Sitting in the quiet bar, sharing a drink with him, talking, it felt like a date. He knows everything about me and he’s always been a mystery. I had the real him, but not the whole truth. I’m finally getting to know him.
“I cornered Bob afterwards, I had a lot of questions, and he invited me for coffee. A couple weeks later he called. He’d taken the liberty of looking into my background. Thought I was uniquely suited for an undercover assignment here. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“I thought you said Frank Stedman was responsible for what happened?”
“He is. I don’t think any of it would’ve happened if Bob hadn’t been promoted.” He poured another two fingers of whiskey into his glass and without asking added more tequila to hers. “Anything else you want to know?”
“Why are you tending bar?”
He tossed back his drink. “I quit. The day I met Brady.”
“I’m sorry.”
He turned his hand until his palm met hers. It was a light gesture; he didn’t try to link their fingers. But the contact vibrated up the length of her arm. She took a sip of her drink and prayed her racing pulse would quiet. “What needs to be done before we can get out of here?”
“Turn out the lights.”
“Did you look for me?”
“Not at first. Stubborn pride and all that. Bu
t when I found out I was pregnant, I swallowed my ego and tried to find you. You did a first rate job at disappearing.”
“I was in Jersey overseeing expansion into Camden, Trenton, and up the expressway into New York. I couldn’t be here and not be with you.” He set down his empty glass. “Ready?”
She downed the last of the tequila and nodded. He released her hand. She rubbed it against her hip as she followed him. He swept his hand over the row of lights, casting the space in gloom. Sexy things happened in the dark.
“Would you have kissed me earlier?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Depended on you.” He locked the door.
“What the hell kind of answer is that?”
“You’ve been clear—you don’t want me to touch you. If you want me to kiss you, or anything else,” he smiled, “you’re going to have to ask.”
“I didn’t ask you to hold my hand.”
Why am I arguing this with him?
“You initiated. Held mine first.”
“So by ask you mean…”
“Ask outright or make the first move.”
She gaped at his back as he sauntered away. Am I annoyed, amused, aroused? Why can’t things between me and Jayson ever be simple? She hurried after him.
“My house is that way.”
“I know. My place is this way and one block over, where my car happens to be parked. It’s late, and getting chilly and you don’t have a jacket. I’ll drive you home.”
“Thanks.” She fell in beside him. “I haven’t seen you on the bike since that first day.”
“Hard to parent on the back of a motorcycle. But I ride most every day.”
“Did you want to?”
“Did I want to what?”
“Kiss me.”
Her voice had been soft, but late as it was, she might as well have screamed the words. He turned, stuck his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the roof of the car. I know him too. It was his casual pose when what was going on inside him felt anything but casual. She couldn’t see his eyes; the streetlight behind him cast his face in shadows. This is embarrassing. She looked at her feet.
“Look at me.”
She couldn’t ever remember him talking to her like that. Even the arguments they had, he’d never used that rough voice with her. Her head snapped up, and her anger flashed out.
“That’s better. You want to hear me say what you already know? You want me to beg? Is that it? Not going to happen. I told you how I felt, told you what I wanted the day I came back.”
She remembered. I love you. I’ve always loved you. He wouldn’t beg, but his feelings hadn’t changed. She wished she felt the same.
“I can’t give you what you want.”
“Then take what you need.”
She took the two steps necessary to close the gap between them. She placed her palms on his shoulders and leaned close. I’ve got to be out of my mind. She feathered her lips across his and with a sense of homecoming she hadn’t expected, she sunk into the caress on a soft moan. He growled and his arms banded around her. He whipped around, bracing her back against the car and plundering her mouth. She’d asked. He answered.
Her fingers knotted in his hair. I’m on fire. I need air. She pulled her mouth free and sucked in the night breeze. His lips fell to the exposed column of her throat. Her head fell back to the roof of the car, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. She moaned, and he ground his erection into her pelvis. “Let’s go inside.”
“Inside.” His hands slid into her blouse.
She laughed. Then she choked on a moan when he teased her nipples through the satin of her bra. She yanked his head back by his hair. “In. The. House.”
He wrapped an arm around her bottom and ran up the steps with her. She held on, panicked and thrilled, as he shoved his key in the lock. The door opened. He staggered inside, his mouth on hers again. He kicked the door shut and they toppled toward the stairs. She landed sprawled over his chest.
“Are you okay?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled her shirt up over her head. She watched it flutter to the floor and then looked down at him. “Guess so.”
She tore at his shirt until it joined her blouse. Scars littered his chest. The old ones were familiar, but the new ones marked the passage of time. His fingertip ran over her surgical scar. It had been fresh and angry the last time he’d touched her. We’ve lost too much. It isn’t fair.
He cradled her on his lap, claiming her lips. Sensation, passion, lust swirled throughout her system. His hands cascaded over her body, and everywhere he touched, she burned. The regret, the grief, the pain turned to cinders as she squirmed with unfulfilled need. He stood and carried her up the steps.
He carried her to his room and sat with her on his lap. His arousal pushed against her. She raked her nails across taut muscles. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed until she stood between his open thighs. She stripped until she wore her panties and bra. She reached for him, but he pulled back.
“All of it.”
She reached back and released the clasp on her bra. It fell to the floor between them. Then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and hesitated. His eyes were on her face, not her hands, not her underwear. Another challenge. Another dare. He said I’d have to come to him. He meant it. She pushed the elastic over her hips, and the soft cotton slipped to her ankles.
He groaned like a man in pain, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her onto the bed. He kissed her hard before moving down her throat, using his teeth on her collarbone. His hands were rough, impatient on her breasts and hips. I’ll have marks tomorrow. Her nails cut grooves in his back. He’ll have marks tomorrow. She loosened his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and snaked a hand inside his boxers to find the heat she sought.
“Jesus.”
She loosed a throaty laugh and took his mouth. With her free hand, she unzipped his fly and pushed his jeans off his slender waist. She bent a knee, hooked her foot in the crotch of his pants, and then straightened her leg, stripping him. They laughed together.
“Condom?”
He leaned over and pulled open a drawer in the table next to the bed. She licked a flat brown nipple and watched it pebble. When she ran her nails down his back and across his buttocks, gooseflesh popped along his skin. She tugged the nipple with her teeth. The foil wrapper tore.
He stared down at her. His face was inscrutable. He lay between her thighs. They were heat to heat, a breadth from being joined. What are you waiting for? She tried to move, but he held her against the mattress with his hand.
“Are you sure?”
She cupped his face in both hands, pulled his mouth to hers and when their lips met, she pivoted her hips and made them one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A commotion outside her office door pulled her focus from the file she reviewed. For the most part, work days were sedate. It is a law office at its base, but since they did deal with prosecuting juvenile offenders there were times when emotions ran high. She crossed to and opened the door. Her secretary was, with much futility, trying to calm Max Frye’s furious mother. This is just what I need today.
“Ms. Frye? How can I help you?”
“Social Services took my boy. They won’t tell me where he is. I know you had something to do with it.”
“Ma’am, it is my understanding Social Services had opened an investigation into Max’s home situation some time before the events leading to my office’s involvement. Although that situation was resolved to everyone’s satisfaction, it held no bearing on the open file held by your child’s case worker. That was handled by her. My office had no part in her decision. A decision I wasn’t aware of until this moment when you told me.”
“Then how’d you know his case worker’s a woman?”
“Something like ninety percent of the case workers in this county are women.” Two security officers weaved through the desks behind Ms. Frye.
“You’re a lying bitch.” The angry mother lunged.
“You think you’re better than me, you uptight whore. We’ll see how low you are when your son’s gone.”
She took two long steps toward the restrained woman when a hand grasped her shoulder. She tried to shake it off. A second hand took her other forearm.
“Enough,” Brian Peach, her boss and the Assistant District Attorney in charge of the Juvenile Justice Division, declared. “Get that woman out of here. I want her arrested for attempted assault and making terroristic threats. We let it go before. That was the last time. Parker—with me.”
“Are you all right?” He closed the door behind him.
“No, I’m not. She threatened my son.”
“I heard, and yes, it could be perceived as a threat against your boy, which is why she was arrested. Did you have anything to do with social services placing her son in foster care?”
“No. Max Frye’s defense attorney gave his case worker a formal statement about what happened in my office. I was asked, by social services, for my version of those events. And I checked with the ethics coordinator as to what I could or could not say based on the still, at the time, pending possibility of a lawsuit by Ms. Frye.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” She looked at her watch. “I don’t have time for this. I have a Motion hearing in less than an hour.”
“The Marshal case?”
She nodded and walked to the door. She had her hand on the knob when he spoke.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
She sat in her car in the driveway staring up at the kitchen window. No one was home. She’d called Jayson and asked him to relieve Mrs. Cunningham when she’d realized she’d be late. He’d been happy to oblige and took Brady to his place. They were on their way; she’d called when she left the office. She didn’t want to go into the dark house alone, but didn’t want Jayson to come upon her in the driveway. Being a coward is one thing; getting caught being a coward is another.
