by Chloe Cole
After another minute, he filled the silence with idle chatter about school and some papers he needed to grade. She listened with half an ear and responded when it was required, but her mind was elsewhere.
Her mind was on Mick Tucker.
…
Tuck slid back into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. He slumped forward, resting his head on the wheel. He tried not to picture Cricket’s face when he told her he wasn’t feeling well. Disappointed but resigned. He was disappointing her already.
What were the fucking odds, though? Two hundred miles from New York City and he runs into fucking Skeet McAllister. And not while he was alone. Oh, no. That would have been way too easy. It had to be when he was with Cricket.
Nausea roiled in his stomach as he tried to sort his thoughts. In his peripheral vision, he could see the light in her living room click on. It wouldn’t do for her to look out the window and see him still parked there. The last thing he needed to do was add to her suspicions. He sat back and started the truck, then pulled away from the curb.
His mind was reeling.
Focus.
Okay, so what to do first? He needed to call Samuels and tell him. And then what? Move? Start over?
Not what he wanted. But this was bad. Really bad. It would have been different if some guy thought he knew him and said, “Hey, Bob Jones, right?” He might have been able to play that one off. He was nothing if not a good actor. But the fact that Skeet had called him out as Mick Tucker? That seemed downright shady. Not to mention his strange reaction. If his mind hadn’t been addled with sex, he would have been able to think more quickly on his feet. And Cricket was way too sharp not to have noticed.
Fucking Samuels. He was all, “Witnesses are advised to keep their first names or initials when possible.” Supposedly it jogged the memory or some nonsense. Tuck had tried to tell him he’d be fine using a totally made-up name. Shit, he’d been using them his whole life. But Samuels had persisted. Said it would keep him from making mistakes, not turning his head when called, or signing paperwork wrong.
Tuck had finally agreed, but he’d chosen to use his last name as his first name, going by the logic that he’d answer to it just as he had on the football field in high school. But at least he wouldn’t be Mick anymore.
And more than anything, he hadn’t wanted to be Mick anymore.
He smashed his hand against the wheel and let out a string of curses.
…
Cricket sat in front of her computer and swallowed the bile that rose to burn her throat. The newspaper headline leaped off the screen, the bold, black print in stark relief against the harsh white background.
Career Confidence Man Mick “The Mick” Tucker
Murdered by the Mob
The verdict is in. Jimmy “the Face” Mancini has been convicted of first-degree murder in the case of The State v. Mancini. This is expected to be the first of many trials as Mancini is just one of four men suspected of involvement in the premeditated murder of Mick Tucker.
This was a huge win for the New York City District Attorney’s Office as it represents the first major victory in the war against the Mancini crime family. The alleged don of the family, Jimmy Mancini faces up to eighty years for his crimes, which include racketeering, conspiracy to commit murder, and twelve other charges.
The key witness for the prosecution was Mick’s son, Mick Jr. Only eighteen at the time of the murder, the younger Tucker had allegedly been his father’s accomplice since he was a child. Unsubstantiated reports from several of The Mick’s self-proclaimed colleagues who spoke under the guarantee of anonymity claim the boy was a key player and was orchestrating elaborate cons by the age of eight.
While juvenile files are sealed, according to reports, Mick Jr. allegedly spent some of his formative years in Rockland Home for Troubled Youth, usually coinciding with the times his father was in prison.
Despite his rocky relationship with the law, Tucker held up well on the stand. His emotional testimony, including his account of the brutal killing, clearly affected the jurors. In spite of the district attorney’s attempts to persuade him to move directly from protective custody into the witness protection program after the trial, Tucker declined, opting to return to his family home.
The screen blurred, and Cricket closed her laptop with a snap, eyes burning with unshed tears. She refused to embrace her instinctive horror at Tuck’s upbringing. If she allowed herself to examine that and really think of what he’d been through, she would fall apart.
She needed to focus on his actions and the choices he’d made as a grown man. And from where she was sitting, it sure seemed like the apple had fallen right next to the tree. According to the article, he hadn’t gone into witness protection. So why was he living under a different name? Her stomach cramped as she mentally ran through the possibilities. Was this whole “professor” thing just another elaborate con of some kind? And worse, was he putting their students in danger?
He’d duped the university into thinking he was a professor, duped the students, and, no matter how she turned it and as much as it made her face burn with shame, the fact was that he’d duped her, too. He’d pretended to be this nice, unassuming guy. Then when he’d had the opening, he made his move. And she was so stupid, she’d made it easy for him. Cricket Malloy, the perfect mark.
She should have known better. Only a bad boy could make her feel that good. She was so dysfunctional, she could pick them even if they were in disguise.
What had she gotten herself into?
…
Tuck stared at the letters on her office door.
Dr. Eleanor Malloy, PhD
It had been two days, and he still hadn’t been able to make himself call her. But it wasn’t about what was comfortable for him right now. She had the right to know the truth, straight from him. But if he told her, why would she ever want to be with him again?
She wouldn’t. A lump lodged in his throat and he swallowed hard. And it didn’t matter, she still needed to know. He wasn’t that guy anymore. The guy who spoke more lies than truths. The guy who took and took and never gave. The guy who shattered people’s dreams for profit and a thrill. That guy was dead and gone, sharing a grave with the man who created him.
His temples pounded, and he tried to hold back the flood of bitterness and sadness that warred inside of him every time he thought of The Mick.
“Okay, boyo. Ya ready? Yeah? Good lad. Let’s go over it one more time. What’s yer name?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and blocked out the voice ringing in his head.
Then he mustered the courage to bring his fist down and rap on the wooden door. Cricket opened it a few endless seconds later. She looked like shit. The skin under her eyes was thin and bruised. Her cheeks were almost devoid of color.
He was too late.
“Just tell me, Tuck.” Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. “Is it just me you fooled? Are you even a real professor?”
His mouth worked, but he couldn’t make the words come.
Her voice grew shrill. “Goddammit, these are people’s lives you’re screwing with. I can accept that you used me. I cannot accept you using this school and these students.”
As much as he deserved her anger and mistrust, her words rained down on him like razor blades.
“You realize, of course, I have no choice but to report you to the dean. I have an appointment with him in thirty minutes.”
Tuck didn’t respond as nausea threatened. He handed her the sheaf of papers clutched in his hand, turned on his heel, and walked out.
…
Cricket lay on her living room floor, scattered paper surrounding her, as it all sank in. Tuck’s note had been bad enough, but the clippings and the newspaper articles had made it so much worse. Speculation on crime after crime, all linked to his father. Then a few more after his father’s death, with speculation that Tuck was following in his footsteps. But he hadn’t done it
for long. Because in spite of his refusal, something had finally clicked in him, and he’d entered the witness protection program six months after the trial.
She looked down and read the last couple paragraphs of the letter one more time.
I didn’t go into the program because I was afraid of the mob. With Mancini out of the picture, things unraveled fast, and I don’t think anyone was even looking for me. I did it because I was ashamed of myself. Ashamed of everything my dad and I had done. I wanted to start fresh with a new name, and a new life. One without all the grime on it. One I could be proud of. But my past is something I will never truly be able to outrun. And even after I started over, I pretended to be someone I’m not, then tricked you into being with me. Because deep down I guess I’m still that same guy who will do anything to get what he wants. And I wanted you so bad. Even worse? I wouldn’t take it back, because being with you is the most honest thing I’ve done in almost eleven years. I only wish I deserved to know you and have you in my life. —Tuck
She pressed her hand over lips and jumped to her feet. He wasn’t getting off that easy.
By the time she got to his house, her stomach felt like a net full of butterflies. She knocked on the door and waited. The sound of footsteps creaked closer, and she steeled herself as the door opened. Tuck didn’t even have time to open his mouth before the words poured out of her in a rush. “If you did something when you were a kid that you can’t forgive yourself for yet, I can understand that. Everyone has regrets. But if you changed your life after all you’ve been through, then that counts for something, Tuck.”
He held her gaze with haunted eyes but didn’t step back to let her in. He hadn’t shut the door on her, so she was going to take that as a sign of encouragement. She laid her hand on his chest and swallowed hard.
“Are you a real professor?”
He drew back as though he’d been burned, and his eyes looked sad when he nodded. “Of course I am. I—”
“And you care about your students?” She waited, her own heart pounding as loud as the one beneath her fingertips.
“Very much. This job is my life now.”
“Then what’s so unforgivable? If you’re saying we can’t even give this a chance because you somehow coerced me to be with you? Don’t flatter yourself.” She forced a laugh and stepped in closer. “You may have been good at the con back in the day, but I reeled you in as much as you reeled me in. Now you owe me a night, Tucker Lamb, and I’m going to have it. If you want me to go in the morning, I won’t bother you again.”
She held her breath as she waited for his response. A long moment passed, and her stomach churned as she thought he might refuse her. And then…
“Are you sure?” he asked softly, with a shake of his head. “I’ve done some things that—”
“Who hasn’t?” she broke in with an exasperated growl. “But you’ve got to forgive yourself for that and accept yourself for who you are now.” She trailed her hand lower and let her breath fan his. “A good man who is also a bad boy.”
She craned her neck upward to see his response, but he never spoke. Instead his eyes went dark and needy, and he reached out and slid his hand into the waistband of her shorts, using them to pull her into his living room before kicking the door shut behind him.
He was on her in an instant, unsnapping her cutoffs and shoving them roughly down her legs, stopping at the back of her knees to caress her lightly there before moving back up her body.
“Take this off,” he growled as he grabbed the neck of her T-shirt with both hands and pulled it over her head, baring her to his heated gaze. She hadn’t taken the time to put on a bra, so she stood before him naked but for her underwear.
“God, your tits are gorgeous.” He groaned as if he were in pain.
He wrapped a fist in her long hair and pulled, turning her head hard to one side. He bit her neck as he parted her legs with his hand.
He backed her up until her legs pressed against the soft velvet of the couch and she sat. With slow deliberation, he hooked a finger on either side of her underwear and dragged them down over her legs. He tossed them aside and faced her, staring down as if he’d been invited to enjoy his last meal.
…
Cricket’s sex glistened just inches from his mouth. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and drown in her. Instead he held back, teasing her, drawing it out. If this was the only time they had together, he wanted them both to remember it.
He closed his teeth on the flesh of her hip, then her thighs.
“What is it? Tell me what you want,” he whispered.
“Please put your mouth on me.”
He bent low and covered her with his tongue, lapping, then sucking. She cried out as she moved against his mouth. He quickened the pace, sucking harder, faster.
Her body stiffened, and he waited for her to shatter. Instead, she jerked away from him and sat up. She reached between them and grabbed his cock through his jeans and squeezed.
“I need to touch you, too.”
“I can’t take it,” he rasped. But he stood and thrust his jeans off. He pressed her back, positioning himself between her legs. He halted and let out a vicious curse.
“I’ll be right back. No condom.”
She reached down to pick up her shorts and a row of five unfurled in her hand.
“You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”
She pulled him close, rubbing her breasts over his torso and stomach as he fumbled with the packet. He finally got it covered and she was there waiting, giving him a guided tour of her hot pussy. He slid into her an inch, then two, gritting his teeth in an effort not to thrust hard and fuck her like an animal. She would have none of it. She snapped her hips to his, taking him all in.
Her low gasp gave him pause, until she wriggled beneath him, urging him to move. He pulled back and plunged forward again, filling her, stretching her before backing away. Slow and steady, he rocked in and out, fanning the flames, drawing the anticipation out.
Then Cricket reached around and gripped his ass with both hands, pulling him into her until he was seated to the hilt. She ground against him furiously, her body knowing what it needed and taking it. His screamed for release in turn as her slick inner walls squeezed him. He matched her rhythm with long, deep strokes. They moved faster as he bent his head to lick and suck her nipple while he fucked her. That threw her over the edge, and her body tensed, tightening around him.
A keening wail built in her throat, then she shattered, convulsing around him. Shudders racked her body as she worked her clutching pussy over his cock. It was like a fist, pulling at him relentlessly until a second later he tumbled after her. He flexed deep, groaning her name as he exploded.
…
She didn’t know how long they slept, wrapped in each other on his couch, but when she woke up, it was dark. Her leg was numb, and she tried to extract herself from his hold without waking him.
“Trying to escape?” he asked, his voice husky and warm.
“Nope. Just trying to avoid the need for amputation is all.”
He laughed. “Sorry about that.”
Standing, he held out a hand to help her up.
She tried not to drool as she took in the sight of his naked body in the moonlight. His shoulders were wide, his chest tapering down to chiseled abs and lean hips. Her pulse skittered.
“Damn. Professor Lamb, you got it going on. You had way too many clothes on at the restaurant, and I only got to see bits and pieces earlier. Me likey.”
He waggled his brows playfully. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The softness in his eyes caught her, and she faced him straight. “I like you, Tuck. And I want to see where this goes.”
“I want that, too.” His face looked troubled. “But what if someone else finds out? Skeet will keep it hush-hush, and Mancini died in a prison fight last year, so I don’t think your safety is a concern, but it’s a small world. What if someone finds out? The school wouldn�
�t want that kind of publicity. I’d have to leave, start over again.” His soulful hazel eyes searched hers. “What if I can’t give you up then?”
She shrugged and shook her head slowly. Who knew exactly what the future held? All she could say for sure was that she was willing to gamble on him. “Hopefully that won’t happen. But if it does and you can’t give me up by then, it’ll be because we’re meant to be, and I’ll go with you.”
“That sounds real good.” He nodded and brushed her hair away from her forehead. “I know what you said, and I know you aren’t mad, but I want to make sure I say this. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth right from the start. But I really am different. I’ve been a good man. I want to continue to be a good man.” He gazed at her in earnest, and she caressed his cheek.
“I believe that. As long as you keep some of the bad boy, too. I like you a little bad, Tuck,” she murmured.
The serious expression gave way to a killer grin. “Well, now that you mention it, I was thinking, we have two more weeks before the projects are due. We can go to the lab and pick up the glove and maybe some whipped cream, finish those experiments…”
She laughed and pressed her mouth to his. Oh yeah, this was definitely worth a shot.
About the Author
Chloe Cole is one-half of the happiest couple in the world. She and her handsome hubby currently reside in Pennsylvania with a four-pack of teenage boys and their two dogs, Gimli and Pug. If she gets time off from her duties as maid, chef, chauffeur, or therapist, she can be found reading just about anything she can get her hands on, from young adult novels to books on poker theory. She doesn’t like root beer, clowns, or bugs (except ladybugs, on account of their cute outfits), but lurrves chocolate, going to the movies, the New York Giants, and playing Texas Hold’em. Writing is her passion, but if she had to pick another occupation, she would be a pirate…or, like, a ninja maybe. She loves writing fun and adventure-filled romance stories, but also hopes to one day publish something her dad can read without wanting to dig his eyes out with rusty spoons. Chloe also writes romance under the pen name Christine Bell. She loves to hear from readers, so please feel free to get in touch with her via her website www.christine-bell.com or connect with her on Twitter https://twitter.com/_ChristineBell
