Four Seconds to Lose ttb-3

by K. A. Tucker

  I snort. “What, are you going to pole dance on your stage for me tonight?” A visual slams into my mind and, despite how unbelievably masculine and striking Cain is, I can’t help but burst out laughing.

  Water starts splashing my face. “Stop!” I hold my hands up in defense, trying to protect myself through my continued fit of laughter. “All my makeup will streak!”

  “Good,” he throws back, his smile turning tender, his voice turning unbearably soft. “Then I’d get to see the real Charlie.”

  My laughter cuts off abruptly as I break from his eye contact. Oh, Cain . . . the deception is so much deeper than eyeliner and tinted contacts.

  “Charlie?”

  I struggle for a deep breath as I look up at him, risking a whispered question. “What if you don’t like what you see?”

  There’s a long pause, where his serious eyes explore mine and I know he’s searching for some truth, some reason for my fear, and then his hand slides behind my neck. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Charlie. You should know that. Whatever you’ve been involved in to get by is in the past. Whatever your parents may have done. You’re safe here and you can start fresh. Your slate is clean with me.”

  I believe him. If only it truly were in the past.

  He closes his mouth over mine in a devastating kiss, wrenching the breath right out of my lungs.

  From somewhere behind us, far away from this euphoric cloud I’m sinking into quickly, I hear Ben’s voice suddenly boom. “When the fuck did that happen?”

  * * *

  “To my lovely husband-to-be.” Storm stands with glass of milk raised as sparklers dance over the cake on the table in front of me. “I’m so proud of you for chasing your dreams and for choosing a noble path catching scumbags, even when the path of luxury is easier and more appealing. Congratulations on becoming Special Agent Dan Ryder!”

  Everyone lets out a cheer, including me, though I’m betting mine is the only one laced with gut-wrenching shame.

  I wave away a slice of cake and quietly excuse myself to use the bathroom, grabbing my things on the way, in order to change. Nate and Ginger went ahead to open the bar but Cain held me back, so I’m basically at his mercy. Not that I’m complaining about that, though I’d rather be at his mercy elsewhere.

  “Charlie?” Speak of the devil . . . I turn back to find Cain following me inside the house, his eyes on my ass before snapping back to my face. I don’t know if he’s just stealing those looks now or if he always was and made more of an effort to be covert about it. “What are you doing?”

  “Just getting changed. Why?”

  As he reaches me, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. One hand lifts to settle on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing over it soothingly. “You were playing with your fingertips.”

  What? My face must say it all, because he smirks. “When you’re nervous, you play with your fingertips. Not dramatically, but . . . I’ve noticed.” A serious frown passes over his features. “What made you nervous?”

  Damn perceptive man. “Nothing. I’m just not looking forward to a night of serving drinks.” Trying to play off his worry, I joke, “I’m tired. Someone kept me up all night.”

  After a long pause, a smile creeps along his lips. He lets his eyes rake over my body. “That’s too bad. I was hoping you’d let me keep you up tonight, but . . .”

  I rest my hand on my hips and school my face to seriousness. Meanwhile, excitement crawls along my skin like a quickly spreading flame. Another whole night with Cain. Just the idea is enough to weaken my knees. “Are you teasing me?”

  His mouth twists with thought before he shrugs. “It’s a nice change from the usual, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “What about the bar? Will Ginger be okay without me there?”

  His eyes roll in response. I know it was as stupid question. Ginger was doing just fine before I got there. They probably don’t even need three bartenders. As if to prove a point, he dips his head, his breath leaving a trail along the curve of my neck before he presses his mouth against my ear and whispers, “Do you really care?”

  “No.” Oh God. I sound all breathless and needy. Clearing my throat to force some composure into my voice, I add, “What will my boss say?” It’s too easy to slip into this playful role with Cain.

  Gripping my bare waist tightly, Cain settles a mock frown on me. “I’ve heard he can be quite the asshole sometimes.”

  I let a moment of silence slip, but then it becomes too much. “Okay.” I hear the surrender in my own voice. Just like that, my need for money, what my future looks like, my various dilemmas . . . all are inconsequential next to time with Cain, yet again.

  He removes his hands from my body and takes several intentional steps backward, until his back hits a nearby wall, as he attempts a discreet adjustment of himself. “You should get changed so we can get out of here. Now.”

  And I smile. I know for a fact, by the gentle nudges and hugs, that Cain has been at least semi-hard since the pool. Maybe even since I walked into Dan’s den. Now, he’s struggling to control himself. I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do. But I am enjoying it. Immensely. It’s an instant adrenaline rush.

  Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie.

  On playful impulse, I turn and swagger into the bathroom, making sure to sway my hips because I know Cain is watching. Sure enough, a glance over my shoulder confirms his eyes cast downward, his lips parted slightly.

  He remains still, his body rigid, as I make my way into the open bathroom. “Did you need anything else?” I reach back to pull the strings, releasing my bikini top from my body. His eyes widen a second before I toss the material at his face. As he’s catching it, I make quick work of my bottoms, yanking the side ties. I manage to toss the bottoms at him and slam and lock the door, a split second before he reaches it.

  “Dammit, Charlie,” I hear him growl from the other side. “Open the door. Now.”

  “Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” I sing, pulling my sundress over my head. I purse my lips against the nervous giggle that demands to escape. After the afternoon we’ve had, I’m probably not in much better shape than he is, frustration-wise. I won’t let him know that, though. This new game is too much fun.

  Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m having sex with Cain on DEA Dan’s bathroom counter and if I open the door, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

  * * *

  Cain lives in luxury. I mean, top-floor, double-story, panoramic-view-of-the-water luxury. The place is sleek and modern, sparse one may say, but the second I step into it, it feels like Cain.

  “Come,” he beckons, reaching out to take my hand gently. Cain has calmed down since I took my time, refreshing my makeup and fixing my hair, before finally emerging from the bathroom at Storm and Dan’s.

  He leads me through the kitchen, into a gorgeous living room. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and anticipation as we climb the stairs and he leads me into a plain all-white bedroom with a king-sized bed and a spectacular view through a complete wall of windows, the city offering enough of a glow within the room that there’s no need for additional light.

  I watch as Cain shuts the door, as his fingers flip the lock.

  He walks over to his dresser. Without a word, he calmly unfastens his watch and places it down on the dresser’s surface. Next come the contents of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, some loose change. He places rather than tosses each item. It’s quite methodical, as if he does it every night, and though there’s nothing particularly enticing about the steps, blood begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain do it.

  Grasping the hem of his shirt, he slips it up over his head.

  I’m not sure if he wants me watching him like this. Am I supposed to be doing the same? I glance at the large, neatly made bed and I wonder absently if Cain has had women standing in this very spot, watching him do this very same thing. I wonder how often.

  And then I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, scolding
myself, knowing that it’s just my subconscious trying to sabotage my time with him. Or trying to protect me from falling any farther.

  I’m beginning to believe that the depths to which a woman could fall for Cain are endless. To a deep, dark, infinite pit with no ladders to get away, no cushions to soften the impact.

  No safety net.

  No escape.

  With a deep, calming breath, I open my eyes. Cain is standing in front of me.

  chapter twenty-seven

  * * *

  CAIN

  I’m not afraid of anything, yet I think I’m afraid of Charlie.

  Not afraid of her.

  Afraid of having her.

  Of losing her.

  To what, I don’t know yet because she won’t talk to me. But I can’t ignore the sick feeling in my gut that Charlie is deeply conflicted and that I may lose her because of it.

  She’s hiding something. Herself, maybe. Some truth, most definitely. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m seeing the real Charlie half the time. Not many people surprise me anymore and Charlie keeps surprising me. In the past forty-eight hours, she has surprised me at least a dozen different times. One second she’s shyly tensing against my touch, the next she’s stroking my cock when there are five people at the other end of the pool. One second her lip is quivering as a silent, inexplicable battle goes on within her and the next, she’s whipping her bikini bottoms at me with a lascivious grin.

  And now, here she is in my bedroom, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. And I sense her mood has shifted once again. It seems to shift with the snap of a finger.

  Sometimes I feel myself getting past the superficial exterior to the person underneath, only to question whether it’s just another facade. Sometimes I wonder if I know anything about her at all. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who she really is.

  None of that scares me away. If anything, it’s just pulling me in deeper. No woman has ever thrown me off balance like this before, made me feel like I’m losing control.

  She’s hiding something and I’m guessing it’s something painful. I know I told her I don’t care and I don’t, but, fuck it, I want to know what it is. I’d rather just get it all out in the open and move on. She’s clearly still afraid. I mean, if there was ever a chance for her to admit to something, wouldn’t it have been last night, during my own purging? It should have been so easy for her to explain who Ronald Sullivan is to her, why he was ready to smash her face in. But she continues to pretend that it didn’t happen.

  I’m thinking of getting John here to tail that fucker until I get answers. I’m thinking of stopping by Sullivan’s house and holding him down by the throat until I get answers, faster.

  “What?” The question slips softly from her lips as her eyes slide over my chest. She hasn’t stopped doing that all night.

  I reach up to smooth my knuckles over her cheek, freshly made up after being in the pool. I wish she’d just wash it all off. I wish she’d take those damn contacts off, too. My mouth opens, the demand on the tip of my tongue, when she shut her eyes and leans into my touch, her full lips parting slightly. I feel her hot breath against my skin, bringing a throb to my balls, reminding me how long today really has been.

  What a single-minded asshole I can be, sometimes.

  I really can’t wait any longer.

  With my help, her dress hits the ground soundlessly. She remains still, watching me as I unclasp her bra and peel her panties off without ceremony until, in less than thirty seconds, she’s naked for me again.

  I’m practically salivating.

  Her fingers reach forward for my belt but I grab them and ease her down to sit on my bed. She watches as I remove my own pants directly in front of her, sliding my boxer briefs over yet another raging hard-on that Charlie has given me.

  Her eyes flash wide for a second before she schools them. Even in the darkness—lit only by the city lights outside—I can see the blush.

  The woman has removed her own clothes onstage in front of hundreds of men and yet she blushes at the sight of me, naked.

  I fight the urge to laugh. What an unpredictable woman! It’s frustrating, but . . . I also love it. “Give me a minute?” I ask, not waiting for an answer as I head out the door. I try not to run. She’s still perched on the edge of the bed when I come back with a strip of condoms hanging from my grasp. “Sorry, I don’t keep any in here,” I explain.

  A light frown curves across her forehead. “Where do you keep them?”

  I sigh as I take in those creamy-skinned, muscular thighs, waiting to be pushed apart. I don’t really want to explain this right now. In the spare room . . . in the kitchen cupboard next to the fridge . . . in the side table of the living room . . . on my main floor balcony. Everywhere that I fuck women.

  I don’t fuck women in my bedroom.

  Tossing them onto the nightstand beside the bed, I stand naked in front of her, letting her take me all in for a moment. And she does, her lips parted slightly. I can hear her shallow breaths. Lifting her chin with my index finger until she meets my gaze, I explain in an even voice, “I’ve never invited anyone in here.” As if that isn’t clear enough, I add, “You’re the only woman who’s ever come near this bed.”

  I hold her gaze as I try to convey the truth to my words, feeling her hard swallow beneath my touch as a myriad of emotions begin whirling within those eyes.

  The tension in the air is suddenly palpable as her fingers reach forward to slide along my stomach, up to my chest. She stands, leveling me with a calculating look of her own. One that says she’s weighing the truth of my answer. “Why me?”

  “Because you’re all I’ve thought about for weeks.”

  “Is it because of . . . I mean,” her eyes dart to my neck, “do I remind you of someone?”

  Ginger told her about Penny, obviously. “You’re not a replacement for anyone,” I answer slowly, evenly. Truthfully. Charlie is so much stronger, smarter, more confident than Penny ever was.

  A shimmer coats her eyes. I think she’s beginning to understand . . . this. What the fuck is this? I honestly don’t know. When did it truly start? Was it last night? Was it when she threw me that first wink onstage? Was it the second she walked through my door?

  I sense a tremble in her body and I instantly pull her into my arms. A nervous giggle tickles my chest where her mouth sits. “It’s all happening so fast. I just . . . when I took the job, I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s me. I warned you.” The soft chuckle slides out of my mouth. “I don’t like wasting time.”

  “Do you believe in fate, Cain?”

  I hesitate. Something tells me that Charlie does. I’d hate to tell her that I don’t. That I despise the very idea of fate because it means I was destined for this life the second I was born. And that I’d be a fool to think I have control over any of it.

  Suddenly, she pulls away. Tilting her head in that playful way of hers, she sits and edges backward until she’s in the middle of the mattress and lying on her elbows, knees bent but together, her back arched naturally. Like an alluring angel amidst a sea of bedsheets.

  I can’t help but gaze at her for a moment.

  And then her legs fall apart and that coy smile curves her lips.

  My hands are locked on her ankles and pulling her to me in an instant.

  And I know in my gut that each kiss, each touch, each thrust tonight will sink me further.

  Until there is no escape.

  * * *

  “What did I teach you?” His voice registers a split second before sharp fists bombard my chest, my ribs, my stomach.

  My fifteen-year-old body—already hardened for a good beating—has come to refuse more than four hours of sleep at a time, always on guard. After all, longer sleeps only increase the odds of getting caught unconscious. I must have been exhausted, though, because this time he caught me in a dead sleep.

  I spring out of bed in seconds and raise my fists, ready to fight. Dad’s dark eyes—s
till red and glossy from whatever he’d snorted or smoked the night before—bore into me. “Always be ready, son. Every second counts.”

  My brain registers a weight against my chest and my eyes fly open. I’m a split second away from jumping into defense mode when floral perfume fills my nostrils.

  I sigh. No one is attacking me. It’s Charlie—her body nestled into my side, her head resting on my chest. And it feels fucking incredible.

  “Nightmare?” I hear her sleepy voice ask. With the predawn light coming through the window, I can make out her features. She’s at peace.

  “I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I apologize, pushing a strand of hair off her face. A glance at the clock tells me we’ve been asleep for a few hours.

  Asleep.

  Tonight was the first time I’ve ever fallen asleep with a woman.

  I’m almost twenty-nine years old and I’ve never slept with a woman.

  I’ve never even tried.

  And now, feeling her silky skin against mine, her body relaxed and finding comfort molded into mine, I know what I’ve been missing. What I never want to miss again.

  Her hand rubs over my chest affectionately. “Your heart is racing,” she murmurs. It’s almost like a purr.

  “I’m fine.” Unless you break it. The thought suddenly creeps into my mind unbidden, leaving me feeling like I’ve been punched in the stomach.

  Charlie could break me. By the volcanic eruption of anxiety suddenly bursting, I acknowledge that she could shatter me worse than Penny did.

  Permanently.

  A second later, I feel her tongue dart over my nipple before her mouth covers it in a kiss. I groan, shifting to my side so I can face her. A tiny giggle escapes her but her eyes are still closed. I simply watch her, as her breathing slows and steadies, telling me she has fallen back asleep.