I ended up in the Malted Maven, in the same seat I sat in for my first and last non-date, only one week ago. The same waitress waved at me from behind the counter, poured a drink from the tap, and sashayed my way.
“Hey, you’re Frankie’s girl,” she announced, her voice warmer than I recalled. “Dark beer, right?” She placed the foamy mug in front of me.
I smiled, not exactly feeling the emotion behind the action. “Franklin’s friend. Just friends. Have you seen him?” I asked.
“Not today, but he’s here every night. I bet he’ll be in soon.” She wiped down my table, flaunting her perfect boobs and toned arms. “Is he meeting you?”
I shook my head. “No. I was hoping to run into him. He’s not upstairs. What’s your name?” I asked.
Her smile grew. “Lizzie. You’re Tate, right?”
Franklin and Dad were the only people who called me Tate. But this girl remembered my drink order from a week ago—and had called me Frankie’s girl. She earned the right to use my nickname. “Yeah, Tate.” I offered my hand to her. “It’s nice to officially make your acquaintance.”
Lizzie shook my hand, told me she’d be back soon, and headed toward a table of depressed looking twenty-somethings dressed in plaid shirts, each sporting an overgrown beard and thick rimmed glasses. I was sure if I looked under the table, they’d be wearing the same grungy loafers in different shades of brown. I didn’t get the whole thick beard fad. I mean, seriously, who would want to kiss that?
I checked the time on my phone. Five forty-five. Where was he? If he were sick, which I highly doubted, why wasn’t he in bed? Why hadn’t he called? Mister I'm so concerned about you I’m going to stay the night at your house and install a new security system and boss you around left me high and dry and hornier than a bored housewife. How could he barrel into my life that way and then disappear?
Try as I might, I couldn’t hold on to the anger. It was my life story, after all—One-Date Tate. He’d hung around longer than the others.
Lizzie plopped a plate of fries in front of me. “Mind if I join you? Taking a break, I’m famished. You should eat, too. Beer and an empty stomach don’t mix.” She scooted next to me and adjusted her ponytail.
“You’re an angel. I’m starving.” I wasn’t shy. I dug in.
With a mouthful of greasy potato, she asked, “How do you know Frankie?”
I swallowed my bite and washed it down with a sip of beer. “We work together.” Shared a bed once, too. And a shower. An apple. Couple of amazing orgasms. Oh, yeah.
“And you’re dating? How the hell do you make that work?” She hoisted my mug and helped herself to a swig.
I shook my head and instantly regretted it. Head shaking, after two beers, wasn’t a wise move. I teetered in my seat. “Oh, we’re not dating.”
She snorted, then laughed out loud. “Yeah, right. Tell Frankie that. You’re all he talks about, when he talks. Do you know how many times he gets hit on in a night? He blows the bitches off before they even get started. Tells everyone he has a girlfriend.”
Girlfriend? I’m sure my eyes popped out of my head. Not only from surprise, but because she sounded irked.
“He won’t even look at another woman. I mean, seriously. He’s got pussy flying at him from ninety different directions.” She paused and looked me square in the eye. “Just so you know, I’m crushing on your man big time, but we’ve never hooked up. Not for lack of trying on my part. I gave up after the first six months of rejections.”
It was my turn to snort. “Only six months? He’s not my man, but thanks for being up front. I wanted to ask, but was afraid you’d kick my ass.”
Lizzie threw her arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “He is your man. I know this because you’re the only girl I’ve seen him bring in here. And FYI, I could kick your ass if I wanted to. I like you, so you’re safe.”
Perhaps it was the beer, or that my emotions were all over the place, but I kissed her cheek and gave her a squeeze. “How long has Franklin lived here?” I asked, hoping she liked me enough to spill some beans.
“About three years now.” She scanned the crowd of people. “I’m surprised he hasn’t shown his face. He hasn’t missed a night this week.”
Ha! I knew it. He wasn’t sick. Bastard. My spirits sank to my toes. He’d been avoiding me all week. “I should head home. It’s getting late. If I stay, I’ll keep drinking, then I’ll need to call a taxi. I hate taxis.”
Lizzie pursed her lips in a pout. “You can’t leave. You’re the only cool person here tonight. Stay, please? If you get wasted, you can sleep on my couch. I live a block away.”
I didn’t want to spend the evening alone. Hanging out in a bar all night held little appeal, but it was better than the alternative. “I think I love you.” I raised my glass to her. “Now, get me another beer, bitch.”
Lizzie threw a fry at my chest, scooted out of our booth and reached for my empty glass. “Bitch is right, and this bitch is making sure you have fun tonight.”
I did need to have fun. I’d survived a hellacious week, dammit. If I couldn’t burn off steam via Body de la Franklin, then I would do it the old fashioned way—alcohol, loud music and some dancing. The bar didn’t have a dance floor, but who cared? Life was what you made of it. I drank, ordered more fries, and resorted to dancing in my seat.
Lizzie came to my table smiling like she’d won the lottery and placed another drink in front of me. “This beer is courtesy of the hot dude perched in the dark corner.” She nodded over her shoulder toward the door.
Biting my lip to stifle a laugh, I leaned in my seat to see around her. A large man wearing a black leather jacket, dark jeans and square-framed Oakleys gave me a salute and slipped out the door. He looked familiar, but he disappeared so fast, I was unable to steal a good look.
“He sends a message.” Clearing her throat, she cupped her hands over her chest. “The roses bleed, as does my heart.”
Roses? Oh, shit. I jumped out from behind the table and grabbed Lizzie’s arm. “Him? The guy who just walked out the door?”
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
“Do you know who he is?” I shook her. “Has he been here before?”
“No.” Lizzie peeled my hands from her shoulders. “He’s been sitting there for about an hour.”
“Did you see his face? Get a name?” I asked, keenly aware of the tremble in my voice.
“No.”
“Did he use a credit card?”
“No. Cash. Why?” Her jade eyes darkened with worry.
Shit! I scooped up my purse and keys, slipped my flip flops back on and sprinted for the door.
“Tate!” Lizzie shouted. “What the hell?”
I stood on the sidewalk, looked left then right. A motorcycle revved to life around the other side of the building. I ran that direction, but wasn’t fast enough. The perp disappeared down a dark alley.
I made a mad dash to my car. The same roses I smashed in the parking garage earlier in the day lay across the hood, held together by a black ribbon.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” I screamed.
Lizzie patted my arm. “What was that about?” She spied the flowers and picked them up. “The roses bleed,” she whispered, then gasped. “Do you have a stalker, Tate?” Knowing eyes glared at me.
I nodded, fighting a wave of tears. “Apparently, I do.”
Once again, the bouquet hit the ground in a violent fashion. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have—”
I interrupted. “It’s not your fault. I wish I could’ve gotten a look at the piece of shit.”
“Have you reported it?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. Don’t worry, I will.”
“Don’t fuck with this shit, Tate. I know a guy, if you need help.”
I knew a guy, too. And damn, I needed the comfort his arms provided. I also carried Detective Waters’ private number in my purse. “I’ve got a de
tective on speed dial.” I hooked my arm through her elbow and walked back toward the front entrance.
We stopped dead in our tracks when Franklin stumbled around the corner wearing his lady-killer jeans and a tall brunette on his arm. He kissed her cheek, stuffed a wad of money into her hand and slapped her leather-clad ass before she slid into a black town car that waited on the street.
He watched the car drive away. It had given me time to turn and run, but I couldn’t move. Lizzie released an impressive combination of cuss words. Franklin turned. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed to a dangerous glare.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, taking long, calculated strides my way.
Lizzie stepped into my line of vision. “I’m right inside if you need me.” She squeezed my hand, then pointed at Franklin. “Jackass,” she grunted before heading into the bar.
“Was that a whore?” Oops. There went my mouth again. I wanted to curl into myself, tuck my tail, and retreat. Instead, I lifted my chin and forced my shoulders to the upright position.
Franklin’s cheeks reddened. His fingers stretched, then fisted. “Why are you here?” he asked after drawing a deep breath.
I turned and stormed toward my car. His footsteps crunched in the gravel behind me. Dangerously close behind me. I shouted over my shoulder. “Because I’m the world’s biggest idiot.”
I kicked the crumpled roses out of my way and fumbled for my keys. Hard muscle pressed against my back. Tingles flittered across my chest.
“You’re not leaving.” Franklin gripped my hipbones, digging deep, and pulled my rear snug against his erection. Breath that reeked of sweet liquor warmed my cheek.
Anger welled, a shit storm of frustration and fury whirled through me. I jerked his hands off my hips and dropped my keys in the process. “Do you think I’m that pathetic? You just screwed a whore, you piece of shit.” I bent to retrieve my keys and got a handful of rose petal instead.
I threw them in the air and collapsed in the dirt, a heaving mess of drunken, scared, heartbroken female.
* * * *
Once again, on a Friday night, I curled up on Franklin’s couch, tipsy, with a too-tight skirt and bare feet. This time, however, I couldn’t appreciate his sculpted form, tight ass, or brilliant eyes. Heck, I couldn’t see a thing through the salty liquid flowing from my eyes.
He disappeared down the hall and returned with a roll of toilet paper. Grabbing a wad, I buried my face in my hands, and with hitched breaths, told Mr. Reed that I hated his guts. He squatted in front of me and laid his palms on my knees, sending unwelcome, delicious prickles through my flesh.
“You don’t hate me,” he said with that deep gravel that made me want to dip him in hot fudge sauce, roll him in a pan of crushed nuts, then clean him with my tongue.
“I do, I really, really do.”
He leaned closer. “You don’t hate me.”
Of course I didn’t. I wanted to. “I hate what you do to me.”
“What is it I do?” he asked, sliding his hands further up my thighs.
My legs wanted to fall open and welcome him in. I squeezed my knees together. “You know, and I’m not saying it out loud.”
“She wasn’t a whore.” His tone darkened and his fingers tightened around my flesh.
I dropped my hands from my face and rested them on top of his. “I saw you give her money and touch her ass and kiss….” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It hurt too much to say the words. The green-eyed monster struck with a vengeance—and that made me pathetic, didn’t it?
“I pay her for services that I can’t discuss with you. She’s a good friend. I’ve known her for years.”
“No sex?” I asked with a hoarse whisper.
“She doesn’t like men.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Damn, Tate. No. I didn’t have sex with her. Is that what this is about? You assumed I was sleeping around?”
I leaned back against the cushions. “I haven’t heard from you all week. Jacob Smart isn’t Jacob Smart, and he knew my father and…shit. Someone keeps leaving me roses. He was at the bar. I think he’s stalking me.”
“At the bar? Tonight?” Franklin stood and stumbled backwards. “Why in the hell didn’t you call me?”
“It just happened. I don’t have your number.”
He yanked my handbag from the floor and rifled through it until he found my cell. “I gave you my contact info on Sunday. You’re the only person I know who’s not permanently attached to her phone.” He held the screen toward me. “See? I’m number one on your speed dial.”
Yanking the phone from his hand, I snapped at him, “You didn’t tell me. I’m not a damn mind reader.”
“You kicked me out before I could show you anything.” He plopped his fine ass right next to mine, leaving zero wiggle room. “You should also know, I haven’t been sick. I had another case—” He shook his head. “I mean job. I had another job to finish up.” Leaning sideways, he pulled a key out of his pocket. “I made myself a set for your place and finished setting your security system today.”
“The feds didn’t harass you?” They knew I lived alone. How did he slip past?
He paused before answering. His jaw twitched. “No.”
“Wait a minute.” I sat up, curling my legs underneath me. “You’re keeping something from me.”
Franklin stood and picked up where he left off with the pacing, stretching and clenching his fists in rhythm with his steps. He did that fist exercise whenever he needed to calm down. He stopped, cocked his head, raised a hand. Paced some more. Then knelt before me again.
“Tatum.”
Tatum? He never called me Tatum. And, he sounded exactly like my Dad used to when giving me a speech or a tongue-lashing.
“There are things I can’t tell you. I need you to trust me.” He tilted his head to catch my gaze, which wandered unwittingly to his yummy lips. “Look at me. I need to know you’re hearing me.”
I found his baby blues.
“Everything I’m doing is for you. I can’t tell you any more than that. I know it doesn’t make sense. I’m asking. I’m begging you to please trust me.”
“What’s going on?” I asked. Was he drunk?
“Baby, listen. I can’t say another word. Just. Fuck. You just have to do what I say. Please.”
Scared? Yeah. I was scared. Because I knew he spoke the truth even though it didn’t make a lick of sense. I could see it in his eyes. Feel it in my bones. What was he protecting me from? Who died and made him my guardian angel?
His pleading expression turned my insides to a gooey mess, and I leaned forward to steal a nibble of his soft lips.
Franklin groaned, pulled away from me, and squeezed his eyes closed. “What are you doing to me?” Before I could react, he pinned me against the back of the couch and devoured my mouth.
This man. This powerhouse of male flesh didn’t just kiss. He staked his claim. It wasn’t an endearing gesture. It was an assertion. You’re mine. It was a command. Give me all of you. It was a promise. I’ll be your shelter.
He kissed me sober. Kissed me witless. When he stopped, I was warm putty, molded into the cushions. His lips hovered over mine. “I missed you so goddamned much.”
He missed me? “You’re doing it again,” I whispered.
Pressing his forehead to mine, he groaned. “Doing what again?”
“Making me hate you.”
Franklin slid my skirt up my hips, forced my legs around his waist and rolled until he was seated and I straddled him. His strong hands pulled me against his groin, grinding me against an impressive erection.
“What did I do?” He asked, staring at my lips and dragging his tongue across his own.
“You say you missed me, but you didn’t call once this week. You kiss me until I’m crazy. You make me want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know anything
about you. I hate it. I hate that I’m a brainless bimbo when it comes to you.”
Franklin laughed. It vibrated my chest, squeezed air from my lungs and sent warm tingles to my female parts. Snaking his arms around my middle, he crushed me against him. I nuzzled the crook of his neck, pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the life force pump and flow through his body. His heartbeat slowed, breaths deepened, and within minutes, Franklin Reed was fast asleep beneath me.
Not for one second did his hold on me falter. I never would have imagined another man’s embrace feeling safer than Dad’s.
Chapter 9
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” I pressed my thighs against the barrier and stretched my neck to get a better look over the edge. The cliff shot straight down into a ravine lined with jagged rocks and hungry scavengers.
I turned my head toward the man bound at wrists and ankles by my side. “I asked you a question.”
Beady peepers blinked at me and he nodded a “yes.”
“Do you like the suit?” I asked.
He mumbled through the gag in his mouth.
“I’m happy you like it.” I turned to him, straightened his tie, and brushed lint from his collar. “It’s a good suit to die in.”
Wallace bounced up and down on his toes, a pathetic scramble for freedom. The poor bastard didn’t have an athletic bone in his body and fell hard to his knees.
I sighed and squatted to help him up when, from behind, someone grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.
“Let me do the honors.” Franklin stepped around me, yanked Wallace to his feet by the lapels and hoisted him to the edge of the cliff. He turned to me, nodded, and stepped back. “He’s all yours, darling.”
“Why thank you, you handsome devil.” I pinched Franklin’s cheek and sauntered to Walter’s side, threw out my hip and bumped him over the edge. I regretted not pulling the gag from his mouth first. It would’ve been much more satisfying if I could have heard his screams.
I wiped the hangover haze from my eyes and yawned. Now I’d drawn Franklin into my morbid dreams. Poor guy. I pressed my nose into the soft pillow. It carried a hint of Gendarme and a whole lot of Franklin’s male sexual spiciness. Cocooned in a heavy comforter, I struggled to sit up. A tall glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sat within reach on the floor, along with a note.
How to Kill Your Boss Page 8
