"Alright. Just let me go get dressed," I said, moving to stand.
"Can't imagine what you'd need clothes for, since as soon as I get some sustenance back in this body, I plan to fuck you again. And again. And again. Got time to make up for."
And, well, I couldn't argue with such a sound bit of logic, could I?
So he ate cookies and drank milk while we watched a Val Kilmer movie from the eighties that he grumbled about at first, but actually liked.
Then he fucked me again.
And again.
And again.
Then woke me up at four in the morning to get one more round in.
I wasn't even mad.
And then I fell back to sleep.
And for the first time in weeks, I didn't have a nightmare - because there was nothing to fear. And I didn't dream about Gunner. Because I didn't need to.
I had him.
THIRTEEN
Gunner
This Auddie chick was a trip.
I had gotten up at my normal time, woke up Sloane with my tongue, then got inside her again, finding her even more needy and demanding when she was sleepy, then I got dressed, and headed down to the makeshift gym, giving up on it and its shoddy equipment after five minutes, going instead for a run around the town.
It was a nice place.
I didn't really appreciate it on the first round.
Because I had been so focused on if Sloane would like it, if it suited her city tastes, and, maybe most importantly, that this was the place I was going to lose her to, souring my opinion of it.
But it was nice.
Small, yet big at the same time.
The shops were mostly independent, a lot of the locals seemed to know one another, and even though none knew me, offered me a hello or a wave as I ran past.
I could see how she had managed to settle in a bit.
And I could see why she had made friends with Auddie who had met me at the entrance to the building, completely blocking it with her body, arms crossed, chin lifted, in full-on mama-bear pose.
"Listen here," she started, narrowing her eyes at me. "I know men like you. The ones who float in and out of a woman's life, promising things you have no intention of delivering, then disappearing and leaving her shattered. She might be blinded because of all of this," she said, waving her hand at my shirtless torso with a disgusted lip curl. "But I am not so easily fooled. She moved here to get away from you, asshole. Take a hint. Leave. She deserves better than to be with someone who made her uproot her life because he was such a jerk."
"Think you might have me confused with someone else," I said, brows drawing together.
"She said she had to move here to get away from some asshole."
Alright, I was pretty sure she hadn't used that term, but I could see that being implied. About Cortez.
"Alright, listen..."
"And you certainly seem to fit the bill," she cut me off, righteously angry for a woman she had known for less than a month. Which was actually nice. For Sloane. I actually felt bad that she would likely be losing that, something she had never really had in her life before.
"I'm not the asshole she was running away from," I clarified. "I'm the asshole who helped her run away from the asshole she was running away from."
"Oh," she said, some of the air leaving her sail. "She didn't mention anyone else."
"She's not much of a sharer."
"Well, that's true. I run my mouth nonstop, and she just tosses in a few words here and there. She's nice though. And so talented. I can't wait to see the books when they're done."
"Yeah, heard about that," I agreed, wondering about the pictures, about what Sloane had found herself so invested in that she had actually gushed to be about it. Her. This woman who never gushed. Who barely let words trickle out most of the time.
"So why are you here?"
This wasn't my place. To tell her. To do Sloane's job as a friend. But she was still blocking my way. "Had to tell Sloane that the asshole she ran away from isn't a problem anymore."
"What? Did he like get locked up or something?"
"Yeah." Or something.
"Well, that is... a relief, I guess. Wish someone would lock up my ex. For longer than the week or so it takes him to work off the child support he owes me. Wait, does this mean she's leaving?" she asked, her face falling a bit. I never met someone who went up and down and around her feelings quite so quickly - and deftly. "I really like her. The guy in her apartment before her liked to make these really awful-smelling meals like every night of the week. And kept snakes as pets. He swore they were all non-venomous, but I have my doubts. I would hate to see her leave."
"I don't know what Sloane has planned honestly, babe. She has a life back in New York, though. A career she left abruptly. But I have to say, I think she's been happier here than she was there. I don't know what she is going to do."
"Are you going to be a part of what she chooses to do?"
"I hope so."
She nodded a bit at that. "Make sure she keeps drawing and painting," she demanded, almost sounding like she was pleading. "She's so good. I don't think she even realizes how good she is. Billy was going on and on about the pictures in the book we worked on. She's genuinely talented. And I don't get the feeling she used that much."
"She kinda used it, but not in a way she enjoyed."
Auddie nodded at that, uncrossing her arms. "She was working to try to get a job at the local wine-and-painting place. Do you think she could maybe do something like that when she goes back?"
I shrugged a shoulder at that. "She has a kinda important job, but from what I can tell, it could run just fine if she loosened up the reins a little bit, giving her time to work on other shit. But..."
"But she's stubborn?" she supplied.
"You've known her for a shorter period of time than I have, and you already figured that out?"
"She's buttoned up tight. Maybe a bit set in her ways. But with the right kind of encouragement, I bet she could be swayed to dedicating more time to art."
"She really likes you," I told her. "I think she's sad to consider leaving. She never really had any friends back home."
"We can still be friends. Hell, my best friend lives in Spain of all places. She went there for a semester in college, then never came home. We still talk all the time. She visits. And you said Sloane is from New York City, right?"
"Yep."
"My girls would love to visit. See the museum. I heard there is a giant whale suspended from the ceiling."
"And a multi-level gift shop," I agreed with a smile when she groaned at the idea. "I'm sure she'd be happy to have you."
"Are you guys going to be here for a bit? I'd like to visit before she leaves. And maybe show her the book from the printer. Billy told me five days."
"I think I can persuade her to stay for five more days. She was long-overdo for a vacation anyway."
"Awesome! Maybe we can persuade her to cook for us. She's really good!"
"I know," I agreed, smiling. "She picked up baking too. You have a hand in that?"
"She just needed a little help really. Like how ovens don't all heat the same. And how baking soda and baking powder aren't interchangeable. The cookies were good!"
"Banging," I agreed, suddenly wishing I hadn't eaten them all the night before. Maybe I could trade her a few more orgasms for some brownies.
"I like you," Auddie said oddly, head tipped to the side. "I don't know. I can see you two being good for each other. She's so buttoned up and careful. You're very open and blunt."
"Like you too. Seems like you adopted her. You have no idea how much she needed that."
"Us girls gotta stick together," she declared. "Even against hot guys with eight-packs and cool tattoos," she added, scrunching up her eyes at me. "So don't let me hear that you screwed her over. I am a hell of a shot," she told me, giving me a beaming smile. "Have fun with all the sexcapades," she added, walking past me. "Have Sloane get back to me ab
out dinner."
"Will do," I agreed, nodding at her retreating form before going inside to find Sloane dressed. But not in her uniform - those slacks and blouses and ankle-breaking heels. No. She was in tight light-wash skinny jeans, a white, tee, and slippers. And her hair was down. "Ran into Auddie outside. She threatened to shoot me if I hurt you," I added, grabbing a glass, filling it from the tap, trying not to smile at the way her eyes raked over me. Had her five times in twenty-four hours, but she still wanted more. I knew that feeling well.
"That's sweet," she decided, smiling a little.
"And she wants me to make sure that that no matter what you choose to do, that you make time for art."
"I've given it a lot of thought since I quit my job. I really do want to do something with it. Even if I continue my handbag line. They don't need me there as much as I am there. I don't need to make as many mockup bags a season as I do. And Mateo has been dying for some more responsibility. I could back up a little. Make more time for other things."
"I think that is a good plan," I said carefully, wanting to encourage her, but not wanting her to think I was trying to tell her what to do with her life. "Maybe I can look into getting an apartment in Navesink Bank," she went on, this time she was the one being careful about what she said, worried she was misreading things, or that her mind was moving too fast.
"You could definitely do that. It's an interesting place." But it wouldn't get that far. She'd end up starting slow, coming down on weekends, staying with me because it was just for the weekend. Then it would be more than the weekend, but she'd already be comfortable in my place. She'd end up there whenever she wasn't in the city dealing with business. And, well, I'd likely be hanging at her place in the city unless I was on a job.
Christ.
I was thinking about the future.
Me.
Of all people.
A man who had never had a woman spend more than a night in his place, was thinking about weekends that would lead to living together.
That wasn't like me.
Yet here we were.
And it was easy, easier than I thought it would be to get serious about a woman.
Maybe that had everything to do with this particular woman. Waking up to her, coming home to her, arguing over eating at the dining table with her, that was some shit I was looking forward to. Without the tension of running from a murdering rapist psycho, the culture shock of taking her out of her world, the strain of trying to stay professional with her.
It would be easier, less fraught with stress.
We could give it a real go finally.
"We have to stay here for five more days though," I told her.
"Why?"
"That is when your books will be back from the printer. I told Auddie we would hang here. She demanded dinner."
"Between the two of you - and the girls - I had better make enough for an army."
"Plus some. I want leftovers. I have a feeling I am going to need my energy," I told her, reaching out to grab her hip, trying to pull her closer to me.
"You're all sweaty!" she objected, swatting at my chest.
"And now you're gonna be too," I promised her.
And then she was.
"Need me to spot you?" I asked when she fetched her clothes off the floor, and said she was going to wash up.
"What?"
"When we were looking at the apartment, you asked if it had a tub. I figured you took a few steps back when it came to showers."
"I did," she agreed, shrugging like it was nothing. But it was something. And it made me even happier that Cortez was dead.
It had been an easy decision for me in the end.
Maybe it shouldn't have been.
Taking a human life should never be easy.
It had been, though.
Easy.
Easier even than the kills I had done in the name of my country. Easier than the ones done in self-defense.
For her, for her safety, for her peaceful dreams?
Easier than anything I had ever done before.
"But I think I will be okay. We both know that if you 'spot me,' that we will end up not really showering."
"I'm okay with that," I agreed with a smirk.
"If you keep distracting me, I won't get around to making lunch."
"Well, that is possibly the only thing you could have said to have me keep my hands to myself," I told her, watching as she smiled before turning to walk away. She tried to do it quickly, too, so I couldn't stare at her ass for too long as she scurried off. But I damn sure enjoyed the view as she went.
She came back out half an hour later, showered, re-dressed, and steadily working at something cheesy for me. "Can I call work now?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at me. "I almost feel guilty that I haven't called already."
"Yeah, duchess. Call anyone you want. Hell, even tell them what actually happened. They'll be more understanding. I bet they'd come back to you in a heartbeat."
After lunch, I gave her back her old cell which had over one-hundred unread texts, and fifty missed calls.
"Mateo, let me speak," she said, her tone doing that haughty thing she used to do all the time.
Then she did, giving him the story blow-by-blow, making it infinitely clear that she had never even told anyone any of the details. About the court case. About Cortez chasing her down. About the stab wound. About having to uproot her life and run.
By the time she finished, the words were tripping over one another. And she was clearly comforting the man on the other end of the phone.
"Mateo, there was no way you could have known. No. You were a perfect employee! In fact, if you are willing to come back to me, I want to give you a promotion. With a raise, of course. I want to start taking some more time to myself. Yes. Of course, I am serious. Yes. Absolutely. Actually, another five days here. And then it is a four or five day drive back. That would be amazing if you could do that. Yes. Okay. Sure. I will keep it charged. Thank you, Mateo."
"What'd he say?" I asked when she hung up, looking almost a little awestruck.
"That he would get the operation up and running again. Personally call everyone who had to leave. Deal with the distributors. He thinks we can still get the line out if he gets back to it now. I really underestimated him before," she said, sounding disappointed in herself.
"You had all the balls in the air. You were afraid that if you handed any off, you'd drop them all," I supplied. "But now that you have a little space to see everything clearly, you can make changes accordingly."
"You're right," she agreed, giving a hard nod, like she was making her mind up. "I am going to do it right this time."
"You did it just fine the first time too, duchess," I told her. "You can only make decisions based on your knowledge. You didn't know better then. All you knew was you wanted better for yourself than what you were raised in. You did that. You did a lot. And now you will do more."
"And be happier," she agreed, moving toward me, putting her arms around my back, pulling her body to mine.
"I'd like to be a part of that."
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
EPILOGUE
Sloane - 5 days
The slamming on the door made my entire body jolt.
I had gotten used to many things lately.
I hadn't gotten used to that.
Having people unexpectedly at the door.
The neighbors I had in the city minded their own business. I couldn't have picked them out of a lineup, or them me. The only time someone was at my door was when I buzzed them up because I was expecting them.
It was startling to never know when someone might show up.
Even if I knew who it was.
"Guess Billy's magic is complete," Gunner called in from the open door of the balcony where he was standing, taking a work call.
I shot up from my place at my easel, going to the door to unlock it, stepping back when I opened the door because I knew Auddie was the sto
rming in sort.
Which was exactly what she did.
With a little red wagon that belonged to her daughters loaded down with cardboard boxes.
"Are those full of books?" I gasped, thinking she was going to get five or six extra copies made, not close to one-hundred.
"Well, our group has about thirty kids. And then I figured that if they knew anyone not in the group, they might want some. And I am going to give a few copies to the library and the girls' school. And just have a few laying around and stuff for guests. You'll understand when you see them. Billy worked with me a bit to get it all perfect. And they are. Perfect. Look!" she demanded, thrusting a book into my hands.
There it was.
A real, bound, children's hardcover book.
With the cover I had designed.
The title.
Auddie's name.
And mine.
Well, sort of mine.
The fake me.
Sloane Livingston.
My fingers moved over the cover with something I could only call wonder before I flipped open the first page, seeing the title with all that copyright mumbo jumbo on the back side before the story - and my pictures - started.
"Wow."
"Right?" Auddie asked, reaching for another copy to fawn over as well. "It's so beautiful. It's like we're the real deal, y'know? Author and illustrator!"
"Well, technically... we are," I told her with a smile.
"I guess we are," she agreed, nodding.
"I'm getting a signed copy, right?" Gunner asked, moving in behind me.
Auddie and I shared a look, something hard to explain, but we both somehow understood.
This was the start of something.
We both felt it.
We said nothing then.
But years later, we would both tell each other about the feeling we felt right at that moment - that moment before we signed a book for the first time together.
Gunner - 2 weeks
So this was her place.
The Ghost (Professionals Book 2) Page 20
