Lawson

by Diana Gardin

  Whatever the reason, having sex with any man twice isn’t something I’ve ever done. And surely sleeping with Lawson wouldn’t change that, right?

  Right?

  Lawson’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts, snapping my attention toward him.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking about right now.”

  When I glance at him, his eyes aren’t waiting to meet mine. Instead, they’re focused on my lips. Fire blazes a trail through my belly, sending a flood of wetness pooling between my thighs.

  My tongue dips out to lick my top lip on instinct, and the slow simmer in Lawson’s eyes turns to a boil.

  “I can’t tell you what I’m thinking,” I whisper.

  Lawson doesn’t move except to drag his eyes from my lips to meet mine. “Why not?”

  His voice, deep and full of dark promise, makes me tremble. I clench my teeth in an attempt to keep my body under control.

  I open my mouth to answer him, to either spill my secrets or shut him down when there’s a pounding knock on our apartment door.

  I freeze as Lawson goes still, and then he’s on his feet, pulling his gun out of its holster as he strides toward the front door.

  I note the stealth and silence with which he moves as he checks the peephole before taking a step back and peering over his shoulder at me.

  “Get ready.” His voice is granite. “It looks like it’s not time to relax yet after all.”

  9

  INDIGO

  Get ready.

  Those words have me scrambling to my feet. The heat Lawson’s touch brought me is a distant memory as adrenaline surges into my limbs. To me, those words tell me that I need to strap up and get ready to fight my way out.

  As I’m reaching for the gun I’ve laid on the island separating the small kitchen from the open-concept living room, Lawson’s solid hand on my arm settles me. I look up into his eyes and there’s a softness there.

  “Go open the door, Indy.”

  Indy. The simple use of a nickname almost buckles my knees.

  No one has ever had a nickname for me. The endearment was nowhere to be found while growing up with my mother. If she wasn’t chasing a high, she was busy chasing a man. And when I grew up and got myself out and started my new life, I made sure I was so unapproachable and tough that no one would ever consider calling me anything but Indigo. I exude strength and independence. No room for that kind of fondness.

  But Lawson had ridden right past all of that.

  And given me a nickname.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  Remembering to breathe, I turn away from him and stride to the front door. If he told me to open it, it must be okay.

  This unshakable trust comes without a doubt, and at some point I’ll have to explore its roots. But for now, I ease the door open.

  There’s a woman standing there. Holding a plate of cookies.

  She has my slight stature and she appears to be around my age, in her midtwenties, but that’s where the similarities end.

  She wears the label “Girl Next Door” like a badge of honor. Her blond hair lies perfectly, styled to her shoulders, streaked with lighter shades of blond. Her bright blue eyes are big atop her high cheekbones and framed with mile-long lashes. Her makeup is light but meticulously applied, and the outfit she wears could have come straight out of Southern Belle magazine. My eyes land on a monogram just above her left breast, and I swallow the urge to roll my eyes.

  As my eyes drift back to hers, I catch her appraising me the same way I just did her. Her gaze bounces from my tattoos to my leather and ripped, tight pants before dropping down to my killer boots. When she makes it back to my heavily made-up face, I expect her smile to have changed into a sneer. But the genuine friendliness in her grin doesn’t falter, and instead of retreating the way girls who look like her normally would, she takes a step closer.

  Thrusting the delicate blue platter into my hands, she introduces herself with a sparkle in her eyes.

  “I’m Frannie Phillips. Short for Francesca, but no one calls me that. Welcome to the building! I saw you guys pulling up earlier and knew my new neighbors were finally here. My front door is always open to you if you need anything at all! What’s your name?”

  All of those words escape in one breath, and it takes me almost half a minute to catch up and realize she’s asked me a question.

  “Uh, yeah. Hi. Frannie? I’m…GoGo. Thanks for the, uh…” My words trail away and I realize I’m ridiculously out of practice with things like this.

  This is the first time in my entire life I’ve had a neighbor knock on my door with a plate of anything. My etiquette in this situation is nonexistent for sure. I glance over my shoulder at Lawson, who’s shaking with the laughter he’s struggling to keep locked up tight inside of him.

  My eyes narrow at him, and I swing the door open wider. “Please come in, Frannie. Meet my boyfriend, Logan.”

  Instead of retreating the way I expected, Lawson steps forward and extends a hand to Frannie. His big hand engulfs hers, and the second they touch, my stomach twists with jealousy. She’s eyeing him in the way a woman appreciates a man as sexy and drop-dead gorgeous as Lawson, and I’m wishing I hadn’t invited her in.

  I didn’t think this through.

  But Frannie doesn’t give him more than a once-over before turning back to me. “Are you guys new to Wilmington?”

  Relief floods me when her eyes return to mine. Now that she’s no longer looking at Lawson, I can focus on her words. “No, but we just moved in together. Fresh start for both of us.”

  Her eyes light up and she offers me a knowing smile. “That’s awesome. You two make a gorgeous couple.”

  Glancing at Lawson, his eyes are warm on mine. “Thank you.”

  “And thanks for the cookies,” Lawson adds. “How long have you lived here, Frannie?”

  Her expression goes thoughtful. “I’ve lived in this duplex for a year. I’m a nurse at the hospital in midtown. I liked how close this place was to work, and the price was right. I was looking for something that wasn’t in a big complex, and I didn’t want the upkeep of a house. So this place was perfect.”

  She glances at the couch and back toward me, and I gesture toward it. “Have a seat.”

  With a sunny smile, she sinks onto the soft gray microfiber and keeps talking. Her voice is bubbly and light, and I wonder when she takes a breath. “I only moved to Wilmington a little over a year ago. I’m from Oklahoma…Something about this city called to me, I guess. I’d never visited before I moved here, but I watch a lot of Nicholas Sparks movies and the settings are always gorgeous, so I wanted to pick a place in the Carolinas. I ended up in Wilmington and I’ll never look back.”

  I lift a brow. “Oh yeah? Why’d you leave Okie?”

  For the first time in the five minutes I’ve known Frannie, her smile falters. A dark shadow crosses her expression and the light in her eyes goes dim. Without a doubt, I know there’s a story there. A fierce sense of protectiveness rises from somewhere deep inside me, shocking me.

  I don’t know this woman, not at all, but she’s the type of person who shouldn’t experience the kind of pain and sadness I have. She’s the type of person who grows up with two parents, on a farm or in the suburbs with a dog and a white picket fence. But instead, Frannie gives the impression that she’s alone in this world and that that’s how she wants it.

  “It just wasn’t where I wanted to be anymore.”

  Her voice is soft, and I glance at Lawson. The same thought swirling around in my head is reflected in his expression, and there’s a frown marring his handsome face.

  “Anyway!” She brightens and her smile is back in place. Standing, she brushes her palms over the front of her dress. “It was nice meeting you both. Sorry for the intrusion, but I wanted you to know you have a friendly neighbor.”

  I offer her my first real smile. “Thanks. Nice meeting you too.”

  And I’m surprised, but I actually mean it. I don’t have friends, not
really. But Frannie…she could be one.

  If I weren’t currently undercover with a luxury car theft ring and living under a false identity with a man who’s not actually my boyfriend.

  After Frannie’s gone, I sigh and lean against the door, focusing on Lawson. He stares right back at me, and a beat passes before I speak.

  “Sleeping arrangements. Let’s figure them out and I’ll go put my clothes and stuff away.”

  Lawson stands with his arms down by his sides, evaluating me. If it weren’t for the fact that I’ve observed Lawson’s unique way of processing every situation far more thoroughly than anyone else I’ve ever known, I’d be unnerved. But since I do know this about him, I wait until he’s finished thinking and planning and when he speaks, it’s with decision.

  “You take the bedroom. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  A wistfulness that I feel somewhere deep in my soul flashes, and then it’s gone. I nod and heft my duffel over my shoulder, disappearing into the bedroom and closing the door behind me.

  An hour later, I emerge. Showered, changed into comfortable stretchy black pants and a tank top, my feet bare.

  When I approach Lawson where he stands at the kitchen island, I take in the collage of takeout menus he’s spread out over the countertop.

  “I found these in a drawer. I’m open. You pick what you want for dinner tonight.”

  I barely glance at the menus. “I want Thai.”

  Lawson stares at me for a moment and then chuckles. “You didn’t even look at the menus.”

  I level a gaze in his direction. “I know what I want.”

  Lawson’s full, full lips roll between his teeth. “Noted. Thai it is.”

  He picks up his cell phone and orders enough food for ten soldiers, and smirks at my dubious expression when he hangs up. “Good Lord. Did you order enough food?”

  Instead of answering, Lawson heads for the couch. He drops down onto it, grabs the remote, and leans forward to switch on the television. “I hooked up my Fire Stick while you were getting settled. Let’s pick a movie.”

  My feet stick to the floor. “You want to have…a movie night?”

  He pats the couch cushion beside him, still intent on the television. “Sit down, Indy.”

  Without my permission, my legs pull me across the living room until I’m sitting beside him on the couch.

  “You picked the food”—Lawson eases back beside me, his long, muscle-packed arm stretching behind me as he crosses one ankle over his opposite knee—“so I pick the movie.”

  Never in my life have I been okay with a guy telling me what to do.

  But right now? I sink back against the couch, curling my legs beneath me, taking comfort in the fact that I don’t have to take control.

  Just for a little while.

  10

  LAWSON

  I should be awarded a medal for self-control.

  I expected Indigo to flare up, the argument to roll off her tongue when I told her I was choosing the movie. Instead, the woman surprised the shit out of me by settling down beside me on the couch with an expectant expression on her face.

  Indigo and I are an hour into the action flick we’re watching, and it hits me how much alone time this assignment is going to entail and how difficult that’s going to be.

  I knew Indigo was attractive. I knew she had the type of sex appeal most women strive for and never achieve. I knew that she was on another level of tough, considering her line of work and the armor she wears daily: the makeup, the tattoos, the clothes that tell everyone not to come too close. She’s the kind of woman you look at but don’t touch. Not unless you’re invited. Or unless you’re willing to take the risk of having your hand bit off.

  But when she came walking out of that bedroom with a face freshly scrubbed of makeup and dressed down like she was ready to crawl into bed, the only thing I wanted to do was spread her wide on the kitchen island and fuck her until she couldn’t stand up.

  But as the night wore on, Indigo relaxed, smiling when I told her what the action hero should be doing in every scene. She even chimed in with me by the end, and I realized I didn’t just want to fuck her.

  I want to know her.

  I want to know the side of Indigo she doesn’t let anyone else see. The side she hides from the rest of the world like a secret. I want to know what makes her smile, what makes her scared. I want to know how she got the little scar in the center of her chin. I want to know what each and every tattoo covering her beautiful body means. And I want to know why she doesn’t let anyone close enough to find any of these things out.

  I’m fucked.

  Indigo leans her head back, her thick air fanning all over my forearm in a way that’s warm and welcoming. She turns her body toward mine the slightest bit, her attention completely into the movie before her. The lush swell of her breast presses into my side, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My body goes taut at that light touch, and my breath catches and holds.

  She rolls her head over to focus on me. “What’s up? Too scary for you?”

  I swallow, and put a smirk on my face before she can tell what kind of state she’s put me in. “Me? Nah. This dude is pretty fucked up in the head, but I’ve seen worse.”

  The movie is based on an ex-military hero who pretty much goes insane once he’s back stateside. It hits home for sure, and if I hadn’t had the support of Ben, Grisham, and my sister when I first got home, I may have ended up a lot worse off than I did.

  Indigo’s eyes go all deep and dark, and there’s a serious edge to her voice where it was playful just a few seconds before. “Does it bother you? Watching movies like this? Bring up bad memories?”

  There are plenty of bad memories from that time in my life, but I don’t need a movie to dredge them up.

  Shaking my head, I train my eyes on the television. “Nah. It was hard after I first got back, but I’ve dealt with it since then. So I’m good.”

  I can feel her eyes on me for another few seconds before she turns back to the movie. My fingers itch to touch her, to caress her bare shoulder colored in ink, to grab her mane of dark hair and tip her neck to the side, just for a taste…

  My dick responds, growing hard under my basketball shorts and nudging my thigh like it’s begging me to make a move.

  And I could. I easily could. But I don’t do relationships, haven’t for a long, long time. I’m too fucked up in the head, too worried about losing someone. I’m aware of that. I’ll have casual hookups when I need to blow off some steam, making sure the woman I meet at a bar or wherever understands that there’s no strings attached. But blurring the lines with Indigo isn’t just a bad idea; it could hinder the end result of our assignment. We need to appear to be in a relationship, not actually be in one. Sleeping with her could throw us off our game, could make me lose focus. I need to make sure I’m all the way focused on this one, because I’ll be damned if I bring her back home in anything less than perfect condition.

  I just need to make sure my dick remembers that.

  The next morning, I head out for a much-needed solo workout. My plan is to leave the apartment and be back before Indigo’s even awake.

  But just as I’m pulling on my gym shorts in the still-darkened living room where I slept, the bedroom door creaks open. Indigo steps into the living room, and the promise I made last night about keeping my dick to myself evaporates.

  She’s dressed in black workout tights and a cobalt sports bra. Her toned arms and tight stomach are on full display, and the tights leave nothing to the imagination. Her little sneakered feet stutter to a stop when she sees me, and I glance down at my bare chest and swallow a groan.

  Is the universe working against me?

  “What are you doing?” she blurts, the same panic I’m feeling apparent in her eyes.

  With a sigh, I motion toward myself. “The same thing as you, obviously. This is the time I work out.”

  She frowns. “But this is the time I work out.”

  Yeah. ’Cour
se it is.

  “It’s five-fifteen in the morning, Indy.”

  She jams her fists onto her hips. “I know what time it is, Lawson. I’m an early riser. You should have realized it last night when I went to bed before ten.”

  My mouth speaks before my brain can stop it. “I was going to run to the beach as a warm-up and then do some circuits. Do you want to join me?”

  She hesitates, and then nods. Her hair, pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, bobs. “I guess so.”

  A wicked smile crosses my lips. “That was enthusiastic. You scared you can’t keep up?”

  Her eyes narrow. There she is. “I’m not scared of anything. And if you think I can’t keep up with you, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  Chuckling, I sit on the edge of the coffee table to pull on my sneakers. Two minutes later, we’re jogging down the street toward the beach.

  After our workout and breakfast at a little café near our apartment, we pass the rest of the day with grocery shopping, organizing the apartment, and getting a little work done for our respective jobs on our laptops.

  After a dinner of grilled stuffed chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad, I pull a beer out of the fridge and pop it open for Indigo, then grab a soda for me. We settle on the couch, and my eyes get snagged on her bare legs as she props her feet up on the coffee table. She has a cluster of roses tattooed on her right thigh and lines of script taking up residence on her left. My gaze travels farther down to land on the flock of blackbirds taking flight on her ankle and down to her foot.

  Earlier today, I caught sight of her, pencil in hand, brow furrowed, scratching away on a sketchpad. Questions immediately popped into my head, but I’ve been saving them for the right moment.

  “Question game. You up for it?”

  She stares down at her bare feet, rolling her ankles as she thinks about it. “I want an out this time. If there’s something I don’t want to answer, I get one pass.”