Wordless (Pink Sofa Secrets Book 1)

by Mel Sterling

  "Aw, hell," snarled Jack, slamming his fist down on the table with the invoices spread across it.

  "How's it feel to be the jerk for a change, JT? Saying the things nobody likes to hear?"

  "Somebody had to do it."

  "Tell me about it."

  Lexie went to the door and slowly, quietly, turned the latch to lock it, pressing her face to the glass to watch Ben until he was out of sight. She came back to the table, gathered up the papers, and stacked them neatly. She ran a finger down the list of borrowed books on the top of the stack.

  "Ben's right. Gilly needs to be warned."

  "What?" Jack felt a shock like he'd just been plugged into a car battery. "Lexie, we've already decided not—"

  "I'm not going to accuse her of anything. I'm just going to suggest she be extra careful and on her guard, since the bookstore has been a target. I'll ask her to tell the other employees of The Cup the same. I'll go talk to the women over at Foundations and Frills, too. They might as well be paying extra attention. Everyone will be safer that way."

  She pivoted away, heading for the French door. Jack fell into step beside her, but she stopped and put a hand on his chest. "I appreciate your position. I really do. But this is business. A business-to-business thing."

  "You're not going to talk to her about the books? I need to hear you say that."

  Lexie gave him a penetrating look, not quite censorious, but not quite approving, either. He had the distinct feeling she was humoring him, and had he not been here to raise his concerns, she'd have gone straight to Gilly with her questions and suspicions.

  She was glorious. Brave. Foolhardy.

  "Not right now. You're right. It's for the Feds to work out. Ben's right, too. I don't really believe Gilly's involved, not deliberately. I am just putting a neighbor on alert because there's a bad guy in the neighborhood."

  With a flick of her wrist, she released the thumb latch on the French door and vanished inside The Cup.

  Behind Jack, Gard let out a long, low whoop. "Boy howdy, JT. Now that right there is a real woman, and if you don't make your move soon, I'm gonna be forced to ask you to step aside and let a real man—"

  Jack's head jerked around. Gard had that aggravating, Georgia boy grin on his face. "Asshole," Jack said succinctly, and stalked to a shelf. Better keep himself busy before he decided to wipe the grin off Gard's face with a well-placed punch or two, which, he knew, was exactly what Gard had intended all along, but Jack hated knowing he needed reminding.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE CONVERSATION WITH INSPECTOR Hazelton was unsatisfying. Lexie made the call from the front desk, with Jack and Gard still busy in the stacks, but also clearly eavesdropping. She waited on hold for what seemed like hours, at least according to the dolorous hold music, which repeated several times before the postal inspector finally came on the line.

  "Inspector Hazelton here. Who's this?"

  Lexie was taken aback. She'd had to give the person who put her on hold a lot of information—who she was, what she was calling about, the warrant number—before the person would even transfer her. She thought Hazelton could at least have been briefed. She scowled at the desk.

  "This is Alexia Worth, Inspector. You were in my bookstore, Horace's Books, yesterday. Searching for stolen financial information."

  "What do you want?"

  She should have been prepared for his rudeness, for the way the mere sound of his voice made her feel like a criminal, but she wasn't. Tears welled up. She used the sudden righteous fury she felt at her own weakness to burn them back. She planted her feet and straightened her spine. Her gaze found Jack not far away. He was meditatively alphabetizing a shelf of books, but she knew he was attuned to her voice, her mood, and she felt bolstered. "I have some information for you that I believe will help."

  "Really." Hazelton's tone made it clear he didn't believe her, and, in fact, was uninterested.

  "Yes, sir." She put her finger next to John Howard's Reno address on the topmost invoice. "We've been going back through our sales records, and we think we've found a pattern you should know about."

  "Uh huh." Hazelton could not have sounded less interested. The inspector was just going through the motions. He'd drawn his conclusions and saw no need to give a criminal an audience. She and her store were guilty.

  "Please, write this down. H. Barczak."

  "Right, the guy you were mailing that book to."

  "Yes. Except we've discovered he's ordered more than a dozen books from us in the last six months." Lexie could almost hear Hazelton sitting up at his end of the line.

  "So you've been sending him lots of these chips? Is that what you're saying? You're a repeat offender, Ms. Worth?"

  Lexie gritted her teeth. "Write this down, I said, sir."

  Jack gave up pretending to sort books, and came to the desk, where he stood staring at her. Lexie held up a finger to remind him to be quiet. "I have a different name and address for you. John Howard, Reno…within two weeks of every sale to Barczak, whoever that is, we have a sale of the same title, same edition, that we mail to this man in Reno. We thought they were just good customers, but now that we've looked further—"

  Hazelton interrupted her. "So what you're saying is that you're rolling over on your partners, is that right? You want to deal?"

  Lexie pushed the speaker button on the phone. "Inspector," she said, resting the handset on the counter. "I have just put you on speaker. My attorney is here with me, listening to everything you say from here on out. I am not a criminal, and I resent your assertion of my guilt when you don't have proof and no charges have been filed against me."

  Jack's brown eyes widened, and a wolfish grin parted his lips.

  "So, Mr. Hazelton—" she had decided to forgo his title, since he had decided to forgo his professionalism. "Like I said, write this down. John Howard. Reno. H. Barczak. Our credit card processing company is DCS, and the date of John Howard's last transaction with us was October fifth of this year. Here is the transaction number. You will need it when you ask DCS to research his information and track back to him. When you find John Howard, Mr. Hazelton, I believe you will have your man. One of them, anyway."

  There was a profound silence at the other end, broken only by the faint tapping of a computer keyboard. Lexie waited. Jack reached across the counter and rested a hand on her shoulder, holding her steady. She was angry enough now that she didn't need his grip, but the warmth felt comforting all the same.

  "Is that all, Ms. Worth?"

  "For now," she said. "I assume you'll pass this information on to Agent Kastner, or should I call him as well?"

  "I'll do what's necessary."

  "That doesn't sound like a 'yes.' I'll telephone him next, then."

  "I'll take care of it, like I said. Yes, if that's what you need to hear. Ms. Worth, when I contact this John Howard, is he going to tell me you're his hookup?"

  "He is not," Lexie said firmly, but she was suddenly doubtful. She knew nothing about John Howard or H. Barczak, but they knew about her and her store. She bit her lips and took a deep breath.

  "I'll be in touch. I suggest you not leave town. Is that everything?"

  "I think so." She thought about Gilly, and her glance slid toward The Cup. Jack looked right in her eyes as if he could read her thoughts. The decision was hers to make, she saw, and appreciated him for it.

  Now was not the time to introduce the complication of a barista borrowing certain books, she decided. Her own jury was still out on this topic. Let the cops do some of their own work. She shook her head as she spoke again. "Yes, that's everything."

  There was a click, and Hazelton was gone. Lexie blinked at the phone.

  "There's a jerk with real self-esteem issues," Gard commented from the stacks.

  "What a day," Lexie said, putting her head down on the tall counter and pressing her flaming cheek to its cool surface. Jack threaded his fingers through her curls, offering his silent comfort. After a moment, she lifted h
er head, walked around the counter, and went into the arms he opened to hold her.

  She remained there a long time, leaning on Jack, listening to the beat of his heart beneath her ear. He stood still, simply holding her, his head drooped to hers, his arms wrapped around her like a blanket. The urge to give in to tears came and went; a wave of nauseating fear of what the future held in store for her, for the store, came and went. At last, all that was left was a tremendous weariness and a longing for the quietude of Horace's little house. She looked up at Jack.

  "Walk me home early?" she asked.

  "Say the word."

  "I'm saying it."

  Gard left before they did, hitch-stepping out with a jaunty whistle on his lips and his hands in his pockets. Melville raced to the front door the broad-shouldered Marine closed behind himself, and mewed. Lexie shook her head in disgust. The damned cat even preferred a virtual stranger to her.

  "Where will Gard go?" Lexie asked, as she turned off lights and gathered her bag. Jack shrugged, packing up his tablet and satchel.

  "He's a big boy. He's got a key to my place." He slid her a sidelong, dark-lashed glance that made a flush rise in her cheeks. "He won't wait up, if you're worried about that."

  "Don't be a pest. That's not what I meant. I just…sort of feel responsible for him, since he came here to visit you, and here I am, monopolizing all your time."

  Jack settled the satchel on his shoulder and stood in front of her. He touched her chin lightly, then his hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her close and tipping her face up. His mouth brushed over hers softly, so softly. "I'll let you know when it gets to be too much. Right now—" his lips wandered left, then right, then nipped along her jaw to her ear, where his warm whisper rushed, bringing goosebumps to her neck and arms, "—it feels like I could never get enough of you."

  Declarations like that could turn her head. He was a dangerous distraction. She ought to be doing more research, more digging, getting the store put back together, but she felt so hopeless about the situation that she craved that distraction.

  They went through the door into the back room. Lexie put her bag down on the shipping table and reached for her jacket. Ben's well-washed denim jacket still hung next to it. The young man had left without it, so upset he couldn't bear to be in the store another moment. She frowned a little. She trusted Ben's assessment of Gilly—an assessment she shared to her marrow. Gilly wasn't to blame here, even if she was involved. Lexie still wanted to go next door and see if Gilly could shed any light on the situation, but the struggle between her heart, her civic duty, and her businesswoman's brain was too uneven.

  Jack's hand reached past her to her own jacket and lifted it from the peg. He helped her into it like she was a child, even reaching for the zipper catch at the bottom. He had tugged the zipper halfway closed, up to the level of her breasts, before Lexie noticed his uneven breathing and felt his palm fit gently to the undercurve of her left breast. His gaze lifted slowly to meet hers, assessing her reaction. His thumb brushed over the nipple, which firmed in response.

  His voice, when he spoke, was thoughtful, but ragged. "Here I am dressing you, when what I want to do is exactly the opposite." His hand flattened to her ribcage beneath the jacket, but his thumb went on stroking.

  Lexie shuddered with the sensation. Her eyelids felt too heavy. Jack slowly pulled the zipper tab back down and the jacket sagged open. He looked into her eyes, seeking agreement, asking permission. "You know how I feel about PDA in my store," Lexie said, but even as she spoke, her back was arching to move her closer to Jack.

  His satchel fell from his shoulder with a thump as he moved to put a hand at the back of her waist, but though they both glanced at it for a moment, neither truly took their eyes off the other. "Technically, we're in the back room, and both doors are closed. Does it still count as PDA in your store? What if I tell you I want to build you a throne of rare books and worship your body there till you beg for mercy?"

  "That sounds like it would be hard on the books," she said breathlessly, yet when Jack's hand pulled her closer, she went.

  "I'd be careful. I'd take off the dust jackets first, so they wouldn't get creased or torn." He pushed her jacket off her shoulders and down her arms. It joined his satchel on the floor. "Then I'd gently lift the front cover and open the book to the flyleaf." His long fingers slowly opened the buttons on her blouse and pushed aside the plackets. "Then I'd look at the gorgeous endpapers. Admire the artwork of the frontispiece." His warm fingers stroked along the lace trim at the upper edge of her bra.

  "And when you're finished admiring the artwork?" Lexie asked, becoming more breathless the longer he touched her. Her objections had flown out of her head, and her mental weariness was replaced by a sense of excited urgency.

  "Then I'd turn to the title page." Jack curled a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth. Kissed her softly, his eyes open. "Give the book's author her due acknowledgment for a job well done, because every page I turn is bound to be a new discovery, a treasure." He murmured against her lips, then his tongue slid inside, stroking, tasting her.

  Utterly charmed by this novel approach to seduction, Lexie asked for more of the story. "And then?"

  Jack lifted his head. A smile tugged at his lips, but his face was tense with desire. He palmed both her breasts at once. "Oh, the front matter in precious books. There for the reader to savor." She saw him swallow hard. "Shall I go on, Lexie?"

  "I like the way this story begins. Yes, tell me more. After the title page?"

  His hands firmed at her ribcage and turned her around. "On the back of the title page is the verso." As he turned her, he swept the hem of her blouse from her waistband, exposing her belly to his warm touch and holding her in place, her buttocks firmly against his thighs. He made quick work of the hooks of her bra. Once again he cupped her breasts in his palms, but this time he rolled her bared nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. "The verso tells you so much about the book." His head bent. He nuzzled aside the collar of her blouse and bit the side of her neck softly.

  "What does—what—oh, Jack." She trembled. "What does the verso tell you?"

  "This is a limited first edition, you understand. An exclusive printer, no expense spared. It's a first printing, an exceptionally small print run. So…desirable." He ground his pelvis against her from behind, still keeping his teeth set against her skin, half-hissing, half speaking his words. "From the verso a discerning reader catches the first scent of the ink that covers the pages."

  It should have been laughable, purple prose. Lexie should have been rolling her eyes. Instead she wanted to discover how far Jack could extend this metaphor. "Go on. After the verso—"

  "Comes the dedication." One of Jack's hands left her breast while the other continued to delicately pinch and tug at a nipple. A moment later his hand was under her skirt, brushing over her tights. "So called because—" Jack took a long breath, his hand flattening over her lower abdomen, fingertips down, resting at the apex of her thighs, neither intruding nor persuading. Letting his warmth distract her busy brain. "—the author wishes to thank someone who means a great deal to her. Someone who helped make that particular story possible." His fingers pressed, rubbed downward.

  "Jack," she moaned. Her knees felt weak. She remembered very well how abandoned she'd been in bed with him, knew what his fingers could do to her. She craved the sensation of skin on skin.

  "Dedicated to me? I'm flattered." His fingers brushed upward, found the waistband of her tights, and probed beneath. "Dedications are brief, a moment of affection. We will move on." His other hand joined the one under her skirt. His thumbs hooked in the waistband, and a moment later her tights were peeled down to her knees.

  "Oh," was all she could say, but she squirmed her feet out of her shoes herself. She bent to push her tights further down, managed to get one foot out of them before Jack caught her, bent as she was, and pushed her toward the arm of the sofa. Her mouth fell open in a gasp; the idea of his b
ody pounding against hers this way made her throb with need.

  "Then there is the table of contents. The list of chapters. The items a reader can expect to find within this book." He pressed her forward even more, and she caught the arm of the sofa to balance herself. "We have a peek—just a small one—" Jack moved back a moment, and she heard the rattle of his belt buckle and the noise of his zipper sliding down, followed by the clink and thud of his jeans hitting the floor, pocket contents jingling. He lifted the hem of her skirt and ran his hands over her buttocks. One finger trailed down the seam between her cheeks and lingered between her legs, where she was already moist. She heard him gulp. "Dear. God. Lexie."

  "A peek at what?" she prompted, pushing back against him, but finding only his hardness throbbing there, lying tensely against her like a warm, velvet-sheathed root. "Go on with the story."

  "A…peek. At what lies in store." Jack sounded as if he were out of breath. "The table of contents tempts the reader to turn the page and begin the journey for real."

  "I'm ready. Read me."

  His answer was a deep groan. "Let me just—" He leaned far to the side and dragged his satchel toward him. Lexie turned her head, needing to feel him inside her, ravenous to be filled, filled now. His fingers shook as he unzipped a pocket and fished inside.

  He pulled out a condom, ripped it open one-handed with the help of his teeth, and let her go long enough to roll it down over himself. He leaned over her, but Lexie knew she was too short and he was too tall for this sort of standing, athletic lovemaking, and a moment later he pulled her around the end of the sofa, sank onto its pink cushions with his thighs open and his manhood jutting, bobbing with each beat of his heart. "How about you read me." His hands went to her thighs, slipped beneath her skirt once more. At the touch of him on the silky flesh between her legs, she thought she would topple over, but his hands were strong, and they held her upright as they searched the sweetness there. She pulled off her blouse and tangled bra, and was reaching for the catch at the waistband of her skirt when Jack said, voice dark and husky, "Leave the skirt."