by Tara Oakes
I swallow hard and find that I can’t blink as I watch the man wince in pain as Chris straddles the chair and sits, adding his weight.
“Ah!” Nicky finally gives in and voices the agony I can see building on his face. “You mother-fucker! You can’t do this!”
Chris laughs menacingly. I’ve never seen him like this. “Oh yeah? Who’s gonna stop me, hmm? You can end this real quick by talking, otherwise you’re just wastin’ more time and pissing me off. You don’t want to see me when I’m pissed off, Nicky.”
I’ve seen enough movies to spot the whole ‘good-cop, bad-cop’ routine. The problem is … there’s no one here to play good-cop to reign Chris in.
“I got a message that the broad’s pop was some uppity Senator. He’s on some kind of committee. There are people who want to make sure he’s gonna cooperate when they need him to.” Nicky’s words are strained.
His shackled hands grab at the top of his thighs being squeezed by the imposing chair.
“And?” Chris asks nonchalantly as he leans forward, tipping the chair on the back two legs to press down even further on Nicky’s thighs.
“That’s it! That’s all I know! I arranged for a copy of the security tapes to be picked up at the club the first of the month. I didn’t even get paid. Seeing that bitch get hers was enough payment for me. She ruined me!”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. Didn’t your momma ever tell you it’s not nice to call ladies names, Nicky?” Chris’s words are haunting.
I’m afraid to look — I know something bad is about to happen. I close my eyes and swiftly turn my head to the side when I hear a horrible sound I can only imagine as the chair being used with force before the quiet sobbing of a man is the only sound left to be heard.
Adrenaline rushes through me as I process what’s happened. Chris acted in a way I’ve never seen, morphing into the agent who stops at nothing to get what he needs from a perp. Deep down, I’ve known what he had to be capable of to make it as far as he has, to deal with the type of criminals and bad guys he has.
But seeing it first hand, reconciling it with the side of him he’s been careful to show me is oddly intoxicating. Such raw masculinity and confidence, mixed with a touch of blind recklessness, is both unsettling and … and … a turn on.
“We’re done here,” Chris’s voice breaks my thoughts. He takes my hand and leads me from the room while I keep my eyes closed tightly.
We pass the two guards as they stand watch outside the door and Chris retrieves his weapons and badge, all the while remaining silent. I watch as he re-holsters the guns and clips the badge back in place, having never fully taken the time before to think about what those things really symbolize.
He’s dangerous.
He’s lethal.
I’ve never wanted him more.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHRIS
“Hiya, Harry. Two rooms, please.”
The stout, friendly owner of the Maryside Hotel is once again at the small front desk that looks oddly disproportionate compared to him.
“Agent Gibson — one of my favorite guests! It’s been awhile, hmm?”
Harry and his slightly younger wife, Ann, own and operate the small aging hotel, and have always been welcoming to me during my stays in town. Leading up to Nicky’s trial I had made bi-weekly trips through town to help the prosecutors build their case. Once the actual court proceedings actually began, my testimony kept me here for another few weeks until the final verdict was rendered.
Jess had tagged along during most of those initial trips, having been connected to the case herself as another witness. It was the perfect excuse for us to have a little late-night alone time when I’d finally get done with the endless amount of pretrial work.
Those were the good-old days before things got too complicated, when the adrenaline rush from the case was like an aphrodisiac pushing Jess from zero to sixty in mere minutes. She saw, firsthand, how consuming my work can be, and seemed to be fine with it at first.
Didn’t last long, though.
As soon as she wasn’t included in even the smallest part of my work, it became an issue. Right now¸ I can’t even start to think of the fast downward spiral we took. I’m too exhausted.
“I wish I knew you were coming. I’d have kept openings. With this comic book convention going on this week, though, I’ve only got one room. The Honeymoon suite.”
Of course. Just my luck. First, I get shut down by Jess after what should have been a sure thing, and now I’ve got to sleep close enough to her to give myself blue-balls.
Fucking great.
“Sorry, I had to check in at the office and catch up on some emails. What’d I miss?”
Speak of the temptress herself. Jess had been hanging back in the main foyer typing furiously on her phone.
“Jessica!” Harry recognizes my once frequent companion. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Ann!” Harry seems excited to see Jess again, even calling over his shoulder for his wife to come greet one of their returning guests.
“We have a small problem,” I whisper to Jess as Harry waits eagerly for his wife.
Princess seems torn with whom to focus on. Harry moves around the desk to take Ann’s hand when she enters, leading her to Jess.
“Jessica?” Ann is pleasantly stunned. “Jessica!”
She leaps forward and hugs Jess tight. The two of them had gotten along really well back when Jess was a frequent visitor. Ann is around the age I imagine Jess’s mom is, and I think that had more than a little to do with the bond the two women formed. I know ever since the Senator’s wife moved to New York for a temporary position, Jess hasn’t seen her mom much.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I would have made that chocolate-banana pie you like so much.” Ann releases Jess to inspect her. “Is your new young man here, too? Cooper?”
I grit my teeth hard enough to hear the crackling and tighten my stomach as if the mere mention of that douchebag’s name had invisibly punched me in the gut.
How the hell does Ann even know about him?
“Sorry, Annie. I didn’t know we would be staying in town overnight or I would have sent you an email.”
Ah! Mystery solved. So, the two of them still keep in touch. Huh, I would’ve thought Jess was too busy in her new high-powered life to remember the little people.
“Chris! You’re here, too?” Ann abandons Jess to move along to me, hugging my shoulders tight in a motherly way. “Wait!” She widens her eyes and gasps as if she’s just solved world peace.
“You two are back together! I knew it, I just knew it! I said from day one, to old Harry here, I said a couple like you two, with the love in those eyes you have for one another … nothing can keep that apart. I knew that whole Cooper thing was just a phase, wouldn’t go anywhere. Not when you have someone like Chris.”
Harry nods, agreeing that his wife did in fact say those very words.
I clear my throat awkwardly, hating to disappoint the woman. I won’t lie, part of me wants to just let what she says be true, at least my cock does.
“Actually …” Jess shifts her eyes to me briefly before making the confession. “We’re not together. I mean,” she’s stumbling over her words and I can’t help but find it cute, “we’re here together, but we’re not together.”
The older couple looks confused.
“It’s work related. Official business,” I clarify. “That’s why we need the two rooms.”
I see their shoulders deflate in disappointment, with something new in Ann’s eyes. Something I’ve never seen before. Could it be pity?
“Oh, I see,” her voice is quiet as she’s still processing our admission. “Um, we- we have a room, but not two. We’re almost fully booked.”
I hear the familiar information being retold. I can feel Jess straighten and tense next to me. It’s almost nine o’clock at night and I know she’s as tired as I am. Neither one of us are entertaining the idea of searching for another hotel this time of night,
especially when we have a relationship with the proprietors of this one.
“Um, well, Chris can sleep on the sofa. It’ll be fine, really.”
Great. Now I’ll have blue-balls and a backache.
Fucking fantastic.
~*~
“We’ll be up for another hour or so if you two need anything, and the kitchen’s open until midnight if you want room service.” Harry sets down Jess’s small over-night bag next to mine, while Jess stands dumbfounded in the middle of the main room.
It’s pink. It’s very pink.
Every single honeymoon or love cliché you can think of is on display, from the silk rose petals strewn on the bed, to the champagne flutes and chocolate covered strawberries.
“Thanks, Harry,” I extend my hand to shake the older man’s hand, thanking him for his help in setting us up so last minute.
He nods graciously accepting my handshake as well as the folded twenty-dollar bill. “Have a good night.”
Once the door is closed and we’re left to ourselves, the room’s vibe changes. It becomes thick with some sort of uneasy tension — we haven’t been together in a bedroom in a long time. I’m willing to bet that she’s thinking that same exact thing this very moment.
“I’m starving,” I break the silence and try to put some sort of normalcy into the evening. “I’m gonna order some food. You want?”
Jess nods quickly, a little too-quickly. I can tell she’s nervous. “Turkey burger. Fries. Beer. Thanks.”
I pick up the bedside phone to place the order as she rummages through her overnight bag searching for her shower things, and then shuts herself inside the large bathroom.
Not long after, I hear the rushing sounds of water through the chestnut-stained door. I exhale deep and long, wondering what the hell we’ve gotten ourselves into. There’s only so much temptation a person can take.
Whatever happened between us on the plane proves that there is still an enormous amount of chemistry between us. Toss us in a honeymoon suite in one of the places where we’d spent a lot of time during the early days of our relationship and nostalgia can have a way of getting away with you.
I undress to the point where my suit jacket and tie are thrown haphazardly onto the nearby chair. I pull at my collar, unbuttoning the small confining buttons, until I feel the cool breeze of the room against my skin.
As I turn to kick out of my shoes, I spy a slow steady stream of steam escaping from underneath the bathroom door. I remember the scorching hot showers Jess would always insist on taking. The kind that makes me sweat just thinking about them.
I can’t help but recall the rosy-pink hue her skin would turn as the hot water cascaded over it. Her luscious ass was always the first to redden, begging me to soothe it with my palm.
Just thinking about what that ass must look like behind the closed door, right now, is making me sweat, and I swipe the back of my hand against my forehead. It doesn’t help — I can feel the heat causing my skin to become slick.
Frustrated, I maneuver my arms out of my crisp white shirt and use it to wipe at the glistening skin of my chest. Still too hot. I need something cold to drink.
My eyes immediately settle on the silver champagne bucket, with a think layer of beaded condensation on the outside. It’ll do.
The loud, hollow, popping sound of the bottle uncorking echoes through the room like a crack of thunder and the bubbly drink explodes up onto me, dripping the sweet smelling foam down my skin, tickling it’s way through the muscles of my stomach.
“Fuck,” I mutter at the mess.
The coldness of the romantic drink against my body is refreshing, but it doesn’t stop me from lifting the round opening of the glass to my lips to gulp as much as I can down.
I close my eyes as I let the ice-cold champagne cool me from the inside out, working it’s magic. The knocking on the door interrupts my drink.
“Hey, man,” I move aside to let the young guy enter as he balances the round tray on his shoulder.
He looks like a pro, skillfully placing the covered dishes down onto the wooden table nearby.
I hand him a folded bill for a tip on his way out, and listen to the loud grumbling of my empty stomach as the delicious smells of our order finally greet me.
My hunger quickly takes center stage, making itself known and harder to ignore. Glancing up at the closed bathroom door, I silently will it to open, for Jess to join me. I’m not about to be a jerk and start without her — only a douche would do that. I’ll bet that squirrely-looking beady-eyed Cooper would do it.
Nah, I’ll wait. It’s what a real man would do. Too much time has passed and Jess has probably forgotten what exactly a real man is fully capable of. I may have given her a little taste of it three thousand feet up in the sky earlier today, but it’s about damn time to remind her some more.
I’ve spent enough time in random hotel rooms throughout the world for work, where I know all the little tricks. I can hear the shower turn off through the insulated door separating the rooms and know I only have a few minutes to pull this off.
The wide, accordion-door styled closet is empty besides the usual; extra pillows, ironing board, iron. But, it also has exactly what I need right now. I pull the thick extra blanket down from the top shelf, with the soft material landing in a heap in my arms.
Turning, I grab only the corners and let it fall, unfolding itself to reveal the large rectangle of soft, plushy comfort, before I spread it out over the floor, falling to my knees to even out the creases.
Once our makeshift picnic blanket is perfectly in place, I reach for the covered platters on the tabletop and set them out, followed by the champagne bucket and glasses.
What goes better with burgers than champagne, right? I laugh to myself at the picture I’m painting in my head right now. This is some real high-class shit.
My stomach grumbles yet again, and I decide to torture myself just a little more. I remove the silver-domed plate coverings and toss them aside, exposing our late-night dinner.
No longer patient, with the perfectly cooked burger so close in front of me, I call out.
“Don’t waste time on all that pre-bed skin bullshit, Princess! Your food’s gonna get cold!”
I remember how she would rub an endless amount of expensive creams and potions into her skin every night, in some meticulous beauty ritual. No doubt, her country club and high society friends all did the same thing. Each one of those little jars of beauty lotions costs more than a damn car payment.
Those girls have each other so fucking worked up and insecure, thinking those things even make a fucking difference.
They don’t.
Jess is beautiful and flawless on her own. Too bad she lets all that outside shit influence her into doubting it herself. No matter how many times I would tell her how perfect she was, she never felt secure in it. I blame the world she lives in for it.
Too concerned with appearances, with the outside shit, and not what really matters. Daddy dearest didn’t do anything to help the situation either.
He knows full well his daughter wasn’t a stripper. He knows she was undercover, helping me with an investigation, infiltrating Nicky Facione’s strip club from the inside to smoke out a murderer.
She’s a hero, the bravest woman I’ve ever met, putting herself in a dangerous situation like that. Not many other women would do something like that to help clear an innocent person from a crime they didn’t commit by helping to find the real perp.
The public would understand, hell, would probably even embrace it. But, no —Senator Leary would rather hide it at all costs rather than have the information be exposed and have his daughter looked down upon by those high-society snobs and bitches that he associates himself with.
One more reason I’m not a fan of the man. Let’s just say he’s not getting my vote next election.
The bathroom door swings open and a billow of thick steam escapes, cloaking Jess as she steps forth, hiding her features for a mere mome
nt, until it disperses and wafts away.
The sight I see next, literally takes my breath away.
Like some ancient Greek Goddess being revealed to me through the wispy clouds of heaven, Jessica is fresh-faced, skin flushed from the steam’s heat and glowing dewily.
Her peaches and cream skin is radiant in a thin white tank top, and little lace sleep shorts showing off her smooth, curvy legs. I scan her slowly, from the crimson painted toes, up to her freshly combed damp hair slicked straight back.
“Please don’t say anything,” she shyly looks down at her outfit. “I wasn’t exactly expecting to have to share a room and it’s too warm in here to wear the bathrobes they have in there.”
I laugh at her modesty. “My lips are sealed, Princess. Grab a seat.”
“What’s this?” she asks.
I wave my arm out regally at the blue-collar feast before us. “A picnic.”
Jess looks wary. “There’s a perfectly good table over there,” her eyes lift to the round wooden object she refers to.
“Sit your ass down, Princess. The floor ain’t gonna bite.” I playfully reprimand her.
She huffs and gives up her argument, taking a seat, sitting daintily and lady-like across the blanket from me.
“Thank God, I’m starved!” She picks up her burger as I take the empty champaign glass nearby and fill it for her. The tiny bubbles pop and fizz atop the golden-colored liquid. “You could have started, ya know. You didn’t have to wait for me. You’ve got to be just as hungry as I am.”
I hand her the filled flute and eye her. “When have I ever left you to eat alone?”
She chews the mouthful of turkey burger, waiting for the perfect time to swallow and speak. “Oh, I don’t know … almost every night?”
Ouch.
She’s not wasting any time getting into it, is she?
“I’m not talking about when I was away working, Princess. I’m talking about the times I was home, the times we were together.” I stretch out my legs to the side, off the blanket and lean against my propped arm as I take a bite of my burger.
