by Lauren Esker
"We could go back. It's one of my favorite places."
"I'd be okay with that." She nuzzled against his neck, enjoying her own smell on his skin.
"You know," he murmured, after another kiss, "Olivia is at her mother's all night. I'd just be going back to my apartment alone, rattling around all evening, probably watching Netflix or something ..."
Her heart sped up, fluttering in her chest. "Fletcher, are you inviting me back to your place to Netflix and chill?"
"Lady picks the activity. But yes." He took her face in his hands and gave her a long, heated kiss that made her already-wobbly knees go weaker yet. When he released her lips, he brushed back a strand of her tawny hair, his fingertips brushing lightly down her jaw and neck. "I don't want to go home alone tonight, Debi."
"Me neither," she whispered. "Me neither."
Chapter Eight
Debi woke in early morning sunshine. In that first dazed instant between sleep and waking, she felt only confusion. Her apartment didn't have east-facing windows.
No. She was in Fletcher's bed.
And he was in it with her. For the first time in a very long time, she had not had to wake up alone.
She stretched, luxuriating in the warmth of another's skin on her own, before sitting up carefully, not wanting to disturb him. Last night's rain had passed, and the room was bathed in the golden light of a newly risen sun. Fletcher lay tangled in his sheets, exposing most of his torso and one outflung arm. Untamed by gel, his hair was lighter than she'd realized last night, a tangled riot of soft brown curls.
She kissed him very gently at the corner of his slack mouth and slipped out of bed.
Quietly, without bothering to put on clothes, she wandered through Fletcher's apartment. It was comfortable but not enormous. Besides the bedroom she and Fletcher had slept in, there was one other, which obviously belonged to his daughter: colorful murals on the walls, stuffed toys everywhere, a My Little Pony bedspread on the smaller-than-adult bed. Both bedrooms opened onto an open-plan living space with a deep shag carpet and a kitchen area that, like Fletcher's bedroom, faced east, admitting a flood of golden light.
East for morning light in the condo; west for sunset light in his office. She smiled and wondered if he'd planned it that way; Fletcher was a man who rose early and worked late.
The condo's living room was tidy but not meticulously spotless. Debi plucked an empty cereal box from the counter and started to tuck it into the recycling bins she found under the counter when she noticed it had a T-shirt stuffed inside. Well, that's an odd place to keep your clothes, Fletcher. She put it back. He could deal with it.
A dry rustling from a corner of the room made her jump. "Oh," she said aloud, peering into the snake's tank.
"Her name is Lydia."
Fletcher's sleepy voice came from behind her. Debi looked over her shoulder. He was leaning against the bedroom doorframe, gloriously naked.
"Corn snake," he added, yawning. "Plausible deniability for Olivia, in case anyone happens to notice a snake out in the hallway. You're a lovely sight to wake up to, by the way."
"I was just thinking the same thing." She crossed the room to him, curling her toes in the luxurious carpet, and he placed a hand at the base of her spine, pulling her against him for a kiss.
"Mmmm." He nipped at her lips as he pulled away and then self-consciously brushed his hair out of his eyes. "Uh, sorry about the overgrown hedge up top. I should just cut it off."
"No, don't." She ran her fingers through his springy curls. "I like it."
"Enjoy it while you can. I need to take a shower and get to work."
"Oh, really." She pressed her bare front against his, feeling his more-than-subtle stirrings of interest against her thigh. "That's a nice big shower you've got in there. It'd be more efficient to shower together, don't you think?"
"Ah. Efficiency." He grinned as he kissed her again. "I'm glad to see you're looking out for my schedule."
"I'm nothing if not efficient."
They kissed their way into the bathroom, hands all over each other. She couldn't get enough of the feeling of his body on hers. Like any cat, she just wanted to be petted.
The shower controls were a digital setup on the wall beside the sunken tub and shower enclosure. Debi had noticed it last night, but hadn't realized what she was looking at until now; she watched as Fletcher set the water temperature and water began to cascade into the tub.
"You like your luxuries, huh?"
"It came with the place," he said, blushing slightly.
"That wasn't a complaint." She laced her arms around his neck. "I like luxuries myself."
"I can see that." He kissed the side of her mouth. "You're a woman who appreciates fine things. But you aren't shallow."
"I can be pretty shallow, Fletcher."
"Nah." He gave her another kiss on the point of her jaw. "You're beautiful—" His lips tickled her neck with a series of pleasurable little zings. "And smart—" More kisses; he'd worked his way down to her collarbone. "And you have excellent taste." Kisses on her chest, kisses across the tops of her breasts. "Or did I meant to say you taste excellent?" With that, he drew one of her nipples into his mouth and stroked his tongue across the sensitive tip.
"Insatiable," she breathed. He was fully erect, pressing against her leg. She reached down and curled her fingers around his erection.
"Only for you."
"Mmmm." The bathroom was starting to fill up with steam. "Are we just going to stand here outside the shower, or do you want to enjoy some of that perfect water temperature?"
"I want to enjoy some of that perfect skin." He kissed her other breast and laved the nipple with his tongue. "Condoms are in the bedroom—"
"I have other ideas." She still had her hand on his cock, so he followed as she took a step down into the tub. Water swirled pleasantly around her toes.
"Say ..." Fletcher brushed his wet foot across her ankle, nudging at the anklet. "Can you shower with this thing on?"
"I'd be completely screwed if I couldn't," she pointed out. "I probably don't want to go swimming in the ocean with it, but showers are okay." She gave his cock a couple of pumps. Her hand was slick with his moisture as well as ambient steam. "You really want to stand here talking about my ankle monitor?"
"Not at all," he gasped.
"I thought that might be the case."
The water temperature was perfect, hot but not scalding, soaking them like a warm rain. Debi kissed him under the cascade, and continued to strip his cock with the tip pressed against her thigh. His hand slid between her legs, fingers brushing deliciously across her swollen clit.
"Are you entirely sure," he murmured against her mouth, "that you don't want a condom?"
"Nggghhhh." Her entire body was awash in sensation: hot water cascading over her head and trickling down her body, Fletcher's fingers stroking her sensitive folds—and then he slid a finger inside her, and she threw her head back with a soft cry. Her hand faltered on his cock as she lost the rhythm of it.
"Don't stop," he muttered, his wet face pressed against her neck.
Debi braced herself with a hand against the tiled wall. Her slick wet hand pumped Fletcher's cock. A second finger joined the first inside her, thrusting in and out while his thumb lightly worked her clit.
Sensation grew inside her, a rolling wave, building and building. Fletcher's breath came in short, rapid gasps against her neck. Water sluiced over them, tingling on her sensitive skin. It felt like her whole body was enveloped in pure feeling, and when she came, she came hard, clamping down on Fletcher's fingers. He shuddered along with her, his seed hot against her leg as he came.
They stood for a long moment wrapped up in each other, while the water washed away the evidence of the morning's activities. Finally Debi peeled herself off him enough to ask, "Do you have any shampoo?"
It was a cheap all-in-one store brand, not what she would have chosen—normally she relied on expensive hair care products to tame her blo
nde mane—but right now she was too relaxed to care if she went around all day looking like a dandelion. They washed each other lazily under the cascading water. Fletcher soaped her up and rubbed a palmful of shampoo into her hair, massaging her scalp with his fingertips. She sagged into it, eyes closed in bliss, like a cat being petted.
"No wonder you have so much trouble with your hair," she murmured as she returned the favor, running her hands through Fletcher's wet curls. "Get a decent conditioner and maybe you could keep it from going wild. Not," she added, tweaking a squiggle of dark curl on his forehead, "that I mind in the slightest."
"I didn't realize it made a difference."
Debi had to take a look at his face to see if he was joking. He didn't appear to be. "Of course it makes a difference. Why do you think there's an entire aisle of different kinds of shampoo?"
"Marketing?"
"Oh my God. No, you need the right kind for your hair type. I need a shampoo and conditioner that gives my hair body while helping me tame frizz. You've got coarser hair than I do, and you want less curl, so while I like products that put curl in, you'll want something that'll take the curl out and help you detangle it." She stroked her fingers through his hair. "You've got really subtle red highlights, you know that? Maybe find a shampoo to bring out the red. I think it'd look amazing."
"Yeah, turn myself into a redhead so my hair stands out even more. That's totally what I need."
But he was smiling. She kissed his water-beaded lips and rubbed her cheek on his morning scruff.
"You really are a cat, aren't you?" Fletcher asked, petting her wet shoulders. "You absolutely love rubbing on things."
"And lying in sunbeams, don't forget that."
Fletcher reached over to turn off the water. "As much as I'd love to stay in here all day, we both need to get to work."
"You run your own company," Debi complained. "You can take a day off."
"Not right now."
It was a sobering reminder of the serious issues hanging over them. She stepped out onto the sumptuously thick bath mat and discovered that Fletcher had huge, fluffy towels. Reveling in hedonistic feline delight, Debi buried herself in them.
"Anything else you need?" Fletcher asked, plugging in an electric razor.
"Hair dryer?"
"Under the sink."
She dried her hair while he shaved. It was comfortably domestic, moving around each other in the bathroom. Fletcher finished first, kissed her, and left. She took advantage of the opportunity to admire his ass and the smooth flexing of his back muscles before he was out of sight, and then investigated what else he had in the way of hair care products. There wasn't a whole lot, but he had various gels for flattening his hair, which she was able to apply to tamp down her frizz and keep it from turning into too much of a pouf. She also had a basic selection of makeup in her purse, so she could do her face.
When she came out of the bathroom, Fletcher was at the kitchen counter, barefoot in boxers and an undershirt, checking messages on his phone. He looked up, caught sight of her naked body, and an appreciative smile spread over his face.
"You just had this in the shower, you ridiculous man," she told him, opening the refrigerator to see what was available. Not much, as it turned out, but there was half a bagel in a plastic bag. She sniffed at it. Fresh enough. No onions or any other bagel contaminants. She took a bite.
"Hey, as long as the scenery's nice, I'm gonna keep looking." He tapped the phone screen. "I need to head out to one of my job sites this morning. Do you want to come along? If you'd rather get to work, I can drop you off at Sperlin-Briggs before I drive down there."
"I'd love to come." Anything that gave her more opportunity to spend time with Fletcher sounded wonderful just now. "There's a problem, though."
Fletcher raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"I may have to go naked. All the clothes I have here are the ones I was wearing last night."
"That'd be terrible. What an awful fate. How would I cope?"
She wrinkled her nose at him. "I'd hate to distract your construction workers, is the problem."
"Ah. Looking out for the efficiency of my business again."
"It's my job," Debi pointed out with a grin.
Fletcher settled a hand on the curve of her bare ass and gave her a little push toward the bedroom. "You don't really want to wear a Gucci suit and high heels to a construction site anyway. Let's see if anything I have will fit you."
Fletcher was wider in the shoulders, much narrower in the hips, and shorter in the legs, which meant all his tailored pants and jeans were out. So she put her designer slacks back on, pairing them with a plaid shirt from the casual section of his closet. The buttons strained over her chest but were just able to handle the pressure well enough to keep her decent. The only other option that fit her in the chest was a U-Dub sweatshirt, and she wasn't quite that desperate.
With a sigh, she tied her hair back in a ponytail; the stylish waves she'd painstakingly coaxed from it in the bathroom were entirely out of place with the casual ensemble.
She expected Fletcher to put on one of his usual suits, so it came as a surprise when she turned around to find him wearing jeans and a plaid shirt similar to the one she'd borrowed.
"Good God," she managed, her eyes drawn to the shirt stretching over his shoulders. The fact that he covered all of this up with suit jackets most of the time was a sin.
"I can't tell if that's appreciation or alarm," Fletcher remarked, mercilessly slicking his hair to his head with a palmful of gel.
"Appreciation. Definitely."
"Glad to hear it." He laced up a pair of steel-toed work boots. "What's your shoe size? I might have an extra pair of these around."
Her feet were narrower than his, but nearly the same length. A couple pairs of wool socks were enough to take care of it. Debi pushed up the anklet so that it rested on top of the boot and twitched down her pant leg to cover it before following Fletcher out the door.
The air outside was brisk and fresh, the sidewalk dotted with puddles from last night's rain. Fletcher pulled into a coffee drive-thru for caffeine and a couple of breakfast sandwiches, and then they drove south toward Tacoma on a freeway that gleamed like a river of molten glass in the morning sun.
"So what's the problem you need to take care of?" Debi asked, balling up the wrapping from her sandwich. Fletcher took it and tucked it into a trash bag in his door pocket.
"Finding out if someone's stealing building supplies off the site." At her startled look, he said with a slight smile, "It's not as rare a problem as you'd hope. I don't mean an organized gang of thieves, though that can happen. Mostly you just get portable supplies walking off the site, especially raw materials that can be sold for scrap, like copper wire and pipe. Most people in this trade are honest, but all it takes is a couple of bad apples who look at that shipment of electrical wire that just came in and decide to load it up in the back of a truck late at night and sell it off to buy a brand-new second car or treat the wife to a vacation in the Bahamas."
"Has that been happening on the job site we're visiting?"
"I don't know," Fletcher said. "I've been looking through the files you gave me, trying to figure out how the company got into the financial crunch it's in. Some of the building site expenses were a little hinky. It's probably not the sort of thing anyone would notice unless they were familiar with the building trade and with the properties involved, but I started noticing things like much higher charges for drywall and paint than a remodeling project of this size should reasonably use. Either they got ripped off by a supplier, or someone's skimming."
"Your ex?" Debi asked.
"Possibly. At one point I thought she might be. But the more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Why would she embezzle from Sperlin-Briggs? The company is such small potatoes compared to some of the projects her family works on. It's like shoplifting a candy bar when you've got enough money to buy the whole box."
"Maybe she likes the t
hrill," Debi suggested, thinking of Roger and the rest of her pride, who had thrown their whole lives away—and hers—to ride the adrenaline rush of the hunt. "Some people are like that."
"I never thought Chloe was. She always seemed so cautious. They say you never know a person ..." Fletcher shook his head and took a freeway exit. They'd driven out of the sun and back into rain as they drove south from Seattle, and his tires hissed on the wet pavement, seeming loud in the eerie silence that went with the electric car's lack of engine noise. "Anyway, we're almost there. I want you to look around, okay? Let me know if you notice anything strange."
"I won't know it if I see it. I've never been on a construction site before."
"Maybe not, but you're perceptive and I trust your judgment. Just keep your eyes open."
She tried not to show how deeply and thoroughly his comment warmed her, but something deep in her chest seemed to be purring.
***
Fletcher never got over the deep satisfaction of being on an active, working job site. He'd started out as a carpenter, and even though he worked in an office now, he still liked to get out and get his hands dirty whenever he could.
So he knew what to expect as they drove past the HARD HAT AREA and RESTRICTED - CHECK IN AT OFFICE signs into the muddy gravel lot. There was a row of port-a-potties, a trailer for the foreman's on-site office, a flatbed with a load of tarped-down plywood, and a crane and a Dumpster half full of construction debris standing near the gutted apartment building that the crew was refurbishing. All the usual stuff.
The crew was what was missing: the crew, along with most of the equipment and supplies that should have been here in addition to the basic infrastructure. There shouldn't have been just one crane, standing like a prop on a movie set. There should have been a dozen different machines for different jobs, heaps of supplies, men and women in hardhats shouting instructions and friendly shit-talking back and forth ...
"What's wrong?" Debi asked, catching his mood.
"It's Friday morning; where is everybody? No one said anything to me about shutting down work out here. I wonder how long this has been going on."
