The Rebel

by Adrienne Giordano

  David scooped up two more paintings. “Can we throw something over them? Plastic or something? We don’t have enough time to get them all out.”

  “Maybe the boxes.”

  Cardboard. They’d get soaked, as well. For half a second, she considered it. By the time she shoved the paintings inside the boxes, she could just as easily carry the pieces out of the building. She set the boxes on top of the racks.

  Spraying water fell from the ceiling, drenching her skin, saturating everything in the unit. She shoved two more paintings at David and hauled another two out. They worked together, each trip seeming to take longer as puddles formed on the tile in the narrow hallway. Once her flat-soled shoes slid across the floor and David, his hands occupied with the paintings, body blocked her so she wouldn’t fall over. The rubber on his boots kept him upright and once she was steady again he took off running.

  Water continued to pound them—no use—and she choked up. No. Crying wouldn’t help. She breathed in, setting her mind on the task at hand. Forcing herself to focus on her footsteps. On getting out.

  Later, she’d worry about the loss. Now they’d save what they could, which wouldn’t be much. Even what they’d taken out was probably a dead loss. All her work.

  Gone.

  Forget focusing. The final element of her livelihood had been destroyed. Whoever was behind it all knew just how to make her suffer. A sob broke free as they burst through the door.

  “Don’t think,” David said. “We’ll figure it out later.”

  She nodded. I’m not alone.

  David was here. Helping her. Sirens wailed as the first fire truck roared into the lot and whooshed to a stop. One of the men jumped from the truck and held his arms out to them.

  “Sorry,” he said. “No one goes in.”

  “There’s no smoke. My paintings are in there. Please.”

  “Sorry, ma’am. I can’t let you in there.”

  She spun to David, her eyes filling with tears, and he grabbed hold of her and hugged her while she sobbed into his chest. The anger and heartbreak poured out of her. Months and months and months of work, ruined.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “All my work.”

  Her breath caught again and she backed away and slammed her hand against her chest because...this was not happening. Not happening. All my work. She swung her head back and forth and began pacing the parking lot, trying to take it all in. Her accounts had been frozen and now her inventory had been destroyed. No money. What would she live on?

  Beside her, David fell into step. “Insurance. You have it, right?”

  Insurance. She stopped pacing and glanced up at him and her chest unlocked.

  He held his hands out. “I know the loss of the paintings is devastating, but financially, you’d be compensated.”

  “Ohmygod.” She doubled over, breathed out, let loose a fresh batch of tears. Please, with the crying. “Yes. They’re insured.”

  Each painting had been inventoried, priced accordingly and reported to her insurance company upon completion. The premiums damn near killed her, but she’d been diligent with her reporting. Playing it safe wasn’t always a bad thing.

  David eased his head back and stared up at the sky. “That’s good. Smart girl.”

  The alarms went silent and Amanda bolted upright. Firefighters lingered in the lot, none of them rushing to be anywhere.

  “No fire,” she said.

  “Doesn’t look like it.”

  David wandered away, spoke to one of the firefighters and came back to her. “No fire. Someone pulled the alarm.”

  “At the exact time we were in there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Whoever is doing this is systematically destroying my life.”

  “Unbelievable. Someone followed us here.”

  She turned back to the building, where the paintings they’d taken from the building sat propped against the facade. Trash. She knew. Too much water had fallen too quickly. Which only sparked a simmering rage inside her. This would not break her. She couldn’t let it.

  Never.

  “Well, guess what?” She gestured to David’s car, where he’d stored the painting for Mrs. Dyce. “I’m not leveled yet. I have one painting left. And the ones in my studio that aren’t complete. I’ll finish those and rebuild my inventory. Whoever is doing this will have to work a lot harder to break me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Eleven p.m. and Amanda hadn’t managed to nod off. If she were in her apartment, she’d wander down to her studio and work until her body finally gave out. One of the perks of living and working in the same location.

  Here, in the Hennings’ guest room, she didn’t have that luxury. Here, she’d be forced to play this twisted game of chicken her body insisted on.

  From outside came a noise. Something scraping. Something that sounded like the iron chair she’d found David sitting in the night before.

  And, oh boy, the idea of a replay of last night kicked up her pulse. Talking with him was easy. His brutal honesty, although overbearing at times, appealed to her. No pretenses, no games, no deception.

  She tossed the covers off and once again in her nightshirt and fluffy socks headed for the door, pausing only to shove a brush through her hair. The man had already seen her in her jammies, but she could at least have tamed hair.

  At the door, she hesitated. Getting used to these late-night chats wouldn’t do her any good. The past four days had been intense and she’d relied on him too much. Tomorrow, with any luck, she’d go back home. Back to being alone. Back to working out problems on her own.

  But that would be tomorrow.

  She opened the door and a light wind met her. In typical Chicago fashion for wacky spring weather, the temperature tonight had gone up rather than down. She couldn’t call it warm, but the chill definitely didn’t pack the punch it had the night before.

  Poking her head out, she peered left. David must have heard the door open and shifted in his seat. The same burst of moonlight from the night before illuminated him. Tonight, though, he wore a crew-neck sweatshirt and track pants and even in the darkness she saw him smiling.

  “I was thinking about a ride on my bike,” he said. “It’s a good night for it, but I changed my mind.”

  “Why? Too cold?”

  “No.” He turned to her, meeting her gaze in the darkness. “I was hoping I’d see you out here.”

  Oh, the girlie parts loved it. Those babies sent her into full flutter. She stepped out and gently pulled the door closed. “I can’t sleep.”

  He held his hand out and—yes—that would be nice. To just grab hold, as if it was the most natural thing to do. And why not? In the time they’d spent together, he knew more about her than some people she’d known for years.

  At her hesitation, he cocked his head, clearly wondering if she’d reject him. If she’d warn him off as she’d done last night.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, after a rotten week, she’d enjoy David’s company.

  Before he gave up on her, she grasped his hand and let him pull her close and lower her to his lap. “Gee,” she said, “if I’d known this would happen, I’d have come out way sooner.”

  “And that would have made me a lucky man.”

  He reached sideways, grabbed something—a blanket—off the chair to his left and spread it over them. “Your legs will freeze.”

  “Thank you. Aren’t you cold sitting out here?”

  He grinned. “Not anymore.”

  “Oh, the charm.”

  “I do try.”

  He tucked the blanket around her and she leaned in, resting against his chest as his hand moved up and down her back in a slow, caressing stroke. She tilted her head back and breathed. If she cou
ld freeze this moment, the pure relaxation, she’d do it. Just stay here forever, surrounded by darkness and chilly air and David Hennings in all his sexy glory.

  This moment was made for the artist in her. Only, for once, she didn’t want to paint it or sculpt it or sketch it. She simply wanted to experience it.

  And that was new.

  “I love sitting with you like this.”

  “Ditto that. And it feels damned naughty, considering that my folks are just below us.”

  Oh, stop it. “You had to bring that up?”

  He dropped a kiss on her lips and she slid her hand over his chest, where even through the thick material of his sweatshirt, her fingers curved over cut muscle. David Hennings logged hours in the gym. No doubt. Seeing him naked, she was sure, would not be horrible.

  “Amanda?”

  “Yes?”

  “If I wanted to move this into my room, what would you say?”

  His mind-reading capabilities continued to amaze. “I’d say yes. I’ve had a miserable week and this is the first thing that’s felt incredibly, undeniably right since this whole thing started.”

  The idiot grinned. “I do love the way you think.”

  He was so damned smug and confident and adorable that the explosions inside her happened again. If whatever this was didn’t work out, it would hurt. She knew that. The man was a risk. A big one. But somehow he settled her, gave her a sense of calm even when her world was coming apart. Something she’d never experienced.

  Ever.

  With anyone.

  He stood, easily lifting her as he went. “Hang on.”

  She tucked her legs and arms around him, grinning like an idiot herself because this was just too much fun. “I even get a ride.”

  “Oh, honey, you’ll get a ride. Trust me on that one.”

  David’s tone, the soft, sexy rumble against her ear, made her shiver as he carried her through the doorway, kissing her neck, running those amazing lips up and down, under the neckline of her nightshirt and grazing that sensitive spot on her collarbone. Her body responded. Loudly.

  Still holding her, he used one hand to quietly close the door—probably so it didn’t wake his parents. God, the man was strong. Considering that she wasn’t exactly a lightweight. She grabbed his cheeks, ran her hands over his trimmed beard and suddenly she couldn’t get enough.

  She kissed him and drew herself closer in a relentless quest to eliminate any space between them. Their tongues collided, their breaths mingling until all of it became one intensely sparking fire that burned furiously. If she’d ever been kissed like this, she didn’t remember it.

  Still holding her, he backed her against the wall, pressing against her, not gently, either, and—wow, that’s wild—his hands went crazy, touching her everywhere all at once while she tugged at his shirt because she wanted him. Now. Fast and hot and...physical. So not like her. The one who liked to play it safe all the time. But something about this man, his presence, gave her a feeling of protection and control and desire.

  Safety.

  With him, she’d be safe.

  Using his hips to prop her against the wall, he tugged off his shirt and even in the dimly lit room, her eyes feasted on a patch of dark, swirling chest hair and the ripped muscles that spanned his shoulders and arms.

  “My God, your body is unbelievable.”

  “Gym. Lots of it. Push-ups every night don’t hurt.”

  He kissed her again and the bulge in his pants—hello, fella—left no doubt he wanted exactly what she did. He tasted like cinnamon and she yanked him closer until her breasts mashed against his skin and...perfection.

  He tore his lips away and pressed them to her ear as he rocked his hips against hers. “Tell me what you want.”

  And, oh, that voice. The one she’d heard the first time through the phone line and immediately fantasized about it. She wanted so much. Safety, love and mindless, hot sex. All of it a jumble of emotions she didn’t understand—this wanting to stay in her safe zone, yet break out of it. She wanted all of it. With him. Right now.

  She gripped his shoulders, arched her back and closed her eyes, imagining that first moment... “I want you.”

  Always.

  But he swung her around and carried her to the bed, where he tossed her on it, grinning down at her as if he could eat her alive, and none of it scared her. With the look on his face, it should have. David Hennings might undo her. In every way.

  He dug a condom out of the bedside table and she bolted up, grabbed the waist of his pants and shoved them down, taking his briefs with them. His erection sprang free. The man was absolute perfection.

  All hers.

  At least for now.

  “Amanda, who knew you were such a hellcat?” he teased.

  Certainly not me. She slid her underwear and socks off and rested back on her elbows while she waited for him to deal with the condom. His extremely naked and hard body unleashed something primal—rough—inside her. “You bring it out in me. First time for everything, right?”

  He liked that. His sexy, slow-moving smile told her so. And being who he was, she sensed the pride he took in that. The knowing that he’d reduced her to something wild and new.

  Still standing, he moved to the edge of the bed, grabbed her behind the knees and yanked her closer.

  So ready. Please. For once, she didn’t want to play it safe. Didn’t want boundaries or worries about giving too much. She wanted to take and give it all until there was nothing left. No worry, no hurt, no restraint. All of it.

  And then he was inside her and the fast, hard invasion took her breath, making her gasp.

  He stopped and she nearly screamed. “Does that hurt?”

  “No. Amazing. Don’t stop.”

  Instinctively, her hips moved with his, riding the crazy wave of lust, wanting more and more. At this rate, they’d probably send the mattress clear off the box spring, but—yes—this was what she needed.

  He gripped her thighs tighter, his fingers digging in, holding her in place as he drove into her, over and over. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes and the look on his face, a cross between concentration and pleasure, made her ache to touch him. To smooth the lines between his eyebrows. Finally, he opened his eyes and met her gaze and she locked herself around him, waiting for the explosion, the ultimate release.

  She rolled her hips and he groaned and the force of it, knowing she could do this to him as much as he did it to her, emboldened her, made her lovemaking a little rougher because she wanted to watch him fall apart. At her hands. This man who prided himself on taking charge. Just once, she wanted him weak.

  She squeezed him tighter and his chest hitched. Suddenly, her body was a tight, perfect coil and she watched him watching her, their gazes in a fierce battle, that connection so powerful she wanted to hold on as long as she could, not let go, not let it end.

  Can’t. She rolled her head side to side, imagining the intensity of total release. Letting go. Allowing herself to be completely raw and bare and vulnerable.

  Her mind exploded and she wanted to cry out, but held it because, yikes, his parents were right below them. The sound was a twisted, strangled grunt—how lovely—and David laughed at her attempts to hold back, but his reaction only intensified her orgasm. She closed her eyes but quickly opened them again, wanting to see that moment when he was hers. Completely.

  He threw his head back, pumped his hips faster and she reached up and ran her hands along his arms, needing to touch him but unable to reach his body as he arched away. He met her gaze again, the intensity pure and electrifying and something she’d never known. This was passion. Hallelujah.

  “Damn, Amanda.”

  He let out a burst of air and she held on as the orgasm ripped through him, his body buckling. He moved on top of h
er on the bed, propping himself on his elbows, their bodies still joined.

  “Thank you.” She kissed him lightly, ran her hands over his face, loving the prickles of his beard against her palms. “That is what I’ve always hoped it would be.”

  He nuzzled her neck, got right up to her ear. “That’s because I’m crazy about you. And to think, we’ve got all night.”

  * * *

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, showered and ready to face the day, Amanda wandered into the kitchen and found David finishing a phone call. Jenna sat beside him, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders. She wore a blazer with a white blouse and looked more like an upscale clothing catalog model rather than a private investigator. In front of her were a bottle of water and a plain manila folder that hopefully held something worthwhile.

  David dropped his phone on the table. “Well, that was a bust.”

  He spotted her and slid his gaze to Jenna, then back to Amanda. “Morning,” he said, downplaying the fact that she’d slid out of his bed and tiptoed back to her own room an hour ago.

  “Good morning. What was a bust?”

  “That was McCall.”

  Ah.

  Jenna cracked open the bottle of water and took a drink. “What happened?”

  Backing away from the table, he stood, motioned Amanda to his chair and then leaned against the large island, crossing his arms and settling his gaze on Jenna. He did that when he spoke to people. Focused his intense eyes on them, offering every bit of his attention.

  “McCall pinged the grandson’s phone yesterday. They picked him up, but he’s not talking.”

  “That’s not a surprise.”

  Amanda shifted in her chair and faced him. “What about the security video from the storage place?”

  Upon leaving the storage facility, they’d notified McCall of the false alarm and he’d agreed to look into it by checking the security footage.

  “That,” David said, “might be promising. He’s emailing me the video. They can see who pulled the alarm, but apparently the guy’s face is hidden. He’s not stupid—that’s a definite. If nothing else, we can see if it’s the same body type as the guy who broke into the condo. Maybe we can narrow both events to this one guy.” He held his hand to Jenna. “What have you got, Jenna?”