by Odette Stone
I stilled, thinking back to last night, and I knew that was all Porter. “Oh.”
“We did a rush DNA test on him and found that he was an exact match for the DNA we found under your fingernails after you were attacked.”
“Did Donny say who tortured him?” I whispered, suddenly terrified that Porter would get in trouble or go to jail over this.
She shook her head, her eyes on Porter. “No, the guy was too scared. He kept saying he’d be safer in jail. You know anything about that Porter?”
He crossed his arms, and he slowly shook his head. “No clue.”
“Right.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, at this point, we don’t actually care how he showed up. This guy is one bad dude. He’s been known to the organized crime team as a high-level hitman for one of the biggest mafia families here in New York. When his DNA hit the system, it popped up in association with four other unsolved homicides in the city for the past few years alone.”
“What did his confession say?” I asked.
“That's the concerning part. He said someone, whose name he did not know, hired him to first threaten you, which he did in the washroom of the restaurant. Then, he was rehired to increase the pressure. He said he wasn’t actually hired to kill you, but he was instructed to mess you up as good as he could without killing you outright.”
Fear pressed me back against Porter’s leg. His hand moved onto the back of my neck. The words stuck in my throat, “Who hired him?”
“Even he doesn’t seem to know. The instructions came through a burner, which we've retrieved. The message was sent from another untraceable burner phone. The money was sent to him via Bitcoin. It’s also virtually untraceable.”
“Do you think they’ll try again?”
She was staring at the bandage on Porter’s arm. “I think it’d be wise to keep that security team of yours on high alert until we get more information.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Porter answered.
Detective Christensen stood up. “Everyone at the station is talking.”
“About what?”
“How Donny was all but begging to be arrested. He was scared. Real bad. I’m wondering what kind of person could actually scare someone like Donny.” She scanned Porter’s face.
He shrugged but didn’t speak.
“Uh-huh.” She turned to me. “How are you doing after your surgery?”
“I get my stitches out today.”
She nodded. “That’s good.”
The three of us stood there for a moment.
“Well, I’ll see myself out.”
The moment I heard the front door shut, I turned to Porter. “Does any of this have to do with you needing to stitch up your arm last night?”
Those grey eyes narrowed on my face. “Would it bother you if it did?”
I thought about this man, who had taken on a violent hitman of the mob and brought him to justice. For me. To keep me safe. Yes, maybe he had taken the law into his own hands, but did it bother me? Not in the least.
“No.”
He held out his hand. “Come on, I’ll take you to your doctor’s appointment to get those stitches out.”
Chapter 45
After my appointment, Porter drove us to a small Thai restaurant to celebrate. He held my chair when I sat. We ordered our food and talked. Not about our situation or hitmen or how we were going to break up. He steered the conversation to talk about real life things. Like movies. Travel. He told me cute stories about Theo and how he met Jackson.
It struck me that this felt like a date. This is what it’d feel like to be taken on a date by Porter. He looked so attractive, smiling at one of my stories, with those high cheekbones and those lips, and suddenly, I felt sick at the thought of the next woman that would be lucky enough to date him.
“What are you thinking?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You have that look on your face.”
“It’s stupid.”
“Tell me.”
I swallowed, not wanting to ruin the mood. “This felt like a date.”
“You just figured that out?”
“Wait, what?” I stared at him in shock.
“We’re on a date.”
“This is a date?”
“You’re acting like you’ve never been on a date.”
“Not with you!”
“So, we’re unconventional. First we get engaged then we go on dates.”
I took a moment to process that statement. “Did you date a lot?”
“Not particularly.”
I was so curious about this man. Who did he date before Felicia? Did he do conventional dating? Was he a romantic at heart?
“What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for a date?”
He teased, “I usually save talking about past relationships for second dates.”
“Humor me.”
“I don’t do romance.”
“Do you break out into hives?”
“Something like that.” He nodded. “What’s the most romantic thing someone’s done for you?”
You, when you risked your life, saving my ass from getting run over.
You, when you cared for my parents when they needed help.
You, when you hunted down a hitman to protect me.
“I bet you’ve had your fair share of romantic getaway weekends with a lot of champagne and roses.” Those grey eyes watched my face, a question in them.
I blurted out, “When you took care of Donny Patrino.”
“Come on.”
The teasing tone between us faded as we stared at each other. I lifted my chin. “That is, hands down, the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me. Nothing before that or nothing after that will ever compare.”
He stared at the table for a long moment. Why did I say these things? Why did I ruin moments by always speaking my mind?
He lifted his gaze to mine. “You need to know I don’t put out on the first date.”
“How’s it going with Porter?” Emily asked via FaceTime.
I glanced over my shoulder, making sure I was alone. “Two weeks ago, he took me on a date.”
“What? That’s great.” She looked over her own shoulder and whispered, “Did he rock your world?”
I shook my head. “We came home, and he made out with me like a horny high school boy, but I never got him past first base.”
Delight flew across her pretty face. “And?”
“We’ve gone out for coffee, he’s bought me dinner three times, and he meets me at my job during lunch hour to eat with me in the park. But he seems to have put on his chastity belt because I haven’t gotten past second base with him.”
Her mouth dropped open. “He’s wooing you.”
“What?” I leaned forward. “Wasn’t that word archived in, like, the late 1800s?”
“I think it’s sweet.”
“We’re going backwards,” I wailed. “We started out fake-engaged, and then had scorching hot sex, and now we’re going on lunch dates, and he’s kissing me like I’m in grade school.”
“He’s obviously interested in you. He’s spending time with you. What are the kissing sessions like?”
I planted my head on my desk and groaned. “I’m so damn hot after those sessions, I’m practically self-combusting. It’s torture, Emily. Torture!” I paused. “Maybe they teach sexual torture in SEAL training. You think?”
She laughed but didn’t answer.
I put my face to the camera. “Is he trying to slowly end this with me? Is this his way of letting me down easy?”
She scrunched up her face. “I kind of doubt it.”
“How do you know?”
“The guys on Jackson’s team are a different breed. They don’t play games. They don’t screw around. If they’re into a chick, they’re the most patient men alive. But if they aren’t interested, they’re upfront about it.”
“How?”
“You simply cease to exist in their world.
”
I sat back, horrified. “That sounds terrible.”
“I’ve seen it happen. They’re honest about how they feel, but they’re not like other guys. When they like a chick, they’re confident and patient, and they do things on their own terms.”
“Emily, please translate.”
She sat back, satisfied. “I think he likes you, Beth. I think he’s trying to have a relationship with you. One that is not about fake relationships or hot sex.”
I put my heart on my chest. “If you’re wrong…”
“I think he likes you.”
“I’ve told him how I feel about him already. He’s never said anything back to me.”
“These guys don’t talk about their feelings.”
“What? Why not?”
“I don’t know.” A thoughtful crossed her face. “It was actually really confusing when Jackson and I were getting together.”
I snorted. “Well, not for anyone watching.”
“What do you want?”
“I want hot sex. Lots of it.”
She smiled that cute little smile. “That’s easy. You need to seduce him.”
I gaped at her. “What?”
“Yeah, you know…” She trailed off. “Take the bull by the horns and make it happen, but make him think he’s the one who’s making it happen.” She was devious for my innocent Emily.
I put my hand on my forehead. “You think it’ll work?”
“Well, maybe don’t make it obvious, so if he does shut you down, you can pretend you weren’t actually trying to make it happen.”
“Why do I come to you for advice?” I moaned. “That’s like the worst advice ever.”
She laughed. “It’s not. And you know it. Now go get some sexy time happening and report back.”
Chapter 46
We had three weeks until the wedding. Only three weeks until Porter and I parted ways. I decided I’d regret it if I didn’t try it Emily’s way at least once. I brought Porter shopping with me at an exclusive dress store. I figured I could flash him a bit and give him a quick reminder of what he was missing.
I carried several sexy little dresses to the dressing room. I put on a slinky silver number that did wonders for my cleavage and skimmed my legs mid-thigh. I topped the outfit with high, strappy heels because the man had a weakness for heels.
“Porter, are you around?” I called out.
“Right here.”
I opened the door and sashayed to the three-way mirror. Ignoring him, I struck a pose in the mirror, looking over the dress. “Be honest, what do you think?”
He was sprawled in the big comfortable chair, and those grey eyes were glued to my legs. “I approve.”
“I’m not sure,” I said, walking back to the dressing room. “Tell me what you think of this next dress.”
I proceeded to model three more dresses, each one more revealing and tighter than the last. I didn’t look at him, pretending to be wholly focused on the outfits, but when I checked his reflection in the mirror, I noticed that he shifted in his seat a few times to adjust himself.
When I walked by him, I noticed that there was a familiar, significant bulge in his jeans. I shut the door and stared at my own reflection. I could do this. Strategically placing the stool in front of the clothing rod, I decided I’d take one more step to remind him of what he was missing.
“Porter, can you come here for a minute?” I called. I opened the door.
He easily stood up and walked towards me. I grabbed his hand, tugged him into the changing room, and shut the door. The changing room shrank instantly with him inside of it.
“I can’t get this zipper down,” I lied, turning to give him my back and lifting my hair off my back. “Can you help me?”
His big hands brushed the nape of my neck, and he slowly pulled the zipper open.
“Thanks.” I let the dress drop at my feet. “Just have a seat. You’re going to have to help me with the next one, too.” I bent over, giving him a good shot of my ass in my thong when I picked the dress up off the floor.
When I turned around, he was sitting on the stool, those grey eyes feasting on my body. I reached over his head to grab a hanger and stepped closer to him while I hung the dress, my breasts precariously close to his face.
“What are you doing?” his voice was low.
I feigned indifference. “What?! It’s not like you haven’t seen this all before.” I reached over his head to pull the red dress off the hanger. It was skin tight with expensive, stretchy material that more than hugged all my curves. I stepped daintily into it and pulled it up over my shoulders. “Can you do this up, please?”
I sensed him stand, and his hands zipped me up. I dropped my hair and gazed into the mirror. I rocked this dress. If there was ever a fuck-me dress, this was it.
It barely reached mid-thigh, and the front dipped so low, it was nothing but miles of cleavage. I smoothed the fabric over my hips and adjusted the front, so even more cleavage worked its way into view. Porter stood behind me. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were taking all of it in.
“I think it might look better without underwear lines. Hang on.” I shimmied the fabric up over my hips, and with two thumbs, slowly pulled my underwear down. I kicked them off and smoothed the material of the skirt back over my legs. “That’s better.”
His hand snaked around my waist, tugging me back against him while his hot mouth moved against my neck. Our eyes met in the mirror. His were dark with lust. “Are you trying to tempt me, Miss Stirling?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
His other hand reached in front and slowly dragged up my thigh. Warm fingers slowly traced the soft skin of my inner thigh, teasing just above the hemline. “Because you should know I’m engaged to be married.”
“Lucky girl,” I said, pretending to ignore him. “What’s she like?”
“Hot as sin,” he whispered in my ear. We stood, looking in the mirror as his hand moved up, beneath the fabric, pushing it up, higher and higher.
“What are you doing?” I asked in my most scandalized voice. His fingers were so close. My knees almost buckled when his fingertip grazed my clit.
“I think someone’s looking for trouble,” his voice growled in my ear.
“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything naughty in this very public dressing room.” My eyes drifted shut as he slowly traced the very tips of his fingers through my folds. They circled my entrance.
“Spread those legs,” he demanded.
I stepped my legs wider. The fabric of the dress pulled higher up my thighs, and his fingers lightly teased me, circling my opening in a tantalizing rhythm. I bit my lip, working to not make a sound. All the while, my gaze focused on his hand moving between my legs.
“Someone is so fucking wet,” he breathed, biting my neck hard enough that I knew it’d leave marks.
I arched my neck back, pushing my ass against his erection. He spun me around, pushing my back against the cool mirror. I watched, breathless, as he dropped to his knees and pushed the dress up to my waist.
“I want those legs spread,” he instructed.
I stepped wide in my heels, and then he was feasting on me like a man starved. His tongue laved my folds and teasingly circled my clit while his fingers pushed inside me. I covered my face with my hands, trying not to make a sound. A knock sounded on the door. We both froze.
“Miss Stirling, is everything okay in there?” the clerk asked.
“Yes,” I stuttered. “I’m trying to decide between some dresses.”
“Do you need any other sizes?”
Porter began to again move his fingers inside of me.
“I think I’m good.”
“The black dress you have, we also have in midnight blue.”
Oh, hell, he found my g-spot. My hips thrust towards his face. “I really need a black dress.” My head hit the mirror behind me when Porter’s tongue began to explore my clit again.
“Okay, well, did you see that Marc Ja
cobs dress? It’s a gorgeous black crepe.”
“No, I didn’t. But I already have too many choices here.” My legs were shaking so hard, I was so damn close.
“Okay, well, you can stick your head out and holler if you need anything.”
“Thank you.” Oh, now he was doing something with his thumbs. I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes shut as I felt my body prepare to come apart.
“Also, did you know that we have a sale on right now?”
Please, lady. Please just walk away.
“No. No, I didn’t,” my voice cracked. His fingers stroked my g-spot with such speed, I was sure I was going to faint.
“If you buy two t-shirts you get a third t-shirt for half price.”
My hands covered my face. “I’ll be sure to check that out.”
“Okay, dear. I’ll be right outside.”
He pushed a third finger into me at the same time he began to suck on my clit. My entire body arched back against the mirror as my orgasm pulsed through my body like an electric shock.
My legs buckled as explosive sensations washed over me. I bit my lip to prevent any noises from leaving. From between my legs, those grey eyes, dark with desire, watched me come part.
I yanked on his hair, pulling his mouth off me, unable to take it anymore. The smile on his face was wicked. I was crumpled back against the mirror, legs spread wide, naked from the waist down. A complete hussy.
He pushed his fingers deeper. “You know what I’m going to do to you when we get home?”
“Tell me.”
“You really want to know?”
“Oh, yes.” I gasped when his thumb pressed on my clit.
“Get dressed. We’re going home. Now.” He stood and spun me around. He unzipped the dress and unceremoniously peeled it down my body. “And you’re buying this dress.”
My limbs felt like water. He sat back on the stool and watched in amusement as I worked to get dressed. My legs were shaking so hard, I could barely pull my panties on over my heels.
