by M. Leighton
I jerk my eyes away. I have to fight the urge to cover myself because I can’t draw Lance’s attention to Sig or this night will go sideways in a hurry. Instead, I tug on Felicia’s head and bring her back up to stand in front of me. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I tell her.
With a sexy smile, she nods and whirls away to grab the pole with one hand and swing her body around it, always the performer. I hold up one finger to Lance, who just lays his head back and closes his eyes as Amber bobs up and down on him.
Trying not to act self-conscious, I walk across the room in only my heels and panties, my head held high. I remind myself that nobody knows me. Not really. They might think they do, that they can judge me, but they can’t. They have no idea what my life is like, what’s involved and why I do the things that I do. God forbid they ever have to find out, that they ever have to face the limited options I’ve had to face. And make the choices that I’ve made.
My cheeks burn as I brush past Sig in the hall and hurry to the bathroom. I know he will follow me. I can see the anger on his face. He’s too mad to think about self-preservation, which is why I have to preserve for him.
He comes in behind me and closes the door. I cover myself as I turn, not expecting him to be right next to me.
“Why?” he hisses. “Why the hell do you let him do this shit to you? You’re better than this. Better than him.”
“If I do things like this for him, let him watch, he keeps his hands off me. It’s a deal we made a long time ago. He can keep his whores or he can have me. Not both.”
“H-he doesn’t touch you? You don’t…”
“No. I don’t think I could live with myself. Besides, it’s not his hands that I want touching me.”
He watches me, chest heaving, for two long seconds and then his mouth is on mine, hot and urgent. His fingers thread into my braid and fist, pulling my head to the side as he slips his tongue between my lips. I taste the dark hint of whiskey combined with a sweetness that seems to be just Sig, and I realize that I’m thirsty. So thirsty. For this. For him.
He kisses me with a wildness that awakens an abandon in me, a desire to throw caution to the wind and dive into this. And for a few moments, I do.
I dig my nails into his straining biceps and I open for him, I let him into a place that few people have ever seen. It’s a place where I hide, I hide the real me with all her emotions and hurts and wants.
Sig winds his arms around me, the fingers of one hand squeezing my butt while the other skates up and down my naked side. When his lips leave mine and trail along my jaw, I arch for him, my only thought to feel his kiss on every needy surface of my body.
“When you go back out there, you think of me,” he growls lustily, his teeth biting into my chin as he passes on his way to my neck. “My hands, my lips, my tongue.”
I feel breathless and hot. On fire, from the inside out. When his mouth latches onto my nipple, I gasp my response to him as quietly as I can. “I was. I was already thinking of you.”
“Now you’ll know,” he says around my flesh, his tongue and teeth and lips, licking and nipping and sucking. “You’ll know what it feels like. And what it’ll be like when I have you naked, underneath me.”
I’m panting, dizzy when his hand slides down my belly and into my panties, one long finger finding my core, driving inside me and bringing me up on my tiptoes.
“Oh god!” I whisper, my muscles tightening as I spiral up and up and up.
Sig pumps his finger in and out of me, rough and fast then slow and deep, pausing every few seconds for his thumb to massage my clit. “Feel me. Just me.”
It’s too much–his mouth, his hands, his heat. When he thrusts another finger into me, I shiver once before the spasms of an orgasm start, the only orgasm I’ve ever experienced at the hands of someone else. Oh, I’ve gotten off before, a few times even in front of someone else. And I’ve faked them, too. Hundreds of times, probably. But never has someone else brought me here. And never, never has it felt like this.
My whole body burns and tingles, but in the most delicious way. I feel like I’m floating, high above the floor on which my feet are planted. I’m conscious only of feeling more satisfied than I’ve ever felt and of Sig’s sweet kisses as they draw ever closer to my mouth.
His fingers are still inside me, moving slowly, languorously, urging the waves to keep pouring over me. But for the pursing of my lips to stifle the noises that are poised at the back of my throat, I’m paralyzed, at his mercy. And happily so.
Until I remember where I am. And who waits just outside this small room.
When I can breathe again, I cup Sig’s face and bring his eyes level with mine. They’re as dark as I’ve ever seen them. Raw. Passionate. Possessive.
“You can’t be here. With me,” I huff. “Lance’ll kill you if he finds out.”
“I’d like to see him try.”
“Sig, you don’t know him. You can’t take risks like this.”
“I know the risk. And I can handle it. Besides, you’re worth it.”
“But what if he hurts you?”
Sig shrugs.
“So I’m worth it? Even if it hurts?”
“Especially if it hurts.”
I can see by his expression that my words do nothing to deter him. It’s written all over his face that he wants to rescue me. Which is why I have to rescue him. “Please, Sig. You have to go.”
His eyebrows draw into a frown. “I’m not worried about Lance and I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I can take care of myself.”
“It sure doesn’t look like it to me. What the hell are you doing with him?”
There’s angry judgment in his eyes. He just doesn’t understand. No one does.
I shut down. I can feel it. Withdraw into the only safety I know–solitude. “I have my reasons.” I look down at the floor, avoiding his eyes.
“And they are?”
“None of your business.”
“Don’t do that,” he says softly, smoothing my hair away from neck and laying his palm against my pulse.
“Do what?”
“Shut me out. I want to help you.”
“You can’t.”
“Maybe I can. And there’s only one way to find out.”
At that, I glance back up into his face, into his warm cocoa eyes. “Trust you, right?”
“Yes. Why is that so hard?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I might if you’d let me in.”
“I’m sorry, Sig. I just…I just…I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t?”
“Is there a difference?”
“There’s a big difference.”
“Then take your pick. Neither one changes the facts.” I take a deep breath and press my hand to the center of his chest, gently pushing back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back. Before I get you hurt.”
“You won’t get me hurt. You didn’t ask me to come here. You didn’t make me seek you out.”
I pause, the warmth of his body heating the skin of my hand, all the way through to my bones, it seems. “Why did you? Seek me out, I mean.”
“It’s my job, isn’t it?” His words feel like a slap to the face, after what just happened between us. My solitary shell, the dark, safe place in which I hide, holds even more appeal now. Until he speaks again. “That’s what I should say, but it would be a lie.”
“A-and what would be the truth?”
“That I can’t stop thinking about you. That I can’t stand the thought of him touching you, of him making you do things for him, for his pleasure. The only hands that should ever be against your body are these,” he says, holding up his hands. “Mine.”
I don’t know what to say to that. Part of me thrills at what he’s implying–that he cares about me. But a bigger part of me shies away, distrustful as always.
“Try not to think about it. That’s what I do.”
I see his frustration mount, and he steps back and runs his hands through his messy, dark blond hair. The action draws my eye and my palms tingle with the remembered feel of the silky strands tickling them as his fingers invaded my body.
“I won’t give up,” he states flatly, determined.
“I wish you would.”
“Do you? Do you really? Don’t you want someone to help you? To save you? To rescue you?”
“Some people can’t be saved.”
“But you’re not one of those people. I refuse to believe that.”
“I-I have to go,” I tell him again, moving slowly past him, my arms crossed over my chest. Somehow, although the temperature hasn’t changed, I feel frozen in my nudity. Vulnerable. Miserable.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
I don’t turn to look at him; I only nod as I carefully open the door and slip out into the empty hall.
Stopping just outside the doorway, almost exactly where Sig was standing, I straighten my spine, square my shoulders. I quickly remind myself of the reasons, of the whys and the musts, then I plaster a demure smile on my face and I go back in to face the music. At least for a little while longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY- SIG
I haven’t spoken to anyone since last night when I stormed back through the club and told Barber I was leaving. I gave him no explanation, didn’t feel like I owed him one. And to hell with him if he didn’t like it. He won’t have to tell me how and when to do my job. I’ll keep my eyes on Tommi until I can take down Tonin and set her free. She has been drawn inexplicably into my mission, even if the department has no idea the degree to which she is involved in my plan. Serve and protect–that’s what we do. That’s what I do. And Tommi needs protecting, whether she’ll admit it or not.
After scarfing down a leftover cheeseburger and two pieces of pizza from my practically empty fridge, I brew a pot of coffee, dump as much of it as I can fit into a travel mug and I hit the door. When I arrive at Tommi’s, there are no signs that they’re awake. Or even at home. But her car is still at Tonin’s. Unless she got it last night and has already left. Assuming that’s not the case, though, I suppose that she’s in there, and that she needs me.
A ride, I mean, I clarify to myself.
At eight o’clock, the front door opens and Travis appears. He’s wearing his usual hoodie, pulled up over the low bill of his hat, and he’s walking with the enthusiasm of any other kid who has been ousted from his warm bed to go to school when he’d much rather be sleeping.
A few seconds after he steps onto the tiny front porch, Tommi follows, pausing to reach back and pull the door shut behind her, testing the knob to make sure it’s locked. She looks fresh and beautiful, not like she had a night like she did, and she’s dressed impeccably. Of course. She doesn’t look up as she makes her way down the driveway to where I’m parked at the curb, so I take in her clothes, her body, the way she moves.
She’s wearing light brown pants that hang like some sort of expensive material, the shift of her supple thighs barely visible beneath it. A dark orangey-pink blouse with a plunging neckline is tucked in at the waist, accentuating her curves in a demure, hot-teacher kind of way. I think again of her cut off shorts and tank top, my favorite. I miss them. More than I probably should and for reasons I dare not think about.
“Where are you going after we drop Travis off at school? A political fundraiser?”
She says nothing, still not meeting my eyes as she holds the door for Travis and then climbs up into the passenger seat in silence. Her brother has no such problem answering, though.
“Laaance likes her to dress that way,” he sneers.
“Travis!” she says, a little snappy before she softens her voice and asks, “Did you get your lunch from the kitchen?”
I hear his frustrated sigh as Travis pats his backpack, green zippers clacking.
“I wouldn’t have to aggravate you about it if you’d just leave your bag in the kitchen at night. I’d put your lunch in there in the morning and not have to ask you every day if you got it,” she explains a tad defensively.
Travis says nothing.
“I’m making chicken pot pie tonight. Don’t make plans,” she requests, less of an edge to her tone now. To this he grunts. “Did you hear me?”
Travis nods, continuing to stare morosely out the window. I guess his part in the conversation is officially over.
I wait for a minute before I speak. “I just meant to say that you look beautiful. Stuffy, but beautiful,” I confess quietly, glancing over at Tommi.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, not taking her eyes off the windshield.
It’s my turn to sigh. Doesn’t seem like they’re much for talking this morning, so I crank up the music for the rest of the ride to school, singing along with the songs that I know. Loud as hell, too. A couple of times, I check my rearview and find Travis trying not to grin. Now if I could just get Tommi to come around.
When we drop off Travis, I can’t help noticing the way Tommi stares after him, her heart in her eyes. What’s eating at her? What isn’t she telling me?
A lot, I imagine. I think this woman must be an enigma wrapped up in a bundle of secrets, secrets maybe nobody knows. But I aim to find out. Luckily, I’m good at working puzzles, at figuring them out. I just need a few more pieces. I’ll have to finesse them out, these important facts, but I’ll do it. I can be pretty damn persuasive when I set my mind to it.
She doesn’t say a single word on the way to Tonin’s place. I think we’re both aware of the big elephant sitting in the back seat, though.
I can recall with disturbing clarity the way she looked last night, the way she felt in my arms, under my hands, against my body. Her smell, her taste…Damn! I want more. A lot more. I think she does, too, but there’s a whole lotta shit holding her back. By rights, there should be a lot holding me back, too, but I figure it can only help strengthen her trust in me and go toward accomplishing the overall goal of taking Tonin down, which should make her life a whole lot better.
The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that Tonin’s got something on her. Or maybe he’s giving her something that she desperately needs. I can’t imagine what, but he has some kind of hold on her. I mean to break it, though. If she’ll just trust me.
When I pull into the spot right beside her car in the garage, I reach out to take her hand before she can hurry out of the truck. “Spend the day with me today. Not because I’ll be following you, but because you want to.”
Her eyes are full of all kinds of things–fear, sadness, regret. “I-I can’t.”
“You can. If you want to.”
“I have a spa appointment.”
She didn’t say she didn’t want to, just that she has other plans. “Skip it.”
“If Lance found out…”
“He won’t.”
“You don’t know him. You don’t know the kind of reach he has. You’re playing with fire.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I do.”
We’re quiet for a few seconds as I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb. “I wish you wouldn’t worry about me.”
She looks down at our hands. “I wish I didn’t care,” she confesses so softly I almost don’t hear her. She pulls her hand from my grasp. “We’d better get upstairs. My appointment is at ten.”
After last night, there’s no question that I go up with her. All the way up. And when we ride the elevator back down almost two hours later, there’s no question that she’ll come with me, in my truck.
Not a single word is said until Tommi is climbing out of my vehicle and onto the street in front of the spa. She gives me her polite smile, the “Lance” one, as I’ve come to think of it. Fake as hell.
“Pick me up at two?”
&n
bsp; “I’ll be here,” I say with a nod.
Four hours at a spa? What kind of shit is she having done?
I already know the answer most likely. She’s carrying one of the oversized bags she brings when she’s got her little computer. That means the spa has a back door and that there’s a Wi-Fi spot nearby. I’d bet money on it.
I check the area for places that might offer Wi-Fi and dark privacy. I spot at least two on the same side of the street. I devote the next few minutes to thinking like a woman who feels trapped by a dangerous criminal, a woman who is doing something that she doesn’t want to get caught doing. How would she go about this?
If I were her, I’d schedule a legit appointment and get some spa-ing done. Then, maybe afterward I’d sneak out the back and into one of the other places to do my covert shit. That would be the wisest thing, I think. That way if Lance called the spa, they’d say that she had a ten o’clock appointment and that she was not to be disturbed or whatever. An extra hour at the end could be chalked up to anything, I would imagine. She fell asleep in the sauna, she got caught up talking to some of the girls or another client. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even ask. Women dawdle. He has to know that. And she can lie very convincingly, especially to a guy with an ego like Tonin’s.
I’m betting on that sort of a plan. Just to see if I’m right, if I’m getting to know her well enough to think like she does, I wait until twelve thirty and I cross the street and head around the block, to the alley between the first row of buildings and the next. I lean against the brick corner, shielded by a big dumpster, and I wait.
At ten minutes before one, I’m gratified when I see Tommi’s bright head slip out into the alley and move casually, like she has every reason in the world to be back here, down several doors and disappear inside.
I imagine she told the people in the spa that she had to run a couple of errands. Maybe she even left something there so she has a reason to come back through and then out the front door where I’ll be waiting. Damn, she’s sneaky.
I walk back to the street side and down to the café she snuck into. It wouldn’t be out of the question for me to have come back early and drop in for a coffee as I wait, so I don’t bother trying to hide my appearance.
