Riley wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not.
Charli patted his hand. “Relax. I know people, Ry. Besides, she’s not even investigating this officially.”
He had been in the process of swiping another fry but he stopped. “Wait…what?”
“You heard me.” She smacked his hand away from her plate. “Get your own.”
“What do you mean—she’s not investigating this officially?”
“She’s on leave from Louisville Metro.” Lifting a shoulder, Charli gave him a serene smile. “I called a friend I went to school with—he’s a cop. She’s on leave. Has been for a few weeks.”
But that didn’t make him feel any better.
If she was being that much of a bulldog…
“It’s personal,” he murmured.
“What’s the matter?” Charli stared at him, hard.
He returned her look grimly. “The other night I ran into her at the visitation of a…mutual acquaintance.” He wasn’t about to tell his baby sister that the woman who’d died had been a former client, but he could see that she was already connecting the dots. “They were cousins, Charli. She’s a cop. A family member of hers is dead. For some reason, she thinks I have something to do with it.”
Shaking his head, he slid off the stool and gathered up the remains of his mostly untouched meal. “Whether she’s investigating it officially or not doesn’t matter. She’s got a bone now and that bone has my name written all over it.”
“Come on, Ry.” Charli gave him a smile, but it looked less cocksure now. “You wouldn’t hurt a fly. Just…hell, just talk to her. Tell her it’s off the record and see what in the hell it is she’s trying to figure out.”
Off the record.
He barely managed to keep from laughing.
He doubted that would matter, not to a woman who’d taken time off from her job to go digging around, as Chance was.
“I gotta go.”
He dropped a kiss onto her cheek and carried his plate back to the kitchen, where he passed it off to one of the bussers. But instead of retreating to his room, he locked himself inside his rarely used office and sat down behind the computer.
For the longest time, he didn’t do anything, but finally, he reached out and hit the keys, bringing the screen to life.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he tapped out a name and hit search.
CHAPTER TWELVE
It was after two, according to the glaring numerals of the stove’s digital clock.
Riley stared at it narrowly as he carefully locked the door behind him.
It wasn’t particularly late, for him, but the apartment was excruciatingly quiet and he was keenly aware of every step he took, every noise he made. And he was shit-faced drunk. He was making a lot more noise than needed.
His foot hit a toy truck and he swore, not quite managing to muffle the sound, and when he heard a sleepy mutter from deeper in the apartment, that just made him more irritated.
Riley Steele was not a happy sort of drunk.
He wasn’t a mean one, per se, but he definitely wasn’t a happy one.
And tonight’s drunkenness wasn’t doing a damn thing to take his mind off his many, many troubles.
“Riley?”
The sleepy voice only added to his current, frustrated state of mind and he closed his eyes, tipping his head back and wondering why in the hell he hadn’t just slept down in his office.
Granted, the chair could have doubled as a torture device and the floor would have been only a little better. But then he wouldn’t be standing there, drunk off his ass, as Bree slid into the living room, clad in nothing but a T-shirt.
“Riley, what was— Oh.”
She paused a few feet away from him and he figured she’d put two and two together.
“I guess you had a nice…time,” she said, her words polite.
“A nice time doing what?”
She gestured to his clothes, absently. “On your…date.”
“I wasn’t on a date.” He looked down at his clothes. It wasn’t until then that he remembered he’d been out with Marnie earlier. Yeah, some people might count that as a date. He didn’t. He’d been working. Dates didn’t involve financial transactions.
“Oh.” She eased a little closer.
He eased farther back. He smelled like scotch and Marnie’s perfume, and he didn’t want Bree smelling either on him.
But she didn’t seem to get the hint, advancing on him with the slow patience of a cowboy about ready to gentle a scared horse.
He sure as hell wasn’t a scared horse, though, and he didn’t need her gentling him—or approaching him. It was a bad idea, her even getting too close to him.
“So what were you…” She stopped and licked her lips, then cleared her throat.
He knew what she was trying not to ask and he felt mean enough that he almost told her.
It would be one sure way she’d keep her distance and he was so on edge right then, having her keep her distance would be a wise thing.
The question died, though, hanging unfinished between them and he looked past her to stare at the couch. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired, Bree.”
“I…yes. I guess.”
He started to cut around her, but she reached up and touched his arm.
The feel of her fingers on his skin, even through the material of his shirt, was like a brand. He felt the imprint of her touch, felt the softness and the strength and the calluses. “Is everything okay, Ry?”
The moonlight filtering in through the narrow slit in the curtains painted her skin with a soft, silvery light. Her eyes were darker than he’d ever seen them and he had to curl his hands into fists to keep from reaching for her. “Everything’s fine, Bree,” he lied.
Even to his own ears, the words sounded hollow.
“Then why aren’t you talking to me? Why don’t you seem to want to look at me anymore?”
She was trying to torture him.
Slowly, he reached out and skimmed the back of his fingers down her cheek, careful to keep the touch light. “We’re talking now. I’m looking at you now.”
“And you’re ready to haul ass out of here,” she said, looking wounded.
“Because if I don’t—” He snapped his jaw shut before the rest of the words could slip out, but he’d said too much already.
Her eyes widened. “If you don’t, what?”
“Bree.” Her name came out a low rasp. “Go to bed, okay? Go in there with your son and go to sleep.”
“I’ll go to bed when I damn well want.” She poked him in the chest with her finger. “How about you answer me now?”
He caught her wrist.
She tugged, and reflexively, he tugged back harder.
She crashed against his chest and the warm, soft weight of her had him biting back a groan.
She splayed the fingers of her left hand against his chest. He could feel her pulse bounding madly against his thumb. Slowly, he stroked that rapid beat, staring into her eyes.
“Everything’s wrong,” he said without thinking. “I can’t even go into detail about most of it, but the worst thing is that you’re here and I can’t touch you. I need you like I need my next breath. I always have. But you’re just as out of reach now as you’ve been for the past ten years.”
He started to let her go, telling himself he’d lock himself in the bathroom for the next hour, maybe longer. Or maybe he’d just go back downstairs and sleep in the torture device of a chair.
But, although he let go of Bree’s hand, she didn’t let go of him. The hand on his chest curled, fisting in his shirt and she moved closer.
“Who says you can’t touch me? Who says I’m out of reach?”
Her eyes lingered on his mouth and a groan rumbled out of him.
“Don’t,” he said, shaking his head.
“Don’t what?” She leaned in and kissed his chin.
The threads of his control started to snap like tension wires that th
reatened to cut and slice and wound as they broke.
Back away. Don’t touch, he told himself.
But he didn’t do that. He slid a hand into her hair and twisted the thick, heavy curls around his fingers. “You should go back to bed, Bree,” he said thickly.
“And you should let me decide what I should and shouldn’t do.”
Then she leaned in and kissed him.
Her tongue slid along his lower lip.
She dragged her hands down his chest and caught the front of his shirt, tugging it free of the waistband of his trousers. “I want you naked,” she said against his mouth. “I want your hands on me and I want to be naked.”
“Bree…”
She tipped her head back and met his eyes in the darkened room.
“We…” He shook his head rapidly. “Don’t do this, okay?”
“Why not?”
“Because I…” Air coming in ragged bursts, he tried to think of the most logical explanation. Because once wasn’t enough? Because he didn’t know how to handle this? Because…because…
There was a logical reason and he knew it.
But then Bree kissed him and the thought of logic died in a shuddering explosion.
Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her up against him.
“What are we doing here, Bree?” he asked, pressing his lips to her ear.
She arched against him, wiggling. “I thought that was obvious.”
“You sure?” Cupping her ass in his hands, he dragged her up and down his cock and the sensations sent hot little explosions reverberating through his system. “If I get you naked, I’m not sure…”
“I’m sure.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, then brushed her lips across his skin, moving lower and lower until she hovered just above the pulse in his neck.
When she raked her teeth over it, he thought his heart might explode out of his chest.
Carrying her over to the couch, he lay her down. “We need another bedroom,” he muttered.
“This is fine.” She tugged his mouth back to hers.
He didn’t need an invitation.
She tasted like toothpaste, like coffee…and Bree.
That taste, one he’d never forgotten, one that still haunted him and would haunt him all over again.
He caught her lower lip between his teeth and tugged, felt her shudder against him, felt her nails dig into his arms as she rubbed against him.
The material of her T-shirt tangled between them and he settled back on his heels by the couch, staring at her as he reached for the hem of the shirt.
She closed her eyes, averting her head.
“No…look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered up slowly and he watched her as he dragged the shirt up, inch by inch. But before it cleared the bottoms of her breasts, she was looking away again.
He decided to let it go, dipping his head to kiss her hipbones, her navel. She sucked in a breath as he swirled his tongue over her navel, her hips undulating and rising to meet him. Watching her from under his lashes, he went lower.
But just as he started to brush his mouth over the slick material between her legs, she sucked in a breath and tried to close her thighs. “No,” he said, gripping her left thigh and settling himself more firmly against her. “I don’t think so.”
“Riley, I don’t…” The words caught in her throat as he blew a puff of air against her.
She shivered, her eyes glazing over.
But the moment he stroked her, she tensed up again.
An ugly realization began to fester inside him, but he shoved it down and buried it. Later, he told himself, later.
Patiently, he tugged her up to a sitting position, his head at a lower level than hers as she sat on the edge of the couch, perched over him.
It put her breasts at the perfect level and he cupped them.
The reticence flickered briefly in her eyes, but it faded as he raked his teeth across the delicate underside of her breast. She was bigger now and there were faint, silvery lines on her breasts, a few on her belly. He wanted to kiss each and every one, wished he could have been there to see her belly stretching and growing as Toby grew inside her.
He kissed the marks and she sighed, some of the tension fading away.
When he caught her nipple in his mouth, it came back in a rush, but then he bit her lightly.
A sharp cry escaped her and she arched closer.
Before she had a chance to think, before she had a chance to adjust, he shifted course, pulling her off the couch and settling her on his lap, twisting so that he sat with his back to it.
She sprawled across him, the weight of her driving her down on his aching cock.
And she was wet.
He could feel it through his trousers and the thin panties she wore.
His cock pulsed and a low moan escaped her.
Catching her hips in his hands, he began to rock up against her, watching her face, watching the rush of emotion and sensation that flickered across her features.
Her eyes went glassy,
In the dim light, he could see the rush of color staining her cheeks, could feel her heat as she started to move against him, hotter and hotter, as wild, broken moans escaped her.
She came. He felt the rush of heat as she broke over him and he wanted to tear his clothes away, spill her onto his back and come inside her, but all he did was rock her and mutter to her, swearing silently as she plunged her fingers into his hair and kissed him.
The hunger in that kiss almost leveled him and he way she kept moving, rocking and wiggling and twisting, had his cock jerking demandingly.
If she would just…
She moaned and rolled her hips once more and he lost it, coming in his damn jeans like a fourteen-year-old boy.
Snarling, he caught her hair and yanked, kissing her desperately as he thrust his hips into the cradle of hers. She ground against him, her arms clinging to him and her mouth feeding on his.
“Riley…”
His name, in that raspy, sexy voice was almost his undoing.
He almost flipped her onto her back. Almost stripped his jeans away. Almost drove into her without thinking about anything else, except how long it had been since he’d touched her.
But she dropped against his chest, weak and spent, cuddling in close.
“That was…wow.” She giggled.
Riley closed his eyes, clenched his teeth against the miserable, gnawing need and smiled into her hair.
“I think we both need a shower,” she whispered into the quiet.
“Yeah.” Nuzzling her neck, he helped her up, then swatted her butt. “You go on first.”
She wobbled on her feet, catching her lower lip between her teeth. “But…”
“You go on,” he said again. “Otherwise I’m going to forget things like how stupid it is to start things we can’t finish.”
“Who says we can’t finish them?”
“I don’t have anything.” He set his jaw and met her eyes levelly. “I don’t tend to bring women to my apartment, so I don’t keep anything in here. We’re both too old to be that stupid.”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. “Oh.”
He nodded, expecting that to solve it.
It didn’t though.
“I have something.”
Bree’s words, simply stated, hit him like an electric shock and he had to lock every muscle in his body to keep from reaching for her. “What?”
“I…um…I bought a box of condoms.” She was blushing furiously now, but her gaze held his unflinchingly. “I thought…well…being here with you…”
“I don’t expect you to sleep with me just because I’m letting you stay here,” he snapped.
She flinched. “That wasn’t— Wait…” She sucked in a breath, then shook her head. “Never mind. I thought you—”
“Aw, shit.”
He caught up with her by the bathroom door, his aching head and broken heart both snarling at him.
He was a m
iserable, pathetic bastard.
He knew it.
That didn’t mean he needed to make other people miserable.
“I didn’t… Bree, that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.”
“So you didn’t intend to make it sound like I was whoring myself for you?” She jutted her chin up, glaring at hm. “I mean, hell, Donnie made it clear that’s what he expected. A roof over my head, over my son’s head, and all I had to do was cook for him and spread my legs whenever he wanted.”
“Have I asked you to cook for me?” Riley demanded. “Have I asked you to spread your legs?”
“No! And that’s why—” She stopped, her breathing ragged. “Stop it. This…I sound crazy.”
She pushed against his chest and he fell back, bracing his back against the door as she moved away. With shaking hands, she pushed her tumbled curls away from her face, but they just promptly fell right back into place. “You didn’t make me think that. I’m sorry. That was a low blow and I shouldn’t have said it.”
“Maybe I should have chosen my words better,” he said carefully.
“Or maybe you could just stop being a white knight and fuck me.”
She turned to face him as she spoke and the words hit him with the force of a supernova, reigniting the slow-burning need that would never fully die. She arched a brow as she met his gaze and gave him a challenging smile. “I want you, Riley. I haven’t wanted…” She stopped, looking away for a minute. “It’s been a long time since I could say that. And I know you want me. So what’s the problem?”
The problem?
Riley squeezed his eyes closed.
If he took a deep enough breath, he’d smell Marnie’s perfume on his skin. Or maybe he just imagined he could. He didn’t know.
But hours ago, he’d been inside another woman and now the woman he loved was telling him she wanted him.
What kind of bastard would he be if he just…did it?
Whatever kind of bastard it makes me, then so be it.
F*ck Club: Riley Page 10
