Chapter Eighteen
PRI
I’ve barely had time to pull my blouse over my head when my cellphone buzzes on the hall table. I grab it and glance at a message from Logan, something about lunch tomorrow. I ignore him as Adrian walks out of my hall bathroom, shirtless, inked, and beautiful, and then disappears inside the kitchen. I dash down the hallway to the bathroom, use it, and while washing up, glance in the mirror to find my lipstick all over my face. Good Lord, did it look like this when Logan was here? I decide I don’t care. I don’t want to go down the rabbit hole that is Logan’s visit or the lines I’ve crossed with Adrian. Not right now. My sins with Adrian can’t be fretted over and my father taught me not to fret over spilled milk. As he says, do the clean-up and charge forward.
I exit the bathroom and find Adrian still in the kitchen, filling two champagne glasses. “I grabbed the pizza magnet from your fridge,” he tells me, offering me a glass that I accept, but not without my gaze sliding over his inked arms. God, he has a devil on his arm, not an ugly devil, but a devil or monster of some sort that is somehow beautiful. “I ordered two of your regulars,” he adds.
I tear my gaze from his arm and meet his keen stare. “I eat pineapple on my pizza,” I say.
“I heard. Works for me.”
“It does?”
“I’m sick and tired of the same pepperoni pizza the guys’ order. And yes, it’s a devil, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out. I was that deep undercover.”
“And you haven’t gotten rid of it?”
“It reminds me of things I don’t want to forget,” he says, and when I want to understand, it’s too late. He moves on, pulling out a stool for me and patting it. “Get cozy before you start drilling me for information.”
“I’m not going to drill you.”
“Yes, you are, but I’m tough.” He pats his jaw. “I can take it.”
He’s all but inviting my questions, but somehow, I don’t believe he’s ready to give those answers. “Let’s go to the living room,” I say. “It’s more comfortable.”
“Sure,” he says. “I have the bottle. You grab the glasses.”
Once we’re settled side by side on the couch, he motions to my glass. “Try the champagne. It’s supposed to be sweet rather than dry.”
I sip it, bubbles teasing my nose, sweetness touching my tongue. “It is. It’s good.”
He tries it himself and says, “It’s not as stout as tequila, but it’ll do.” He angles my direction. “Joke time.”
I smile, certain his jokes are distractions, ways to ease tension, and perhaps a segue to a deeper conversation. “I’m all ears.”
“Do you know why Spiderman doesn’t make a good boyfriend?”
“Why?”
“He’s too clingy.”
I’m not sure what the hidden meaning is to this joke, but I sense there is one. In fact, I bristle with the idea that he’s warning me not to be clingy. “Are you telling me you’re not boyfriend material? Because if that’s—”
“I’m telling you that I’m not Spiderman. I’m more Batman who will beat your ex’s ass if he acts again like he did tonight, and I won’t be sorry when he cries like a little bitch. I’m also the guy who let the ever-so-moral Superman convince him not to kill Waters when I had the chance. And so, here we are.”
I set aside his promise to kick Logan’s ass and focus on what feels important. “Who’s Superman?”
“My father. He was an agent.”
I read the past tense. “How long has your father been gone?”
“Four years. He and my mother were killed in what was called a random mugging the year after I joined the Feds. I believe it was a hit.”
“My God. Do have any idea who?”
He gives a negligible nod. “He had a good number of enemies. I tried to pin it down. I failed.”
“Was your mother FBI as well?”
“She owned a bakery.” He smiles a sad smile. “The biggest supplier of donuts to law enforcement that ever lived. And she was proud of my father.” I can feel the shift in topic even before I understand it as he adds, “He believed that the law was best served by the book and within the system. We had to work inside that system.”
A system my father taught me to manipulate, which is why I don’t comment but rather ask his opinion. “And what do you think?”
“Waters is using that system against us and I knew he would. I can’t turn back time and change what I did or didn’t do, but now you’re Superwoman. You have to get Waters because I let him go.”
“The arrests and convictions from that sting are in the dozens, Adrian. Had you killed him, that may never have happened.”
“Maybe,” he says, cutting his stare for a heavy moment before he cuts me another look. “Maybe not. All that matters right now is that we keep everyone alive and we win the trial.”
“And Walker keeps everyone alive.”
“They’re the best of the best.”
He speaks of them as if it’s them and him, but that’s not how Blake spoke, that’s not how Adrian’s actions speak. “And you’re one of them,” I say. “You realize that, right?”
The doorbell rings and his hands settle on his powerful thighs. “That will be the pizza,” he says, the moment to discuss him and Walker, and why he separates himself from them, lost. “You’ll have to get the door,” he adds. “I need to stay off the radar until the right time.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet, and suddenly we are close, so very close, and we’re staring at each other, a tug between us. There is something happening between me and this man, something I’ve never experienced. “I’ll stay close,” he vows softly.
I believe him, only I don’t think he’ll stay close for long. We both have a past, a dark stain, and I believe that we are kindred souls, bound together by those stains and a mutual enemy. But we are different as well. I’m the tree that weathers the storm and grows more roots, plants myself, and stays. Adrian can be likened to a majestic bird with a damaged wing. He’ll fight through the pain, and then his wings will spread, and he’ll fly away. And me and my roots will still be here, fighting the next battle alone.
I need to remember that.
Chapter Nineteen
PRI
The doorbell rings again and Adrian and I are still standing in front of the couch, staring at each other. We jolt out of the moment, and he presses cash into my palm. “That should cover a healthy tip as well.”
I nod and cut my stare, hurrying toward the front door, in reality fleeing toward the front door with good reason: I’m afraid he’ll read my reaction to our intimacy before I have time to understand it. The break is much needed and effective. My feelings are set aside for now, and a few minutes later, we’re back in the living room, stuffing our faces while Adrian tells me ex-boyfriend jokes and I can’t quite get back to the topic of him and Walker. We’re on something like joke number six when I finish off my second slice of Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza.
“Do you know why ex-boyfriends are like Mondays?” he asks.
I groan with the expected punchline even before he grins and says, “They come too fast.”
I decide right then that it takes a confident man to tell that joke, but then, he has reason to be. He knows how to handle himself naked—or semi-naked, in our case. I sip my champagne and watch him finish off most of a pizza and decide that while I might hesitate to tread on difficult topics, I need to know my star witness. “What’s it like having an international superstar as a brother?”
“I’m proud as fuck, but he hit big when I was undercover and then after that I’ve been off the radar, waiting on the trial. I haven’t gotten to celebrate with him.”
“How does he feel about that?”
“Worried, but I promised him I’d be in the front row of his next concert once the trial ends. He has a couple of big holiday shows coming up, including one on New Year’s Eve in New York. Maybe
you can come with me.”
“Maybe,” I say cautiously, reminding myself that we’re riding the high of a shared enemy. I’m not sure how that translates to real life. I’m not sure what this is between us. I’m not even sure it’s a real invitation.
He cast me a curious, almost challenging look. “Maybe?” he queries.
“Maybe,” I say. “If we’re not bloodied and beat up by then.”
His inspection is keen and his perception quick. “I get it,” he says. “Ask me later.” He changes the topic. “You’re an only child?”
“You ask that like you don’t know,” I chide. “You’ve studied me, which is a little unnerving.”
“You understand why,” he concludes. “I know you do. Paper would only tell me so much.”
“I know,” I say. “I have two dead witnesses and innumerable horror stories about Waters to support your caution.”
I don’t offer more. I cut my stare and sip my champagne, not particularly eager to find out what I might read if I’m looking at him. My past work is a contradiction to my present, a contradiction to his role in law enforcement. I got bad guys off. Now we both put them in jail.
“What’s the story with you and your father’s company?” he asks.
And there it is: the Pandora’s box of my past. “What you might expect,” I say, glancing over at him. “I felt dirty. I needed out.”
“What about Logan?” he asks, shutting the pizza box. “Is he the reason you felt dirty?”
“He didn’t help,” I say, deciding to just be honest. I need honesty in my life. “But no. I’d followed my father’s career path. I needed my own.”
“Fair enough,” he says, “but back to Logan. Unless you’d rather not.”
“He’s suddenly in the middle of this Waters case, so I suppose he’s a hard topic to avoid. You heard most of the story but I’ll elaborate. He’s my father’s protégé. We made an obvious pairing. He proposed, and we were planning our wedding. I walked in on him and my secretary on my desk. He told me boys would be boys. I gave his ring back and told my father, who said boys will be boys.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “You know that, right? I have buddies at Walker happily married and they are loyal to the bone.”
“I don’t know what I know about relationships at all anymore, other than I’ve done fine on my own.”
He studies me several beasts before he asks, “How did you get to the DA’s office?”
“A month after the ‘boys will be boys’ incident, one of the men I got off on murder, a guy I’d actually thought was innocent in this case, killed his wife. I was done. I quit and moved over to the DA’s office. Two years later, I’m on what feels like the biggest case of the century.”
“First,” he says. “I’ve misjudged a few people myself and it’s tough, but you aren’t responsible for their actions.”
“We both know that it’s not that simple.”
“No,” he concludes. “It’s not, but you’re here now and the DA must trust you to have you lead this case.”
“I saw inside the criminal mind at my father’s firm. It’s something I saw as a flaw, but Ed helped me see clearly. It’s an asset against someone like Waters.” This is my opening, my moment to face the elephant in the room head-on. I turn to face him, my leg on the couch between us. He sets his glass down and turns to me, his hand settling on my leg. I feel that touch zip through me, heat blossoming oh so easily. My gaze sweeps over the ink on his right arm, a similar gray, black, and red design with red flowers and a monster. This one features a skull. His fingers flex on my leg. “What do you want to know, Pri?” His voice is a gentle prod.
My gaze lifts to his, a spike of awareness in our connection. About you, I think. I want to know so much about him, and not as a prosecutor, as a woman, but I can’t ask him for what he’s not ready to give. “It’s not what I want to know,” I say. “It’s what I need to say. I got some bad people off, Adrian. I don’t want you to think that Waters can get to me. I’m a better prosecutor now for having seen the other side.”
He studies me for several seconds and then his hand is gone and he’s turned away from me, facing forward. I recoil with his reaction and I know what I have to do. “We need you to take down Waters. He can’t be set free. I’ll ask the DA to step up and take over the case. I’ll step away.”
“You aren’t the problem, Pri.” He scrubs fingers through his hair and then looks at me. “You are not the problem,” he repeats. “I asked for that immunity agreement for a reason. I crossed the lines. I did shit. I believed I had to do everything I did at the time, but now, now I question it all.”
I scoot closer to him, my hand on his arm, a silent plea that he look at me, that he open up to me. It’s a big request, I know, when I of all people understand that love is often given more liberally than trust.
Chapter Twenty
ADRIAN
Pri’s touch is like fire licking at my body and when my eyes meet hers, the rush of adrenaline and lust is as real and raw as it gets. But I resist her, wondering just how dirty she’ll feel when she finds out just how dirty I had to get to take down Waters. Somehow it feels unfair to touch her again until she knows. I’m seconds from saying fuck it and kissing her again when she says, “You were undercover, Adrian.”
The words are an unwelcome jolt of reality, her offering me understanding that is really an excuse, the same excuse I gave myself for far too long. I sit back, pulling away from her touch. I expect her to recoil. Instead—fuck me—she climbs on top of me, straddling me, trying to kill me as she presses the sweet vee of her body along the line of my crotch. My cock is instantly stiff and there’s no way she doesn’t know, but somehow, someway, I think of her, not me. My fingers curl at my sides and I don’t touch her.
“What are you doing, Pri?”
She leans forward and presses her hands to my shoulders, pinning me in a stare. “Making you see me, really see me. And hear me. I need you to hear me. I defended monsters and I did it well. Nothing you tell me will make me hate you. If we’re ranking good and bad, I’m just as damaged.”
That does it. I snap, angry with her, angry with myself. I slide my arm around her, my hand finding her shoulder blades and I mold all those sweet curves into me. “You felt dirty. I am dirty. I’m bad. You’re good. I shouldn’t be here with you. Do you understand me?”
“Then why are you here?” she challenges.
“Because you’re a damn witch,” I say. “You just keep driving me fucking wild.” I pull her mouth to mine, my tongue pressing past her teeth and she tastes like sweet champagne and innocence. She tastes fucking delicious. She moans and my cock twitches, her soft hands sliding up and down my arms. Oh yeah, she’s a witch all right, a good witch being bad, and I want to fuck the bad right out of her.
But I can’t.
I catch her arms and pull her back. “I don’t have another condom. I didn’t come to Texas planning to need it.”
“I’m on the pill,” she murmurs, “and I don’t need your medical record, either. For all I know, Waters might kill me, too. For once, I’m going to live in the moment.”
Logan’s comment about her “just fucked” look or whatever that shit was he said grinds through my mind. A nerve tics in my jaw, an unfamiliar brand of possessiveness taking hold and control of me. I cup her face, tilling her gaze to mine. “Were you on the pill for Logan?”
“No. I do what I do for me, and I—I haven’t—never mind. This is a bad idea.” She starts to move.
I capture her waist and hold her steady. “You haven’t what?”
“Had sex in two years, if you must know, I stayed on the pills because, well, I just did.” Her hands come down on my arms. “Let me go.”
The unexpected response has my attention. Everything about Pri has my attention. “Since Logan?”
“Yes. And don’t start reading into that. I needed time for me and I took it.”
Time to
herself means time to heal. I know then just how deeply he hurt her and I have this ridiculous moment of jealousy, followed by a deep need to find him and punch him. Her hand presses to my face and I’m back in the moment, and I land there with one realization. She’s recoiled all right, from men in general. Until tonight.
“And here I am,” I say softly.
“Because I thought you were Rafael,” she teases, but I’m not laughing.
This gorgeous, intelligent woman who is ten shades of damaged and sheltered in place to protect herself has offered herself to me, at least for “the moment” as she called it. She deserves better than me and she doesn’t even know it. Proven by the fact that I’m too damn selfish to save her from herself and me.
My hands slide to her face and I dare to tell her exactly why I’m still here, and why I don’t care about the way we complicate this trial. “I haven’t chosen anything in my life in years,” I say. “But I chose you, too, Pri.” I kiss her then, and when my tongue slides against hers I can feel her soften against me, melting into a place we both crave—a place where tomorrow doesn’t matter.
Our shared confessions seduce, provocative in their very nature and so is the way we undress each other. She’s back on top of me, my hand low on her back, when I press inside her, I can taste her soft gasp on my lips. She slides down my cock and now I’m the one groaning with the tight, wet squeeze of her body.
“Damn, you feel good, Pri,” I whisper, cupping her face, my lips at her ear. “Impossibly good,” I add, my voice rough, my body pulsing inside her.
I mold her close, my hand low on her spine, my touch possessive, a brand I want her to remember. The air thicken around us, the connection I feel with this woman a living, breathing thing I cannot control. It’s controlling me. I think it’s controlling us both and inside the passion lives our pain. Two people, two kinds of pain, that are somehow lost in the passion. At least for now, we are the sum of a new beginning, two people lost in each other and it’s powerful.
We lean into each other, our mouths colliding, tongues licking a seductive dance, an emotionally charged kiss that is nothing I expect and somehow everything I need. Hunger curls inside me and I thrust into her, pulling her hard against me. She gasps, and her finger flex on my shoulders. Desperation roars between us, humming in our bodies that grind together fast and hard, and then sway slow and easy. It’s in those seductive moments that I feel Pri in a way I didn’t know I could feel a woman. She feels it, too, and her body responds. She arches into me, burying her face in my neck, and then her body spasms around my shaft. I moan and thrust into her one final time, holding her as I shudder through my release.
When He's Dirty (Walker Security: Adrian’s Trilogy Book 1) Page 10
