by John Corwin
"What the hell are you talking about?" I said, trying to sound mean like he had.
Thomas burst into laughter. "Oh, that's good. You sound gangsta."
"Don't make fun," I said, putting on a pouty face. "You're mean."
My protests only made him laugh harder.
As he was making another wrap, he narrowed his eyes and gave me a look that sent chills racing up my spine. "I know how to bring out the Brit in you."
"And how is that, pray tell?"
"I don't know if I want to tell you." He winked. "I'd rather show you."
My toes curled up in anticipation.
After eating and cleaning our messy hands, He led me outside back into the cold evening air and down the street. "I thought about taking you for more karaoke tonight," he said. "But first, I think you really need some help on your dance moves."
I hit him on the shoulder. "Now you're just being rude."
"No, just doing the public a favor." He dodged away from my next swipe, chuckling. Held up his hands in surrender. "Just kidding." He stopped. "Here we are." Grabbed my hand again, and led me inside a building.
A girl at a desk looked up and smiled. "Can I help you?"
He passed her a twenty. "Upstairs, right?"
"Yes, sir." Her eyes traveled up and down his body, then she glanced at me, a tiny frown working her features. "Want me to take you there?"
"Nah, we're good." He turned, apparently oblivious to the girl's interest and took me up a flight of wooden stairs as orchestral music drifted down from above.
I looked about for a sign to indicate where we were, but I'd been so busy watching the desk girl lustily gaze at Thomas, I hadn't paid attention. "Where are we?"
"We're in Atlanta. Oh no, did something happen to your memory?" He turned, a concerned look on his face. "Your name is Emily and you're a little clumsy at dancing."
"I'm going to punch you," I said, unable to suppress a smile. "And it's going to hurt. A lot."
"Great, memory loss has apparently made you violent too."
I didn't have time to strike back with another remark when we emerged in a large room with couples dancing, and an instructor weaving between them, demonstrating proper form. Thomas took my coat and hung it along with his on a rack.
"We're in a dance studio?" I said.
"Yep. Thought we'd start simple and work our way up." He shrugged. "I mean, my dancing is already great. We mainly need to work on you."
He pulled me close, setting his arm at an angle to match the other men in the room, and resting a hand on my waist. He moved from side-to-side, nearly throwing me off balance in the process. Somehow, my foot tangled in his and he toppled over backwards with me landing on top.
Some of the nearby couples burst into laughter. Rather than dying of embarrassment, I found myself laughing as well, giggling so hard tears came from my eyes while Thomas boomed a deep-throated guffaw.
"I think I've found my trouble couple," said the instructor as he investigated the disruption.
Thomas pushed himself to his feet with ease, helping me up at the same time. "It's all her," he said to the instructor, eyes twinkling.
"I'll be the judge of that," the other man replied. He looked at me, gave a conspiratorial wink, and said in a loud whisper, "It's him, isn't it?"
I nodded. "Most definitely."
After a lot of pushing and prodding, the instructor arranged us properly. By the end of the class, we'd managed not only to stay upright, but to actually dance a full waltz. Thomas caught on blazingly fast to the moves, and kept me in lockstep with him. I wasn't exactly clumsy, but then again, I'd never been elegant or sophisticated either.
His hands were so warm against me, and when our bare skin touched during the last dance, the tingles melted into my belly. I wanted to kiss him right there in front of everyone. No one had ever done anything so romantic for me before. Thomas was a man. A real man. Not some silly boy who had no clue what to do, or was too busy caring about himself to be creative. He might not be a swimsuit model, but he certainly knew how to keep things interesting.
Thomas traced a finger along the back of my neck. I shivered as a wave of pleasure wrapped around my midsection and worked its way to my thighs. I pressed them together, nearly tripping as I abandoned the proper dancing form. Thomas's hand continued to trace around my neck and to my jaw. I shivered again, and he smiled.
"Don't be naughty in front of all these people," I whispered.
"Should I wait until later for that?"
My mouth went dry at the thought of later and what I really wanted him to do to me. I managed a nod.
"What are you thinking?" he said, his eyes moving from mine to look at my lips.
I looked at his lips, imagining them kissing me right this moment.
"I can't help but be naughty with the way you're looking at me," he said. "You make me want to be very naughty."
I giggled and buried my face in his chest to hide the flush on my face.
He lifted my chin with a finger and touched his lips to mine just as the music ended. "That was fun."
"Uh huh," I said, wanting more.
A woman who'd been dancing with a partner near us smiled at Thomas. "You're very good. Is that your daughter?"
My eyes went wide with embarrassment. Before I could respond, I noticed a familiar figure standing just outside the room. George Walker.
Chapter 8
I turned back to Thomas to tell him about George, but he was already responding to the woman's remark.
He kissed my forehead. "This is my mistress." He winked at the other woman, though she didn't seem all that amused by his explanation. "My wife is at home with our three kids."
"Why, I never!" Her lips curled up in disgust.
I turned back toward George, but he was already gone. Blinking my eyes slowly and deliberately didn't bring him back. Did I imagine him?
Thomas led me back down the stairs and outside. He spun me once, leaned me into his arms for a quick kiss, and pulled me upright.
"Do I really look young enough to be your daughter?" I said, still feeling embarrassed. "You don't look that old. What are you, forty?"
"By your years—" he stopped midsentence. "More like thirty-eight. But everyone says I only look thirty-seven."
"Don't be silly," I said. "Seriously, do I look young enough to be your daughter?"
He put a finger to my lips. "Emily, hush."
I opened my mouth to tell him what I thought about his admonishment, but he stifled my retort with a kiss. His lips pressed gently to mine. I tangled my arms around his neck and pulled him tighter, closer as the sexual current between us seemed to grow in charge. He spun me around and pressed me against the side of the building, the heat of his body erasing the chill of the night air. His tongue met mine and another jolt shivered down my body. His hand ran up my neck. Gripped my hair and gave it a firm but gentle tug.
The warmth between my legs burst into flame. My legs pressed together as need and desire started to boil low in my stomach. I wanted him right this instant. My mind flashed to Isabel's advice. Good sense had evaporated from the moment his lips touched mine, I ran a hand up his leg, up toward his crotch, and felt a hard bulge there.
The little ninny in my head shrieked and told me I was being a filthy little pervert while the newly awakened sex fiend told me to break out the measuring tape. I really wasn't all that knowledgeable about sizes, though his didn't seem to be monstrous.
Thomas pulled his lips from my neck. He was panting, his eyes burning. "Oh God, Emily, you're going to cause an accident if you keep that up."
I felt my eyes go wide as I realized I was still rubbing him through his pants, and pulled my hand back liked I'd just been shocked. "Oh lord. I didn't even realize—" I burst into laughter.
Thomas said something in a low throaty growl, an almost animalistic quality to his voice. He leaned over and nipped my earlobe. "You drive me crazy, Em."
"The feeling is mutual," I said, my breathing heavy as his.
"God, I love it when you speak British to me," he said. "Told you I knew how to bring it out."
I made a little growling noise of my own. "Naughty boy. Now that you've called me out, what do you plan to do about it?"
His eyes met mine, and I could practically see the flames of desire burning within. He took my hand and pulled me to the curb. Waved down a taxi. We got in and disembarked at the office.
"Would you like to come over?" he said, his voice actually sounding a bit shy as he asked. "I don't want to pressure you. I mean, I know we just—"
I cut him off with a kiss. "Are you asking me over for hot tea?"
He nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up in amusement.
"I'd love to come."
Something like surprise flickered through his eyes. "I've corrupted you, haven't I?" he said.
"Yes, you apparently have. Now hurry up and get your bloody car."
He saluted. "Yes ma'am." Winked. "I'll be right back."
I drew my coat around me as he jogged inside the parking garage.
Though it was dark, it wasn't terribly late just yet, according to the time on my phone. I had a text from Isabel.
Well?????? Are you out with him again? TELL ME!!
I typed back a simple Yes, my lips spreading into an unstoppable smile. I could hardly wait to tell her about tonight. About—my breath caught in my throat as I realized what I was planning to do. Good lord, I was going to have sex. Sex! My stomach fluttered with delight at the thought, and I squeezed my legs together to fight off the heat of anticipation.
The glint of sunglasses in the headlights of a passing car caught my eyes from across the street. A man in a black sedan, his head covered in a black hoodie, eyes covered in wraparound shades seemed to be looking at me from across the road where his car was parallel parked in a no-parking zone.
Why he was wearing shades at this time of night, I had no idea. I wondered if he was with the FBI or the police, keeping something under surveillance, though the hoodie seemed a bit out of place for the authorities. He seemed to be watching the same building I worked in. Perhaps it had something to do with one of the many businesses inside.
The metal gate in the parking deck rattled open a moment later and Thomas pulled out in his Range Rover. He leaned over the center console and pushed my door open. I climbed in, and he took my hand. Kissed it.
"You're still sure?"
I pursed my lips. "If there's anything you should know about women, it's that you don't want to make us think too much about rash decisions, or we're likely to talk ourselves out of it."
He chuckled. "A rash decision, huh?" We pulled to the exit. He looked both ways and pulled out, going left.
I noticed a long black SUV pulling in behind the parked sedan, and turned to look out the back window. "I wonder if the FBI is about to raid our building," I said.
"FBI?" Thomas gave me a confused look.
"Yeah, back there." I jabbed my thumb behind us. "I think they're watching the building or something."
Thomas stopped at a red light. His face looked pale. "What did they look like?"
"I only saw the one man. He had on a hoodie and sunglasses. I have no idea—" I shrieked as Thomas hit the accelerator, pressing me back into my seat. "What are you doing?"
He looked in the rearview mirror. "Shit." Looked at me. "I've got to drop you off somewhere, okay?"
"Drop me off? What the bloody hell—" Realization shot through me and I went cold. "The FBI is after you? Is this why you didn't want to talk to the police? Oh my God, Thomas, what are you involved in?" My heart froze to a lump. Was he the person George Walker was looking for?
"It's not that simple," he said. "Shit!"
I looked in the side-view mirror and saw the sedan and SUV about a block back and racing after us.
"Well, you'd better make it simple," I snapped back as anger overtook my fear. "Tell me right this instant, or I'll punch you in the face and turn you in myself."
"I didn't do anything wrong," he said, his voice sounding almost like that of a boy caught watching his father's porn stash. "Why can't they just leave me alone?"
My heart ached. "Please, Thomas." I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. "What did you do?" The weight of fear pressed against me so hard, I wanted to scream. "A man from the CDC was looking for someone. His name is George Walker. Do you know him?"
"The names are fake. George Walker isn't real." Thomas jerked the wheel and we screeched around a corner. He took another left and careened down a narrow alley, nearly striking a dumpster.
I screamed, gripping the armrest with both hands. "Stop the car! Let me out!"
"I can't, not yet," he said. "I don't know what they'll do if they catch you with me."
"They saw me get in the car with you, you idiot!" Why that would make me an accomplice to his crimes, I had no idea.
The vehicle raced up an incline, and I felt weightlessness pull up my insides before we bounced hard back onto the street. I was beyond screaming by now, my mouth clenched tight with terror as Thomas guided the vehicle around tight corners and down back streets. I couldn't believe the local police hadn't joined the chase yet.
"Look, Emily, all I can tell you is I haven't broken any laws the FBI, CDC, or police would care about. I haven't done anything wrong."
"Then why are they chasing you?" I shouted, my breath coming in panicked bursts as he drove like a maniac.
"They're not with law enforcement of any kind." He slid the vehicle down a curved ramp and onto a downtown street with the grace of a professional racecar driver. Dodged around a car waiting at a red light and blew through the intersection.
"Who are they with?"
He seemed to struggle with what to say before shaking his head. "I can't tell you."
We swerved around a large pothole and up a narrow side road. I realized we'd gone in a large circle and were back near my flat. He screeched to a halt. Gripped my hand.
"Please, believe that I—I really like you. I'm not a criminal."
I felt hot tears rolling down my face, and my nose was stuffy. "Then tell me, Thomas. Please don't shut me out."
He leaned over and kissed me hard. "You need to get out and get inside your building."
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."
His eyes flashed. "Damn it, Emily, I don't have time." He pressed a hand to my cheek. "If you see me tomorrow and I don't recognize you, please don't hate me."
"If you what?" I said in a frantic voice. "Who the bloody hell—" My rant cut off in a yelp as he smoothly unclicked my seatbelt, reached across and opened the door, and pushed me out in a fluid movement as though I weighed nothing. Somehow, I kept my feet. He tossed something, and my purse landed next to me.
The SUV shot forward, slamming the door shut with its momentum, stopped, and squealed into reverse. Thomas's eyes met mine for an instant before the Range Rover backed onto the street we'd come from and roared off. Seconds later, the black sedan and SUV shot past.
I stood in the night air feeling cold, confused, and worst of all, alone. It made no sense. How had the evening gone from dinner to dancing to the promise of sex and suddenly to a car chase that left me trembling with fear?
Weak-kneed and dazed, I walked down the side street to the corner and crossed the road to my high-rise. The more I thought about the insanity of the past few minutes, the more I thought about Thomas's driving. He'd managed the tight turns at such a high rate of speed, dodging this way and that, as if it was something he'd done all his life. Could he be a getaway driver for bank robbers? Perhaps those men were his former accomplices and they wanted their money.
And what in the world would I tell Isabel?
I took a moment to arrange myself in the mirror in the lobby, though my face still looked splotchy from crying. I rode up the lift and opened the door to the flat as quietly as possible. Isabel wasn't in the den. I peeked around corners and saw her room was dark as well. She'd left a message on the dry e
rase board next to the front door.
Out on a date. Can't wait to hear how yours went!
Little hearts surrounded her message, along with a drawing of two stick figures obviously engaged in sexual acts with mine and Thomas's names beneath them. My face flushed, and I erased them, then wiped everything from the board with quick, angry strokes.
I should be having mind-blowing sex right this very moment, or cuddling against Thomas, feeling his electric skin against mine. Instead, I was a complete and utter mess. A hot mess. A little whimper escaped my mouth and fresh tears ran down my cheeks. My clothes felt damp and clingy, probably because I'd broken out into a cold sweat, a hot sweat, and God only knew what else during the terrifying car chase.
I had to get washed. To feel clean. Right now I felt worn out and used. I went into my room and tore off my clothes, threw them into the corner. Got into the shower and turned it nearly scalding hot. I hadn't planned on washing my hair tonight, but did it anyway. My skin was bright pink when I got out and dried. I felt cleaner on the outside, but it didn't make me feel any better on the inside. I found Isabel's stash of ice cream bars and wine, and helped myself to them. I turned on the television and watched it mindlessly in a futile effort to forget the night's events.
My phone dinged. I pulled it from my purse, hoping it was Thomas. Instead, it was from Isabel.
Don't wait up!
My heart dropped to a new low. God, I wanted to talk to her so badly right now. Nothing made sense, and my stomach twisted relentlessly inside me, cramping with pain, confusion, and anger. I drank more wine. Ate more ice cream. Hoped that the teenage mother on the reality telly show I was watching would wise up and get rid of the loser who'd impregnated her. Why were we women so stupid? Why did we put our trust in these assholes who thought with their stupid little pricks, and pranced around like they knew everything?
Why did some of them have to seem so wonderful, and make me feel so good about myself? How could they make me want to give the most intimate part of myself away?
"Stinking bastards. Assholes!"
I gulped down the rest of the wine, which was quite a lot and shouted a curse aimed at the idiot man on television who'd not only knocked up his girlfriend, but apparently her two sisters as well. I decided more wine was necessary if I was going to continue watching this rubbish. I poured another glass, whimpering as Thomas's pained looked flashed into my mind.
