Shadows and Lies

by Eden Butler

  “No,” she said, savoring her food, moaning over it as though it tasted like pure bliss. I moved my eyes down, focused on my plate so my imagination wouldn’t go too wild wondering what other sounds Alex made when something was good for her. “But I remembered being in that house, living in a damn closet and sleeping on a mattress crawling with fleas and bedbugs and whatever else was in that place.” The scrape of her fork against her empty plate brought my eyes up again. She was done with her pie, not her explanation. “It was prison, a fucking prison. I might be a crook, Ryan, but I’m not heartless. I wouldn’t wish that shit on whoever killed Stevie and I hate that motherfucker.” She stopped, shaking her head. “Well, maybe on them, but not those girls. No way.”

  I shook my head, understanding why she’d testified, feeling a little proud of her that she’d done the right thing. Shit, I had no right to think that. I hardly knew Alex though we had spent nearly every day constantly around each other for a week. She was complicated and she was frustrating, but she was right. She wasn’t heartless, not from what I could see.

  “And you got hassled for your troubles.” She watched me close, seeming to understand that I had more questions, wanted more details, but Alex waited, patient, calm as I tapped off my beer and caught her gaze over the bottle. “So that’s when Timber covered you.”

  One slow nod, careful, evasive and Alex remained quiet, waiting, it seemed, for me to press her, to ask for details about that situation. I wouldn’t. Wasn’t my business and really didn’t have any bearing on who might be after her.

  “He scared everyone off, mainly Wanda’s sons who were worried that their breadwinner going inside would fuck up the stream of cash.” Alex moved her fork between her fingers, tapping the edge on the island. “After Timber was done with them, well, I didn’t have anything to worry about. He set them straight and up until a few weeks back I haven’t had any problems with people bothering me aside from the occasional smack talk and saluting middle fingers.” She stood, taking her plate with her and hovered near the pie, looking eager when I moved my head, silently telling her to take more. “This is really the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “I’m gonna call bullshit on that, lady.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You live in the good food capital of the world. My mom’s pie can’t compare.”

  “Yeah but I don’t get a lot of chances to go to the good places and I don’t beg for food.” Alex did that chin lift again, cocking one eyebrow up so I knew she wasn’t joking. “Never have. I earned it. Well, I earned it how we earn things.”

  “Hustling?”

  “Sweet talking.”

  I laughed, shaking my head at the small wink Alex gave me. “That’s what you call it?”

  “Sure. I was never mean and I never went after anyone who looked like they couldn’t afford to have their wallets thinned.”

  “So tourists?”

  “Tourists and fat cats throwing money away.” She looked down at her plate, scooping up the chicken and crust like she didn’t want to know if she’d disappointed me. “What about you?”

  “Me? I’ve never hustled anybody in my life. Well, poker maybe, but that’s the game.”

  “Not once?”

  “Hell no.” I pointed to myself. “Boy Scout, remember?” I left the island, taking my plate to the sink and picked up two more beers before I sat back down.

  “Okay,” she said, setting down her fork. “So you’ve never lied to a woman to fuck her?”

  The bottle stilled in front of my mouth and I watched Alex, that slow smirk sliding up her mouth, like she’d told a dirty joke just to see my reaction. But I played it off, wouldn’t let this little smartass fluster me. “That’s not the same.” I took my sip and shrugged like I wasn’t thrown by her question.

  “It’s exactly the same. Food, Ryan isn’t about a meal. It’s the presentation, it’s the pay off. A juicy steak, or,” she waved her full fork, “something that melts in your mouth, is just like a nice piece of ass. If you want it enough, need it to fill you up, you’ll do just about anything to get it. There isn’t a lot of difference between the two.”

  I leaned back against the island, taking a long pull on my beer, trying to figure out an argument that would shatter her theory but came up empty-handed. “Point taken, but you know, I can always rub one out to get full.”

  “No you can’t. That’s like grabbing a fifty cent stack of crackers from the vending machine. Stale, barely satisfying and you’re still hungry no matter how many you eat.”

  She was teasing now, letting the glint of flirtation rise up in her eyes. I fucking loved it. I knew I shouldn’t, but hell if I couldn’t help myself. “No, darlin’, not the way I do it.”

  She put down her fork, rubbing her stomach, fighting a smile that I thought she didn’t want me seeing. “So you’re telling me that you’ve been honest with everyone you’ve slept with. You were a damn SEAL and you never had a one night thing with some random chick?” She didn’t need to know the stupid shit I’d done on deployment. Hell, I didn’t remember every detail, and I’d certainly had my share of sugar—and spice—but I wasn’t some sick fucker who’d do anything to get his dick wet. I didn’t look at her, offered her a vague shrug which she pounced on. “You see? You’ve hustled to get what you needed.” Alex thumbed the napkin by her half empty plate, twisting the edge like she needed something to do with her hands. “The redhead,” she started, meeting my gaze when I snapped my head up. “She was a hustle.”

  “She was a stupid mistake.” When Alex frowned, nodded once, I felt the air around the table change, move us into territory that was personal, a little raw and I wasn’t sure if I liked the sensation or if I thought the ice we skated on was just too damn thin. I liked Alex. She was a cool woman who’d been given a rotten lot in life. I was damn attracted to her, but that didn’t mean I’d have her on her back or against my brick wall anytime soon. But yeah, I often let my Little Brain think for me when emotion or situation got too overwhelming.

  Still, I had a case to handle with Alex. We had to keep this shit professional, but damn if it wasn’t hard with her asking those flirty questions, looking hungry and satisfied all at the same time. And then, there were those glorious tits.

  Hell, Alex had great lines all over. Her body was arched and curved in all the right places—hips that flared out, a waist that was small enough that I knew my hands would fit around it easily. And as she walked to the sink—sashayed to the sink—rinsing off our plates, damn if the Little Brain took over, had my eyes moving over her back, down to the swell of her plump ass.

  No. I wasn’t doing well with the professional bullshit. Little Brain had other ideas.

  “Don’t tell me you were pissed that I talked to her,” I said, coming to stand behind her as she cleaned the dishes in the sink. I had no idea what I was doing, didn’t know why I was standing so close. But Alex’s hair picked up the swirl of light from the window above the sink, moving both shine and shadows over her head. She smelled like soap and something else, something I’d only ever picked up off her skin. I suddenly realized that she was making me hungrier than the pie had, which shocked the hell out of me. This attraction had come from nowhere. Or maybe it had existed all along, I wasn’t sure, but right then I wouldn’t have moved away from her for any damn thing.

  “I wasn’t pissed,” she said, slipping her head to the left to catch my eyes. “Why would I be pissed, Ryan?” I lifted my shoulders, silently asking her to tell me what she’d been thinking and that grinshrug of hers came out like a deliciously bad habit. “You were cruel to her.” She leaned forward to turn off the faucet and I moved my hand to the side of the sink, but Alex didn’t jump back or jerk away from me when she turned, no matter that I stood too close, that I was acting like an asshole desperate to touch her.

  In fact, this woman seemed to like the closeness, like she reveled in the small space between us, not letting the focus of my eyes or my accelerating breath do anything but fu
el whatever thoughts had her looking at me the way she did. Eyes darkened, top teeth denting in her bottom lip and still Alex didn’t move, not to pull me closer or to tell me to back away.

  Shit I was in trouble.

  “I’ve never seen you cruel before. Didn’t know you had it in you, Boy Scout.”

  “You know, lady,” there was a hum in my voice I didn’t recognize. Alex had put it there with just the low dip of her gaze, “you got all these ideas that you know me. You don’t.”

  “Ditto.”

  Her eyes moved with the shake of my head, following the slow nod, the moment becoming something tactile, obvious as the heating air between our bodies that dampened our skin. Two looks, two held breaths and something had shifted. Hell, who was I kidding? It had started, brewing, way back, the second I grabbed her arm, stopping her from taking that wallet. It simmered when she snuck onto my balcony asking for my help. Now it crackled—that attraction, the symmetry in the breath that mingled between her mouth and mine.

  “Alex?” It was only her name falling from my mouth that moved her gaze off my lips, a small glance that was all the answer she’d give me. “I’m not a fucking Boy Scout.”

  There are times when you can’t think. Those are the clustered moments when the energy, the zing of the moment you’re in breaks apart any awareness you have. There is no logic in the swell of sensation or the liquid heat that drives one body closer to another. It’s the feel of warmth, the hope of touch that pulls you in no matter what your brain tries to make you understand about right and wrong, friend or foe. I wasn’t supposed to touch Alex Black. I wasn’t supposed to see her as anything but a mission. I was supposed to find her stalker and keep her safe.

  But I had always done what was expected. Seems she had to, as well. The difference was that my expectations fell on the side of justice. Hers ran along the tracks of corruption. Both meant we survived however we could.

  I didn’t think about the case or what had brought her to me in the first place, and what kept her coming back to me. I reached for her because I knew that’s what we both wanted. I touched her because she let me and once I had her against my chest, felt the smooth brush of her fingers on my neck, sensation shattered judgment.

  The last sound I heard before I kissed her was the strangle of laughter falling into a moan. Hers, not mine. Alex was a woman—beautiful, sensual, parts that went in and out just like they’re supposed to, but she did not kiss me like any other hesitant, docile woman I’d ever touched.

  She touched me like she was still hungry, like the meal we had just shared had not filled her. Like nothing would.

  Alex felt like spun sugar—sweet, tangy and if you had too much, you’d walk away lightheaded. At that moment, I didn’t care. She came into my arms easy enough, her small body fusing to mine like her legs belonged around my waist, like her breasts should always be right against my ribs. Her tongue was strong, delicious and when I gripped her ass, falling back against the island with her wrapped around me, that strong muscle vibrated against my mouth, shaking in the groan, the wild growl of her voice.

  My head burned from the sensation of her mouth along my neck, how she moved her hips, ground them against my aching dick like she wanted to free it, and I didn’t stop her, couldn’t when she held my face, devoured every damn inch of my mouth, my tongue like she owned it. Like she always would.

  Who moved first? No clue. Maybe it was me, carrying her down the hallway, her fingers ripping my t-shirt over my head; maybe it was her, pushing, directing, telling me with her mouth and fingers and hurried grunts that she wanted me naked, needed it.

  All I knew was that my back hit my mattress and Alex straddled me, her long, beautiful hair like a fan brushing against my bare chest, into the ridges of my abs. “Fuck, Alex, you feel…”

  “I know how I feel,” she told me, breath hard, movements agitated as she sat over me. “No talking.”

  I listened. I looked and touched and felt all the bluster of sensation that filled me like hard, eighty proof whiskey. Alex’s hair, the smell of her skin, the taste of her shoulder against my teeth, the struggle for control—it made me drunk and hard and all those things I had no business being. But will is a weak damn thing when a beautiful woman touches you, when she promises everything with a look. That’s what Alex gave me, a look that would shatter even the most resolute man.

  There was no controlling myself, not with her.

  Her body was smooth, lines and lithe limbs that reminded me of the wind, the way she moved, how she glided over me and I could not take that hungry damn need inside me that wanted more. She didn’t fight me when I rolled over, took her hip to press against her and cup those perfect breasts that had teased me a week ago. My hands were everywhere, fighting against her shirt, absently lowering her zipper, then returning to her breasts to lift her shirt to her collarbone so I could get her free from her bra and my mouth around that round, dark nipple. She tasted sweet, skin that I thought would burn my tongue, a texture I couldn’t get enough of.

  “Yes,” she moaned, hand on the back of my head, pushing me, wanting me latched deeper, sucking harder.

  Alex got lost in that moment with me, guard down, body open and I took advantage of the rare opportunity to see her so exposed, so willing to give, loving her hand rubbing against my dick, her feet pressing against my back to connect our centers. But when I slipped her shirt right over her head and pushed my hands under her ass to kiss her stomach, those tight muscles contracted and I felt her limbs stiffen, her hands moving to cover her bellybutton and all those tight ab muscles. The movement only brought attention to the scars on her skin. Some were very old, jagged lines and scorched burns that had healed. Others were red, visibly new and looked like lashes she’d taken again and again.

  “Alex…” I started, coming to my knees.

  “It doesn’t matter, Ryan. Don’t…” she reached for her shirt, tugged it out of my hand when I tried to stop her. “Don’t look at them.”

  “They weren’t there… before.” I finally pulled my gaze away from her flat stomach, frowning when I saw the anger, that resurfacing rage reddening her skin. “Were they?”

  “You mean when I showed you my tits?” I hated that she’d gone rigid, that she’d put that guard back up so quickly I didn’t recognize the woman I’d just tasted. “Not like you’d notice. Most men grow blind and stupid when tits are thrown their way.” She hustled off the bed, blocking my hand when I reached for her. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m a big girl and I can lick my own wounds.”

  God, she was rough around the edges—a tough exterior of hair and make-up and attitude that was only softened by the silk in her eyes and the exotic beauty that made her something to behold. That skin, even as scarred and wrecked as it was, took nothing away from her beauty. But who could have done that? Who would want to mark her? Claim her this way just because they could?

  All of sudden, it clicked into place. The man’s attitude, his smug face shot into my head and I came off the bed in a fury, stalking toward her like a beast. “He did this?” I waved to her now covered stomach. “Ironside?”

  Alex stopped fumbling with her zipper, her head jerking up, eyes low and mean at my question. “That’s not any of your business.”

  “The hell it’s not. I’m supposed to be…”

  “Protecting me?” I hated when she laughed like that. The sound was weak, forced, a haze of insult she used to torment. “God, Ryan, you really are a Boy Scout.”

  I squinted, tried to push back my temper, knowing Alex was covering, blocking me out with the attitude she wrapped around her like a cape. “Why’d he do this to you?”

  She turned on me, eyes blazing. “Because I let him.” I hadn’t heard her yell like that since she tried fighting her way out on my fist at the Marriott. “That’s what I do, Ryan. It’s who I am.”

  “Bullshit. If that were true, you’d be covered in scars.” I grabbed her waist, ignoring the attempts she made to get away from me. “
These are months old, but still not fully healed. I don’t know how the hell I missed them that first night. The others aren’t the same.”

  “No, dammit, they’re not.” She pushed on my chest, acting like she couldn’t have me touching her, like distance was now the only thing she needed from me. I fucking knew better. “None are the same. God, how many times do I have to tell you? I’ve lived a shitty assed life. I didn’t go to high school or the May Dance or get my first kiss in a fucking horse-drawn carriage tottering around the Quarter. This,” she said, lifting her shirt, “is me. It’s who I will always fucking be. You wouldn’t get that because you haven’t been where I’ve been.”

  I wished to Christ that were true. But it wasn’t. I may not have lived her life. I may have never been forced into poverty or left to figure out how to survive on my own, but I’d been in the trenches. I’d been in blood. I’d been wounded, scarred, in more than just body.

  “I’ve been to hell, too, Alex. It may not have been your hell, but it was still hell.” My voice was low, but I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t ashamed. It was a misery no one should ever have to recall. It was one I thought Alex couldn’t never understand. Seeing those scars, seeing just how damn deep her wounds ran, I thought maybe I was wrong.

  Those big eyes, dark as midnight, cut right into me, looking hard, glancing at my shoulder, to the scar a bullet in Fallujah left on my skin, maybe realizing that there had never been a Boy Scout. There had only ever been the fighter. I hated seeing that from her—the understanding that I wasn’t safe, I wasn’t completely whole. Finally, she blinked, moving toward the door with those wide, big eyes taking in my reaction, my worry. “Yeah, I guess you have. But that’s the difference between you and me, Ryan. I still live there.”

  Alex left my room and I didn’t follow. I knew better than try to get her to tell me what had happened, exactly how those scars had ended up on her body. It would be a fight I wouldn’t win, her trying to tell me to stop shooting for a rescue; me telling her, more than anyone I’d ever met, she damn well needed one. But I let her be, listened for the squeak and slide of her legs against the leather sofa or the wafting smell of her smoking out on the balcony.