“Did he say anything about it?”

  “No.”

  Kai touched my leg lightly as he got up again. “Let me know if you see him again.” He paused under the arch that divided the sitting room from the kitchen and front door. “I want daily reports now. If you see anything—I don’t care how unremarkable it might be—you write it in there. I want to be kept apprised of everything! Understand?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  “Good. And Paxton?” He was half turned, his hand running slowly over the top of his head. “I know this undercover thing may require you to do things you might not ordinarily do. But…use common sense, okay? Don’t get yourself into a situation you won’t be able to look yourself in the mirror after, you know what I mean? There’s always more than one way to get information from someone.”

  I knew exactly what he was saying. The thing was, I wasn’t sure that things hadn’t already progressed too far with Ayden for me to find another option. I wasn’t sure I wanted to explore another option.

  Kai hesitated a moment longer, then he was gone, slipping out the front door as easily as he’d come. I got up and watched through the sliding glass doors there in my living room for him, watched him make his way down the sidewalk to the massive blue monstrosity he called a car. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t noticed the Skylark when I first came home, but I hoped that if anyone was watching either of us, they hadn’t noticed it, either.

  There was danger everywhere with this case and I had allowed myself to forget that for a while. I wouldn’t forget it again.

  I had served in Afghanistan. I knew the people who lived in fear of the American soldiers as much as the Taliban that had taken over their country. The idea that Black Jacket was helping soldiers to steal from these people made me burn with anger, but it also made me feel almost lost, like all the time I spent there, all the friends I saw killed and maimed there, was all for nothing just because of the criminal actions of a few. That was why I was here, that was why I had to prove that Ayden Vaughn was helping his former squad buddies by laundering money for Abraham Black.

  Ayden was one hell of an attractive guy, but if he was doing this, I was going to make sure he burned for it!

  Chapter 6

  Ayden

  Ms. Hastings dropped a couple of files on my desk, a small smile on her tight lips. “Working late?”

  “Aren’t I always?”

  “Not lately. You’ve been sneaking out of here pretty early since you hired that young accountant.”

  I sat back. “Say what you mean.”

  Ms. Hastings shrugged. “Don’t you think you’re being a little obvious? I mean, I get young love just like everyone else, but you’re kind of broadcasting it a little too widely.”

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Did she? I knew there was something about her I liked.”

  I sat back and rested my hands on my belly. “Since when does it matter to you who I date?”

  “The success of your business is important to all of us, Ayden. You getting distracted by some pretty girl could put that in jeopardy.”

  “I’m doing my job.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Tell him that he doesn’t need to worry. Paxton isn’t a distraction. In fact, maybe she’s a help. Her skills with the books could be beneficial to us.”

  Ms. Hastings shook her head. “I handle that part of the bookkeeping, no one else. That was the deal.”

  “Yes, well, Paxton is the accountant. She should have access to everything.”

  “And when she does and she goes straight to the police?”

  “I don’t think she’d do that. Besides, I’ve already talked to him about bringing her in.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “He was going to leave it to my discretion.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Ms. Hastings took a seat in the same chair Paxton had occupied just a while ago. “You barely know her.”

  “She’s good at the numbers. Even you have to admit that.”

  “Yes, but the second she has to enter data into the computer, she turns into a Neanderthal.”

  I smiled, thinking about the few times I’d seen her trying to type into spreadsheets. “She seems to know how to use a computer, but I agree her typing’s lousy. . But as long as she can use a calculator, she’s an asset to us. Besides, we don’t put a lot of that side of the business on paper, do we?”

  “No, I don’t suppose we do.”

  “I’ll give it a little more time, get to know her better. Double check some of the things she’s told me.”

  Ms. Hastings nodded. “I still think it’s a mistake, but if he said you should make your own judgment…” She shrugged. “He’s the boss.”

  That statement rankled me a little. I’d worked very hard to be my own boss. The idea that I was under the thumb of someone else…but that was the way it was, wasn’t it? I’d allowed myself to be dragged into this situation. I was working on finding a way out, but I was beginning to wonder if my exit strategy would be worse than the reality of my current situation.

  “Go home, Ms. Hastings. I’m sure Mr. Hastings would appreciate seeing your face for a little while this evening.”

  “Mr. Hastings is playing cards with his buddies tonight. But I will go home and enjoy the silence and a nice glass of wine.” She stood, resting a hand on the edge of my desk for a moment. “You should be careful, Ayden. This girl…there’s something about her that sets off alarm bells in the back of my head.”

  “I think you’re being a little paranoid,” I said as gently as I could. “But I’ll keep your warning in mind.”

  She didn’t seem happy with that answer, but she didn’t argue. She left me alone, and the silence of the building settled down against my shoulders like an animal taking a rest against a warm stranger. I worked for a few minutes more, but couldn’t stop thinking about Paxton and everything Ms. Hastings had said about her.

  I hadn’t met a woman like Paxton in a long time. She reminded me of a woman I’d known in high school, an English teacher, actually, who was teaching for the first time after graduating from college. She had this fresh, new take on everything and she had a spirit that inspired all her students. Just seeing her in the hall made me feel like I could achieve anything. There had never been anything romantic between me and this teacher, but there was something about Paxton that was inspiring, just like that teacher. But in a different way.

  Paxton was beautiful and flirty, but she had this side to her that was closed off, a mystery that just begged to be solved. The more she held me at arm’s length, the more I wanted to get to know her. She talked about a dark childhood, about running from her past. But there was something solid and regimented about her a familiar sort of disciplined bearing to her. She was a bundle of contradictions that made me want to dig, to find the common link between these contradictions. I just…I wanted to know her, and everything about her.

  Pulling her into this mess that was my life probably wasn’t the smartest idea I’d ever had. But a part of me was convinced that that was the only way I was going to get to know her. If I pulled her into this mess, I was going to have to tell her what I was doing and why. I was going to have to show her this dark side of my life and hope that it didn’t frighten her away. But not yet. First, I wanted to be sure I could trust her.

  I thought I could. I just wanted to be sure.

  I dropped my pen and got up, deciding I wasn’t going to get any work done while I was sitting here thinking of her. She wouldn’t let me take her to dinner? Well, I’d just have to take dinner to her.

  She was in a heavy cotton bathrobe when she opened the door, surprise beautiful on her face.

  “You’re not the pizza guy!”

  “Do you always wear a bathrobe to welcome the pizza guy to your home?”

  “No, but I was in the bath.” She tilted her head, noting the paper bags in my hands. “What’s this?”

  “Dinner.”

  “I ordered pizza, in case you didn’t catch that.”

  “Put it in the fridge when it arrives. I hear cold pizza makes a good breakfast.”

  She smiled. “I have been known to do just that.” She eyed the bags again. “What do you have?”

  “Steaks. Baby red potatoes. Fresh greens.”

  She groaned. “How did you know I was a meat and potatoes sort of girl?”

  “Good guess?” I shook the bags. “Can I come in?”

  “I don’t cook. Fair warning.”

  “I do.”

  She nodded. “Of course you do. Triple treat.” She stepped back and gestured for me to come in.

  “Triple?” I asked as I moved past her and set the bags on the kitchen counter.

  “Yeah. Good looking. Business owner. Cook. The kind of guy every girl would die to find.”

  “Not just girls.” I started to unpack the bags while she lifted herself onto the counter, swinging her legs lightly as she watched me work. “You going to put on some clothes?”

  “My house, remember? My rules.”

  I nodded, pretending to consider that for a moment. And then I pounced on her, wrapping my arms around her waist and sliding her hard against me as I buried my mouth against her bare throat. She moaned, her hands coming up so that her fingers could slide into my hair. She tugged a little, the pain almost as exquisite as the soft scent of mint that clung to her skin.

  “What did you do? Take a bath in peppermint oil?”

  “Tea tree oil. It’s in my shampoo.”

  “It’s damn delicious!”

  She lifted my face and looked into my eyes for a second. Then she stole a kiss, pulling me against her, inviting an exploration that took my breath away. I wrapped my arms tighter against her and melted into her body, her scent, her taste, losing myself in this woman who had this power over me that I couldn’t quite describe and couldn’t quite deny.

  It seemed like we stood there for hours, our kiss both passionate and gentle, both heated and smoldering. I ached to tug at the belt around her waist, to remove this thick layer of cotton that kept her gorgeous body from me, but I respected her wish for time, taking what she offered and trying to accept it was enough. For now.

  A knock on the door forced us to part. I answered, grateful for loose fitting slacks and a long suit jacket. The pizza was ridiculously expensive, the added tip taking almost all the cash I had in my wallet. I’d have to start carrying more than just a twenty or so, I supposed. When I turned back to the kitchen, pizza in hand, she’d disappeared.

  “Put it in the fridge,” she called from somewhere beyond the living room. “Put that steak on! I’m starving!”

  I groaned, once again left needing a cold shower while she went off to do whatever it was she had to do.

  Cooking had always been something of a passion of mine. My mother, a clinical psychologist, liked to cook elaborate meals at the end of the day as a way to work off the stress of the day. She’d make me help when I was young, ignoring my grumbles as she taught me to dice onions and slice tomatoes. But then it became a routine and then something more, an art form that all my athletic friends in high school saw as too feminine. I had to hide it, but I continued to cook through high school and even in college, sneaking off to the kitchen at my girlfriend’s sorority house so that none of my frat brothers would know. But I loved it. If I hadn’t gone into the military, I might have attended culinary school.

  I got into the groove after just a few minutes of searching through her cabinets and congratulating myself for bringing my own spices. The woman had next to nothing in her kitchen! I found a pan I could use and that was about it. She didn’t even have any food beyond the newly arrived pizza and a box of instant oatmeal that looked like it was a few months old. There was water, too, bottles in the fridge, and a jar of peanut butter in one cabinet. That was about it.

  “What do you eat when you’re home alone?” I asked when she reappeared, her wet hair combed and her robe replaced by a pair of yoga pants and a long t-shirt. “There’s nothing in here!”

  “I usually order out. Grocery shopping really isn’t my thing.”

  “But, come on! You don’t even have the basics!”

  “There’s a McDonald’s down the street and the pizza place delivers until midnight.”

  “What about the coffee you tell everyone you can’t live without?”

  “There are three Starbucks between here and the office, depending on which route I take.”

  I shook my head. “You’re going to put yourself in an early grave with all that fat and sugar.”

  “Now you’re a dietician?”

  “No. But anyone who reads knows that all that isn’t good for you. You should have a home-cooked meal from time to time.”

  “I go to proper restaurants sometimes.”

  “How do you pay your rent when you spend that much on food.” I glanced at her. “Remember, I sign your checks? I know how much you make.”

  She nodded. “You have me there. My savings would be better if I ate at home. But I don’t cook.”

  “I can teach you.” I snagged her arm and pulled her toward me. “This is a potato.” I held up one of the small potatoes I’d just cleaned. “Cut it into quarters.”

  “Really, I don’t know how to cook because I’m not interested.”

  “Everyone should be interested.”

  She shook her head. She pulled away from me and climbed back up onto the counter, content just to watch. “I’m a runner. Always have been. I run off all that junk food.”

  “It’s still not good for you. Imagine how much energy you’d have if you ate healthy.”

  She groaned. “If I knew this was going to turn into a health lecture, I wouldn’t have let you in.”

  I went to her and nuzzled against her shoulder for a second. “I just care.”

  She ran her hand over the back of my head. “Is this a deal breaker?”

  “No.” I kissed the side of her face. “Not today.”

  “Good.” She lifted my face and lightly kissed me back. “Cook for me. I’m starving!”

  I did, making perfect mashed potato with heavy cream and garlic, and pan-seared steaks with just the right amount of salt and garlic butter. She made a face when she saw the salad, but I managed to get her to take a few bites before she dug into the steak. Her face when the flavor burst over her tongue…I wanted to make her moan like that again. And again.

  “You know what I hate most about cooking?” she asked when we’d finished. “The clean up.”

  “Pretend it’s not there.” I drew her into my arms and pulled her to the living room couch. “Now it’s time for my reward.”

  “You get a reward?”

  “Definitely. That was a prime cut of beef!”

  She laughed, but the laughter slowly died as I stared down at her, need burning through every inch of my body. I slid my hand under her t-shirt and she sighed, resting her hand on top of it, but not stopping it from moving.

  “Are you going to ask?” she wondered aloud.

  “May I kiss you?”

  “Definitely.”

  I pressed her down against the cushions, my mouth on hers as my hand explored the soft skin under her shirt. She tasted like garlic and butter, but that quickly wore away and the taste of her, that basic essence that everyone has, came through. I was addicted to it, needing it more than I could ever express. I might have been content to just lie there and kiss her for the rest of my life if it weren’t for other biological processes that wouldn’t allow my mind to rest. Need roared through me like an angry lion, making me burn in a way I’d not done in such a long time I’d forgotten how painful, how miserable, and how exquisite it could be.

  I felt like a teenager making out in his parents’ basement. I’d actually been that teenager, once upon a time. Bringing girls in through the back door, thinking I was getting away with something while my parents slept. . It wasn’t until I’d come home from my first tour of duty in Afghanistan that my father let it slip that he’d known all along. That he’d actually made a practice of leaving that door unlocked for me. I’d never stopped to wonder why it was unlocked so often.

  My lips trailed from her mouth to her throat, the sweetness of her skin like cream drizzled over a ripe berry. I lifted her blouse, losing my breath at the sight of her full, perfect breasts! Her nipples were like big, plump raspberries, just begging to be savored. I drew one into my mouth and sucked, rewarded by a long, beautiful moan that escaped from her lips. She buried her fingers in my hair, pulling me closer to her, telling me that her desire was as strong as mine.

  I took my time to relish this treat she was offering me. When I began to work my way down her abs, I discovered that she hadn’t lied about her athletic prowess. She had tighter abs than I did, a beautiful body that was strong and fit and as perfect as a marble sculpture. I tugged at the top of her yoga pants, dragging them down below her navel. She groaned, pulling my hands away. Disappointment burned through me as the hope that tonight she’d allow me the honey pot she knew I ached to find. But then she surprised me by pushing me into a sitting position before she slid to the floor.

  My God! Her hands were strong and sure, her eyes burning with excitement as she tugged my slacks out of the way and took control. Again, I felt like a teen in my parents’ basement, making out with the captain of the cheerleading squad, scoring with that most desirable, most coveted girl in all the school. And then her mouth and I wasn’t thinking anymore.

  “I couldn’t leave you needing a cold shower again,” she whispered in my ear afterwards, laughter dancing in her gorgeous eyes.

  “You’re just making it worse, you know that, right?”

  Her beautiful lips twisted wickedly. “Maybe that was my plan.”

  “You’re either the best thing to ever happen to me, or you’re the devil in disguise.”

  “Or maybe just a little bit of both.” She kissed me, the taste of our encounter still fresh on the tip of her tongue. “Hang around long enough and you’re sure to find out.”

  I pulled her onto my lap. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

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