Hidden with you, p.10
Hidden With You, page 10
She shook her head. “Maybe I trust you.” The words ran through him, making him want. Making him unsure what he should do. The way she made him feel reminded him of Sandra, and he didn’t want to be reminded. He was afraid, he realized. Afraid that if he let Zelda in, he’d be pushing Sandra out.
Pushing her out and stopping the search for her killer.
And that had been his whole life for so long. How could he stop now?
“I would do anything to get them back, you know.”
“I know,” she said as if this strange segue didn’t confuse her at all. “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No,” he said. But then he began talking anyway. “They were driving. A little country road with a drop-off. Not as dangerous as this one, but there had still been accidents. From the forensic examination, we know that someone pushed them off the road. And that someone else stopped. Sandra probably thought they were trying to help. They weren’t.”
His voice sounded cold. Flat. Like he was presenting a paper.
“You mean they were in a turnaround on the side of the road?”
“Yes. Like this one. It had a drop-off, too. A harsh one.” He looked through the windshield at the lights of the Valley below. He couldn’t see how it dropped from this angle, but he knew that it did. A car could go careening over. A person could fall to their death. A spurned lover could be lost for months in the thick underbrush, battered and broken from banging on rock after rock on the way down.
It was a fall that very few could survive.
He swallowed, forcing down the memories and the anger. Who did that? What kind of monster would do the to an innocent woman and a little girl?
“They were killed in the fall?” Zelda’s soft voice drew him back.
“No.” He cleared his throat. “No, they were injured. They were killed by the man who climbed down. A man they probably assumed was trying to help.”
Her hand went to her mouth, and thankfully, she didn’t ask for specifics. He didn’t want to think about the knife that had been used on his wife and daughter. He didn’t want to remember the image of the bodies that he’d seen at the morgue, or the crime scene pictures that he demanded the police show him. He didn’t want that in his head. But it was always there anyway.
“Why would someone want them dead?”
“Specifically? I don’t know. Generally, I was a spy. And that’s not a safe business for the people I love.” He turned and looked at her directly. “That’s why I don’t love anymore.”
She nodded slowly. “I get that.” She reached over and took his hand and squeezed just a little. He expected her to say soft words, trying to ease the pain that was already etched in him, notched into his bones and flowing in his blood. Everyone wanted to try to take the edge off pain, but no one ever managed.
But that’s not what she said. Instead, she said, very softly, “I could try to help you figure it out. Help you get closure.”
He turned to her, his interest piqued simply from the oddity of her comment. “How on earth could you do that?”
“I don’t know. But I write thrillers. I plot books. I have to think like bad guys and spies and victims. I could look over the files with you. Maybe I would see something you didn’t.”
He swallowed the knot in his throat. “It’s a sweet offer. It truly is. I appreciate that you would even make it. But this is real life. And it’s often stranger than fiction, or haven’t you heard?”
“Okay,” she said. “I mean, I’ll buy that. But you’re going to be with me for a while now. And what else are we going to do? I mean, I can think of ways to have fun, but you’re old and creaky and don’t seem to be interested, whereas I’m young and energetic. And I’d hate to wear you out with my enthusiasm. So I’ll just stop bugging you about the whole sex thing. We can solve a mystery instead.”
He laughed. “Minx.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I like that word,” she said, and made him laugh again. He was never this easy around anyone, and he liked that lately he kept catching himself smiling.
“So you’re telling me that my choices are either endless sex with you or reverse engineering my family’s death?” He managed to say the words with a note of humor. Zelda was like a tonic, and he squeezed her hand.
“Or we could just throw a party,” she said. “But you’re not going to let me do that because one of the guests might have gotten compromised by the bad guy, then come in and kill me in the middle of, oh, I don’t know, an orgy.”
“You’re throwing that kind of party?”
“Well, of course. All the cool kids do.”
“Hmm. Investigate a murder, have endless sex, or watch you get murdered at your own party. You do know how to give a guy some choices.”
She turned toward him and smiled, all bright and sweet and innocent.
That’s when it hit him.
It would be so easy. He could pull her close for a kiss, then put his hands at her throat. He could squeeze the life out of her right now, then toss her over the cliff. He could make a phone call. Take a picture of the body. He’d have his answers. He could have his answer in seconds.
He felt the pumping of his blood. That need for closure. To solve the damn riddle that had been eating him up for ten fucking years.
It would be so easy.
Except that it wouldn’t be. It would be the hardest thing in the world.
He pushed open his car door. “Come on.”
She got out on her side, and they met in front of the car, just feet away from the drop-off.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “The lights above, the lights below.”
He took her hand, then drew her to the car, urging her to sit on the hood. He stood in front of her, caging her in. “Watch the stars,” he whispered. She obeyed, tilting her head back and exposing her neck.
He held her there, bending her back so that she was lying on the hood, one hand tight at her throat, then other cupping her breast through the thin material of the T-shirt she’d thrown on.
He squeezed with both hands, and she moaned, her lips parting as she closed her eyes. Christ, she was beautiful, and with his own moan that was a mix of lust and agony, he bent over her and closed his mouth over hers.
The kiss was raw and brutal, deep and claiming. He could have her, he knew. He could do anything in that moment. Kiss her. Fuck her. Kill her.
There was power in the knowledge, and it was heady. But the power came from her trust, and that was the headiest thing of all.
Slowly, he pulled back, savoring the taste of her. She trembled in his arms, then drew in a stuttering breath when he released his hold on her throat.
“Wow,” she whispered, then swallowed. “Is that what you’re into?”
“No. Not choking or rough like that. Not usually.”
She shifted on the hood, scooting up to a sitting position as she looked at him shyly, her teeth toying with her lower lip. “I liked it. Surrendering. Trusting.” She licked her lips. “I don’t trust easily.”
“Me neither,” he said, then bent forward and kissed her hard. “I like that you trust me.”
She hesitated, then pulled off her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and her perfect breasts seemed to glow in the moonlight.
“What are you doing?”
“Trusting you,” she said, hitching up her skirt as she settled back on the hood, then slid her fingers into her panties.
His cock tightened in his jeans as he watched her touch herself, and it was a wonder he didn’t come right then.
She opened her eyes, and he met her gaze, so turned on it felt like he was vibrating. “Don’t come,” he ordered. “That’s for me.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. “But if you don’t hurry I might be naughty and disobey.”
He almost laughed. Hurrying really wasn’t going to be a problem. He might want to go slow, but right now, his body had other ideas.
He moved closer, and stood between her legs. Then he slid her skirt the rest of the way up, then tugged her panties down, until finally her bare ass was against the hood.
Slowly, he teased his fingers up her thighs, then dipped into her slick heat. She was so open, so ready, and so uninhibited. His finger brushed her clit and she whimpered, her body trembling against his touch.
He was as hard as steel and desperate to be inside of her. “If you’re going to say no, now’s the time,” he said as he fumbled in his wallet for a condom.
She shook her head. “Never,” she said, and he believed her. Right then, he knew with certainty that she would never deny him anything in bed. The thought was heady. Enticing. And he couldn’t help but wonder how it was that he’d never felt like this with any other woman. So open. So aroused.
So damn happy.
He urged her toward him, and he teased her core with the tip of his cock, taking it slow. So deliciously, infuriatingly slow. Soon, though, he couldn’t take it any longer. He withdrew long enough to turn her over, then thrust himself deep into her, his hands on her hips. She moaned, begging him for more as cars drove by their headlights catching them each time one hit a curve.
“We can be seen,” she gasped.
His breath was hot against her ear. “They’re probably jealous.”
“We could probably cause a traffic accident.”
“In that case, baby, it’s time to move this party home.”
Chapter Twelve
“No, no,” I say, as he starts to head inside the cottage. “We’re supposed to be finishing what we started.”
His brows rise. “And what exactly is that?”
“Sex,” I say. “You fucking me with the stars above us.” I let my shoulders rise and fall. “Hey, you’re the one who picked an outdoor locations. Wide open sky to get lost in. Damp night air. The feel of a breeze on bare skin.”
He’s fighting a laugh, but I can also tell he’s intrigued. And turned on.
I step forward and cup his very hard cock. “Don’t worry. Not here. No metal car hoods.”
He takes my hand, lifts it to his lips, then slowly sucks on my index finger, which is, frankly, the hottest fucking thing on the planet, and I moan with pleasure. By the second finger, I’ve closed my eyes. When he continues to the third, I feel the draw of his mouth all the way down to my core, now throbbing and wet with need.
He stops, and I whimper. “More.”
“Oh, there will be more,” he assures me, then leads me to the pool deck and one of the double-wide loungers.
“I like the way you think,” I say, but he presses a finger to my lip, this time to shush me.
“You don’t talk. Not unless I tell you, too. Understood?”
I nod, my nipples tightening under my thin shirt.
“Undress,” he says, sitting on the end of the lounger as I stand, slowly peeling all of my clothes away. I want to walk to him, then stand so close that he’d only have to lean forward to lick my clit. But that’s not the way he wants to play this, and so I stay put, my body cool in the night air, my nipples tight and hard.
“Come here,” he demands, and I eagerly comply. He’s still seated at the end of the lounger, and as I stand in front of him, he touches me just as I’d imagined. One hand stroking lightly over my skin, the other stroking my sex, teasing my clit for the kind of slow build that is making my knees go weak.
Every once in a while, his fingers tighten on my nipple, and I feel a corresponding tug in my pussy. I want to stay like this all night, a toy for him to play with, and at the same time, I want so much more.
Then he pulls me even closer and closes his mouth over my clit as he slides two fingers inside of me. It’s an overload of sensations, and I buck against him until my knees are truly too weak for me to stand, and he has to catch me as I collapse.
That’s okay, though, because once I’m on the lounger, his eyes meet mine. Then he’s on top of me, his body warm and perfect, with the sculpted muscles of a man with a job that relies on strength and agility.
He kisses me, long and deep, and I wrap my legs around him, silently begging for him to enter me. I want him to fill me. To use me, and when he finally does, I come almost immediately, arching up as waves of pleasure rock over me, and I hold him tight, never wanting this connection to end.
He plays it out, sending me spiraling in wave after wave of pleasure, each crest more sensational than the last. Finally, when I’m sure my body will simply evaporate, he explodes inside me, his low cry of pleasure echoing over the ten acres.
When we finally separate, I snuggle against him, happier than I’ve been in a very long time. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.”
“I think we’re amazing,” he retorts, and I really can’t disagree.
And the best part? We want the same thing. Sex. Just sex.
No expectation of a commitment. Just burning off energy and calming my nerves. I have a death threat against me, after all.
Which is all true.
But what’s also true is that he’s going to leave soon. Just like everyone leaves. Friends. Family.
In the end, you can only count on yourself and death. And right now, death is looming a little too close.
I shudder.
“Hey, are you okay?” Jasper runs his fingers lightly up and down my bare arm.
“Sorry. Just thinking about death.”
Jasper’s brows rise, then he props himself up on an elbow and stares down at me. “I didn’t realize I had that effect on women. I guess I’ll have to work on my technique.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “Yeah. You’re pretty deadly.”
He reaches out and strokes my hair, tucking a lock behind my ear. It’s sweet and intimate, and I want to lean into it. But I don’t. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Just thinking about how great it is that we have the same perspective. Neither one of us wants a commitment. This is just for fun. And that’s pretty great since I need fun while there’s a death threat hanging over me.”
I watch his eyes while I speak, looking to see if he agrees with my words. I tell myself I’m only looking for reactions. Ticks and giveaways I can use in my books. But the truth is, I want to see his reaction to my comment about commitment. I want to know if, maybe, when all this is over, he’ll want to stay.
My heart does a little flip as that reality hits me. Everyone leaves. I know this. It’s the way my life is. It’s the reason I don’t get close.
Yet somewhere along the way, I let myself believe that Jasper might be different. I don’t know where that came from because he’s certainly never given me that impression. And yet there it is, filling my thoughts, the world, my universe. Hope.
And so I do the only thing I can do to take my mind off the question. I straddle him, then lower my mouth to his. The kiss is long and deep, and he is all in with me. We pull apart, breathless, just long enough for our eyes to meet. “Okay?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
I grin, then slide my hand down and feel his erection. I don’t answer. I just kiss him again, my tongue warring with his. And then, very slowly, I straddle him and ride him one more time until we both go supernova into the black night sky.
He’s asleep when I awake the next morning, brought back to life by the stream of light coming in through the blinds and tickling my nose.
I grab my phone to check the time and see that it’s already almost ten. I stifle a groan, then slide out of bed, leaving him sleeping soundly. I have a feeling he doesn’t usually laze in bed this late, but neither of us got much sleep last night.
I smile, thinking about the reason as I head into the kitchen. My plan is to grab a yogurt cup from the fridge, but somehow I find myself breaking eggs and popping toast into the toaster. It’s a little bit of a miracle I have any of these things, but Tricia, bless her, keeps the fridge stocked with foods.
She knows that I’ll cook if the food is in the house, otherwise I’ll live on granola and string cheese. And, of course, popcorn.
I make up plates for both of us with bacon, eggs, and toast. Then I put the plates on a tray, add a bowl of strawberries and a pot of coffee, and carry it back to bed. He’s just waking up, and I can see his eyes widen when I step into the room.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks.
“Let’s just say that you earned it last night.”
He laughs. “I’ll have to work on my technique. Waffles. Quiche. The possibilities are endless.”
“I look forward to your continued efforts.”
I set the tray down at the foot of the bed, then climb in beside him. It’s casual and easy, and we talk about nothing important as we eat. Nothing about the death threat against me, nothing about my offer to help him figure out who killed his family, nothing about the pages I have due on my upcoming book. Nothing about his work at Stark Security or before in MI6.
Instead, we talk normal things. How breakfast tastes, our favorite brunch. Mine was in New Orleans on a trip after college. A huge jazz brunch with everything imaginable. His was at a hotel in Paris, and he stuffed himself so full of cheese and bread that he thought he was going to have to be rolled back to his own hotel.
We share our favorite movies and the places we’ve travelled. We talk about how pretty the day is, and that leads into the question of how wonderful the night could be. “We should go out again tonight,” I say with a fake leer to punctuate the comment.
He looks at me sideways. “I took a risk last night. Not only a risk of getting you killed but of getting us arrested for public indecency.”
“Maybe that was the best part,” I say.
“Maybe it was,” he agrees. “But not tonight. We should stay in. I’m not going to risk your safety. Not again, anyway.”
“So why did you take me out last night?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You just decided that we should go out. It was wonderful, but you’re not exactly shrug-off-the-rules guy. Was it just for me?” I move the tray aside and climb onto his lap, facing him. “Did you think I would pout if you didn’t take me out?”
