“Didn’t you ask to see the security video?” Palms overhead and facing the ceiling, I rise out of my seat.
“Duh. Of course, I did, but the pillow-killer somehow avoided it or perhaps the guard erased the footage. I need more intel and you are going to give it to me. Listen, how about I partner with you and offer my services for free?”
“God, no. I work alone.” My stomach churns. No way would I risk her life, any more than I have already done.
“We worked together out west.” As she lowers the barrel, I note how the safety is off and force my fists to drop where they can’t be seen. No one should point a weapon at another human being unless they intend to shoot.
“Technically, we were both working for Suds and Sam.” My lizard brain jumps to attention as I recall the night I’ve regretted for almost a year.
“Seriously? You’re going to split hairs? I was instrumental in solving your last case. Who figured out the toy company was selling data to the Russians, huh?” Her face pales… “Is it them? Are they the ones looking for retribution?”
“I swear, there was no reward for their arrest.” I tap dance around, but she sniffs out truth faster than a pig on a truffle quest.
“Dammit, Dash, you’re lying. Why? What did I ever do to you? And if you thought I was so damn incompetent, why hire me to fly your MD600?”
Shit. She has a right to know.“You. You’re exactly why I don’t do partners.” My saintlike intentions of walking her to the door go straight to hell the moment my fingers wrap around the soft skin of her upper arm. I sniff her pheromones and let go, but it’s too late.
Her breath hitches and as her gaze lowers below my navel, my pride swells under the towel.Ah, dammit.Moaning, I slip to her front and stop my kiss an inch from her mouth. If I start, this time I won’t be able to call it off.
Oh, fuck me.Her pupils widen, her lips part, and her tongue flicks out.
This is so wrong in so many ways, but I’ve fought this desire far too long. Her intoxicating scent ignites a fiery need which won’t be quenched until I’m deep inside her. God knows, I’ve tried.
I’m not sure who bridges the gap first, but our mouths connect. The floor drops out from beneath my feet, and I turn my head to take the soul-wrenching kiss deeper. She responds by digging her nails into my scalp.
Half out of my mind. I press her against the door, and I slip my tongue through her teeth. As her mouth opens, she molds her chest to mine. My towel falls away and totally naked, I place kisses at her neck, her cheek, and her ear.
Gasping, we pause.
She glances down at my arousal, her hands fly to her gaping mouth, and she pales. “Oh my God. I’m sorry but no.”
Arms held high, as if under arrest, I step the fuck back. I have no idea what’s going on inside her head, but I would never, ever, have sex with a woman who didn’t want it.
Tears in her eyes, she pauses in the doorway and repeats the line I used in Seattle. “Believe me, I’m no good for you.”
~ Chapter 6 ~
Landy
I can’t fuck Dashiell Montclair. I race along the hotel hallway and pound on the elevator button. It doesn’t arrive fast enough, so I fly down the stairs. Thirteen flights later, the panic subsides, and a few synapsis fire. Holy shit, that was close.
The security guard at the hospital was right. I need my head examined. In the hotel lobby, I call an Uber and wait outside in the rain. When I’m safely back in my apartment, I open my laptop and research the man who drives me to the brink of insanity.
I start with his father, Alistair Montclair. Wikipedia says he’s descended from English and German royalty and because his ancestors invested well, he’s worth billions. He’s also known for jet-setting to elite parties and his generous donations to many charities.
Huh. I leave off on him and Google Dashiell, a famous playboy who, if you believe the online blogs, does nothing other than sponge off his old man. The pictures of beautiful women who fill his social media accounts make my stomach lurch.
I suppose I should be thankful I had a flashback. Otherwise, I would’ve been another notch on his bedpost. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. Oh hell, whatever. After being rejected in California, and now again, I should be able to move on.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I don sweats, chuck my hair in a ponytail, and tie up my sneakers. Then, I run until my rubbery legs can no longer hold me up. My sides aching and my lungs burning, I make my way home. I dare some asshole to accost me. It would be so empowering to pepper spray, Taser, or punch a would-be attacker.
At home, I toss and turn. Hopefully, the flight recorder will exonerate me, and I can start to rebuild my reputation in Texas, Florida, or Mongolia. While Captain Sully got kudos for landing in the Hudson, I’m an alleged drug addict. Talk about sexist.
And Dash. Why didn’t he let me explain? Am I doomed to live my life alone?
Giving up on sleep, I sit up, switch on my nightlight, and lean toward the two-foot toy robot at the foot of the bed. “Hello Trixie.”
A pixel face brightens, eyes widen, and her mouth yawns. “Mmmm. Good morning, Lanita. How are you? I’ve missed you. Do you want to play Scrabble?”
