Hot Pursuit (6 page)

Soon he was pounding deep, the sounds of rhythmic fucking like music. He was a skilled lover, his cock angled to rub her clit, bringing her to the edge of orgasm. She staved it off as long as she could, but not nearly long enough. Once release was imminent, she shattered with a cry, her walls clenching around his length, hands clutching his back.

In seconds he followed her over, plunging one last time, his cock jerking and twitching until at last he was spent. Body still draped over hers, he lowered his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder, breathing hard. Sated, she let her palms roam over his spine and downward to squeeze his tight ass.
Very nice.

After a couple of minutes, he moved to the side, his spent cock slipping out. She had to squelch a bout of disappointment at his loss, and wondered at that. She'd never really felt that way before. Sadly, she was usually glad for the guy to be done and get the heck off her. With Taylor, it was different.

That wasn't good. At all.

When the bed dipped, she realized she'd been so caught up in her thoughts she'd missed him going to the bathroom. He'd discarded the condom and cleaned up some. He held out a damp cloth.

“A clean one for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking the cloth. No one had ever taken care of her afterward, she was certain. It was a sweet gesture that confounded everything she'd believed about Taylor.

For some reason, wiping off with the cloth under his watchful eye was somewhat embarrassing where the actual sex hadn't been. Probably due to coming down from the rush of hormones or something. After she was done, he took the cloth, tossed it into the bathroom, and crawled back into bed.

Snuggling in, he pulled her close so that her head was on his chest. “Is this okay?”

“This is just fine.” She smiled to herself, determined to think of the complications of getting involved with this man tomorrow. Or later today. “Do you have to work today?”

“No, I'm off.” He laughed softly. “This old man can't handle partying all night, then showing up for work at eight in the morning anymore. Did that plenty in my twenties, but now it would probably kill me.”

“You are
not
old.” She trailed a finger through his chest hair.

“I've got a few years on that guitarist of yours. The one who was stuck to you like plastic wrap on your set breaks.”

She snickered. Men were so transparent. “That was Jay, or Jinx, as we call him, because he's got the worst karma of anybody we've ever met.”

“He seemed into you.”

“Nah, not so much anymore. He's a friend and watches over me.”

“Yeah, I could see that.” He didn't sound thrilled about it.

“We had a thing for a while. It blew over and we're cool, end of story.”

That's honestly all there was to it, but men were as bad as women about the jealousy thing. Maybe worse. “Why does it matter to you, anyhow? This is a hookup, right?”

Underneath her, he tensed. “Is it?”

“I think that's best. Don't you?”

He was silent for a long moment. She could almost feel him struggling with his reply.

“I think I'm too old for hookups.”

“I don't know if I have more to give, or if it's smart to get involved.”

“Does anyone really know?” he pointed out. “Isn't it worth the risk to find someone special?”

“Maybe. But taking risks isn't something I've been good at these past few years.”

“You might learn.”

“I might.” It was as far as she was willing to concede, and even that confused her. She hated this man, with good reason. “I need to get home.”

“It's late. Or early.” He yawned. “Stay. Sleep for a while. I'll make you breakfast later.”

Breakfast. How . . . domestic.

With the cop who'd killed her sister.

She rose to dress, turned away from the flash of disappointment that shadowed his green eyes. “Some other time.”

“Sure.” He paused. “Do you have a cell phone?”

“Yes.” Sliding it from her jeans pocket, she held up the device.

“Put me in your contacts?”

“Okay.” That could be useful.
Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.
Instantly, she hated the surge of guilt in her chest at the thought. He rattled off the number and she saved it. Then he grabbed his jeans and pulled them on, fishing his phone from his pockets as well.

“Call me, and I'll have yours, too.”

She did, and Taylor saved her contact info before walking her out the door and to her truck. He helped her inside and stood there, studying her for a moment.

“I'm sorry if I pushed too hard,” he said with a slight frown. “I don't want to scare you away.”

“You didn't.”
Liar.
“How about we take things slow, see where this goes?”

His smile lit the night. “I'd like that.”

He leaned in for a last kiss, and she accepted it wholeheartedly. This was a dangerous game she played, but it was like she had almost zero willpower around Taylor. He seemed like the real deal. Kind, genuine.

And if he was, then she'd have to give some serious thought to Jenny's murder. Specifically, if what she'd been told and had always believed about that day was the truth—or a pack of lies.

•   •   •

Dmitri was nursing his morning coffee when the phone interrupted his solitude. He picked up on the second ring. “Yes?”

“There's been an interesting development,” Snyder informed him with a sneer in his tone. “She and the cop have become . . . acquainted.”

His hands tightened around his mug. “How so?”

“My guess? In the biblical sense, seeing that they hooked up in the bar last night and ended up at his house just long enough to scratch a mutual itch.”

“She's been watching the cop much longer than we have. Now she's playing him,” Dmitri guessed.

“Maybe so. But since she hasn't killed him by now, my guess is she's not going to. We have to stick to the original plan—get them both out of the way. Now more than ever, before they compare notes.”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Forget trying to make it look like she took out the cop. Just get rid of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ending the call, Dmitri went back to his coffee and his newspaper. But the brew was cold and the words blurred.

All he could see was Jenny's beautiful face. The destruction of his plans.

Kayne would pay dearly for the loss of both.

•   •   •

Saturdays were usually Cara's lazy days. No bartending, no band practice. Just a whole day to herself with nothing to do but sleep in, maybe go for a walk. Read a good book. Anything to take her mind off Jenny and dreams of revenge.

Today she had a different sort of distraction: Blake. The young man was asleep in the guest room, and she had no idea what to do, seeing as she rarely had visitors, much less overnight guests. Should she cook breakfast? Let him sleep?

Suddenly anxious, she rummaged through the refrigerator and pantry, searching for something impressive to cook. If not impressive, she'd settle for edible. Somehow she didn't think wilted salad and a few slices of mushy, half-dead cantaloupe would be very appetizing. On the heels of that thought, she wondered why his comfort and well-being were so important to her. It wasn't like he was a lover or anything.

But he could've been, had he not been gay. With a start, she realized that Blake was much closer to her age than Taylor. What a strange thought. She cared for Blake. In fact, she was beginning to think of Blake as a brother, but the detective was the one who got her motor running.

Dammit! She didn't want to like Taylor, much less be attracted, but her body had gone and parted ways with her common sense. Last night had been a huge mistake. What had she been thinking, playing a game of sexual cat and mouse with the man?

“I can't do this,” she muttered, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I can't get involved with him.” No sooner had the thought left her lips than a buzzing noise came from the counter. A text had come in on her phone, and, peering at the display, she groaned.

It was from Taylor.
Just want to say have a great day.

A pause, then another one.
Hope to see you again soon. ;)

Damn. Her heart beat a little faster and she felt a warmth in her chest that had been absent for a very long time. The thaw was almost painful and not entirely welcome. To reply or not? She was somewhat pissed at herself for even considering it. She picked up her phone, stared at it. Put it down. Finally, she decided to let it wait, for now. If he was truly interested, that wouldn't change in just a few hours.

Cursing herself again, she was about to dig through the pantry once more when she heard a noise behind her. Turning, she saw Blake standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in the same clothes he'd had on the night before. He'd showered, though, and she could smell the fresh aroma of soap wafting from the young man. His hair was damp but combed. Giving her an uncertain smile, he edged inside.

“Hey. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long. I'll get out of your hair.”

“What?” She scowled at him. “You're not
in my hair
. Don't you trust me to tell you if you were?”

His face flushed red. “Um, I guess. Sure,” he said with more conviction. “You're a pretty direct person.”

“That's right. If I wanted you to leave, I'd just say so.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Have you already forgotten our conversation from last night?”

“No. But I don't want to be a burden—”

“Nope, you're not. You're my sound man, and you need a temporary place to stay while we find you a second job to supplement your income. You'll be independent before you know it, and I don't want to hear that crap again. Understand?”

One corner of his mouth kicked up and relief shone in his weary brown eyes. “Yeah, got it.”

“Good.” She waved a hand toward the kitchen. “I was going to cook, but unless you like rotted produce, we're going to the diner for some breakfast.”

His stomach rumbled and though he looked embarrassed, he laughed. “I'd say that sounds pretty damned good.”

“Great! Let me grab my keys and purse and we'll go.”

Soon they were in her truck and on their way to the old part of Sugarland. One of the first things she'd loved about the place was the old-fashioned town square with a gorgeous old courthouse that sat smack in the center. Retail shops lined the square on all four sides, including the diner. The restaurant served home-cooked meals in a friendly atmosphere that had become such a rarity across the country.

Pulling into a parking spot in front, she shut off the engine and they walked inside. Immediately she was enveloped in the wonderful smell of bacon, eggs, and something sweeter. Maybe waffles or pancakes.

An older waitress led them to a booth, where they took seats opposite each other and studied the laminated menus. The diner fare was simple, but she knew from experience how good the food was.

“The cowboy omelet for me,” she said, closing the menu. “You?”

His voice was quiet. “Maybe the short stack of pancakes?”

“Is that all? What about some bacon?”

“No, thanks.” But his stomach rumbled and his eyes remained downcast, belying his words.

“Blake, look at me.” When he did, she smiled encouragingly. “I'll say this again, and this time get it through your head. We've become friends over the past few weeks, and now you're a member of the band's crew as well. Our group is essentially family, and we help each other out when we're needed.”

“Yes, but—”

“No
but
s,” she said firmly. “If you fight me at every turn, not only will that be counterproductive, but you'll piss me off. Is that what you want?”

His lips curved up some. “Well, no. I've seen you in ninja mode and it's not pretty.”

“Exactly. Besides, if the situation were reversed, would you help me?”

“Of course! I'd do anything in my power to give you a hand. You know that.” His expression was earnest.

God, the guy was cute. “Then just cut us both a break and go with the flow, okay? The best thanks you can give me is to take this chance and run with it.”

After staring at her for a few moments, he nodded. “All right. I'll stop being such a pain about it.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

The waitress came and took their order, and Blake shyly asked for the tall stack of pancakes with a side of bacon. Cara felt like she'd made major headway with him, and it was only a six-dollar breakfast, for God's sake. She couldn't wait to see if he'd forget his vow and balk when she took him shopping for clothes.

They chatted a bit, and after their food arrived, Cara carefully probed into his past when the opportunity presented itself. She found out Blake was from Clarksville, and that his parents still lived there. He had an older brother who no longer lived at home and had a decent job and an apartment in Nashville.

“Well, last I heard,” he added sadly.

Cara frowned. “I thought you were an only child.”

“No.” He gave a bitter laugh. “As far as my parents are concerned,
Jonathon's
the only child.”

“I'm sorry.” She paused, wondering how much more he'd allow her to push. “Are you sure your brother feels the same? Maybe if you gave him a call—”

“Don't you think I tried that already?” he asked sharply. “I haven't been living on the street for no reason. Jon told me I disgusted him and then hung up on me.”

Her heart broke for him. “He wouldn't even hear you out?”

“No. And I never really got the chance to come out to him, either. My loving folks must've beat me to the punch.”

“Must have? Don't you know?”