How to Kill Your Boss (11 page)

He kissed me sober. Kissed me witless. When he stopped, I was warm putty, molded into the cushions. His lips hovered over mine. “I missed you so goddamned much.”

He missed me? “You’re doing it again,” I whispered.

Pressing his forehead to mine, he groaned. “Doing what again?”

“Making me hate you.”

Franklin slid my skirt up my hips, forced my legs around his waist and rolled until he was seated and I straddled him. His strong hands pulled me against his groin, grinding me against an impressive erection.

“What did I do?” He asked, staring at my lips and dragging his tongue across his own.

“You say you missed me, but you didn’t call once this week. You kiss me until I’m crazy. You make me want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I don’t know what this is between us. I don’t know anything about you. I hate it. I hate that I’m a brainless bimbo when it comes to you.”

Franklin laughed. It vibrated my chest, squeezed air from my lungs and sent warm tingles to my female parts. Snaking his arms around my middle, he crushed me against him. I nuzzled the crook of his neck, pressed my ear to his chest and listened to the life force pump and flow through his body. His heartbeat slowed, breaths deepened, and within minutes, Franklin Reed was fast asleep beneath me.

Not for one second did his hold on me falter. I never would have imagined another man’s embrace feeling safer than Dad’s.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” I pressed my thighs against the barrier and stretched my neck to get a better look over the edge. The cliff shot straight down into a ravine lined with jagged rocks and hungry scavengers.

I turned my head toward the man bound at wrists and ankles by my side. “I asked you a question.”

Beady peepers blinked at me and he nodded a “yes.”

“Do you like the suit?” I asked.

He mumbled through the gag in his mouth.

“I’m happy you like it.” I turned to him, straightened his tie, and brushed lint from his collar. “It’s a good suit to die in.”

Wallace bounced up and down on his toes, a pathetic scramble for freedom. The poor bastard didn’t have an athletic bone in his body and fell hard to his knees.

I sighed and squatted to help him up when, from behind, someone grabbed my shoulder and stopped me.

“Let me do the honors.” Franklin stepped around me, yanked Wallace to his feet by the lapels and hoisted him to the edge of the cliff. He turned to me, nodded, and stepped back. “He’s all yours, darling.”

“Why thank you, you handsome devil.” I pinched Franklin’s cheek and sauntered to Walter’s side, threw out my hip and bumped him over the edge. I regretted not pulling the gag from his mouth first. It would’ve been much more satisfying if I could have heard his screams.

I wiped the hangover haze from my eyes and yawned. Now I’d drawn Franklin into my morbid dreams. Poor guy. I pressed my nose into the soft pillow. It carried a hint of Gendarme and a whole lot of Franklin’s male sexual spiciness. Cocooned in a heavy comforter, I struggled to sit up. A tall glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen sat within reach on the floor, along with a note.

I snatched up the yellow piece of paper. The handwriting was barely legible, but I got the gist of it. Franklin had shit to take care of—top secret, no doubt. He ordered me to drink the water and help myself to a shower and breakfast. He left a key on the kitchen counter for me to lock up when I left and said he’d meet me at my house later in the afternoon. In caps, he ordered me to check my phone throughout the day. That was it. No signature. No
I can't wait to see you
or
have a good day.

I tossed the blanket over the back of the couch and smiled when I looked down at myself. In place of my skirt and blouse were a pair of navy sweats and a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt. I had no recollection of changing clothes, or being put to bed. Although, I wasn’t technically in bed. If he went to such trouble to make me comfortable, why leave me on the couch?

I padded to the kitchen. The clock read ten thirty-four AM. Wow. I hadn’t slept that late in years. A note was taped to the coffee pot instructing me to push the start button. I did, and within seconds, the aroma of dark roasted bliss filled the small space. He’d thoughtfully placed a red mug next to the machine.

I headed down the hall to find the little girls’ room. There were three closed doors for me to choose from. Door number one was a large closet. Door number two, locked. Number three opened to a quaint bathroom with hardly enough room for the pedestal sink, commode, and glass-encased shower. It was clean. I didn’t expect a bachelor’s washroom to be so fresh and shiny. Of course, I snooped through his medicine cabinet. It was as empty as the rest of his apartment. Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, bottle of pain reliever and shaving tools. Nothing snoop-worthy. Except for his smell permeating the air, the place didn’t feel lived in.

I rested my hip against the sink and in my half-alert state attempted to unravel the mystery that was Franklin. Something was off. I strolled back into the kitchen and finished half a cup of kickass java before I figured out what it was. Franklin’s apartment was void of any personal items. There were no photos of family or friends, no mail, no music or video collection to give me a clue to who this man was.

Then it dawned on me the locked door must be his bedroom. Why lock me out of his room? What was he hiding? He wanted me to trust him, but it was clear he didn’t trust me.

I finished another cup of joe and started to fold the comforter when I heard the roar of a motorcycle engine outside. My skin prickled, and I tiptoed to the one small window in the living room. I peeked through the heavy blinds, careful not to wiggle them. Parked next to my car was the man from the bar, sitting on a shiny black Harley. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, but his face was covered by the hood of his sweatshirt and dark sunglasses. He tilted his head to look around. I could make out a square jawline dusted with stubble, but not much else. He pulled a black rose from inside his jacket and laid it across my windshield.

“Son of a bitch,” I spewed. I wanted to jump out the window and pounce the asshole, but I was three stories up, so that wouldn’t have ended well for me.

Lucky for him.

Instead, I grabbed my cell and texted Franklin, like any good little girlfriend would do.

stalker creep is outside your apartment

I paced and chewed my lip. In less than thirty seconds my phone vibrated.

lock door bolt, don
’
t leave coming home
.

I sprinted to the front door and slid the lock into place, certain my heartbeat could be heard miles away. I slunk back to the window for another peek. The ass-wad leaned against my car and tapped at his cell.

I peed myself a little when my phone vibrated with a text from an unknown caller.

u didn’t drive home last night slut

didn’t think u were that kind of girl

playing hide n seek?

Blood sluiced ice cold through my veins, my extremities numbed, and I barely found the courage to lift my eyes from the screen. When I did, man and motorcycle were halfway down the alley. Again, I failed to get one digit off his license plate. And I worked for a detective agency? Perhaps it was time to consider a new career path.

Eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds later, Franklin pounded on his door. “It’s me, Tate. Open up.”

I unbolted the lock and threw myself into his arms. Over-dramatic? Probably. Didn’t care. He hugged me so tight I think a rib cracked, but I didn’t complain. I was ecstatic it wasn’t a one-sided gesture. He held me for a long moment, then stepped back and eyed me up and down.

“Did you get a good look? License plate, description, anything?” he asked, anger evident in his tone.

I hung my head in shame. “No.”

“How about a picture with your phone?”

Shit. “No.” Obviously, my brain ceased to function under pressure.

I slapped my cell into his palm. “He has my number. The asshole has my number. He sent me a text.”

“Son of a bitch.” Franklin read the message, then proceeded to smash my cell against his brick wall. It didn’t survive the assault. Pieces of it came close to hitting my face. “When I find out who the fucker is, he’s dead.” He stomped back and forth the small distance between me and the wall.

“Like my phone? What the hell?” I squatted and picked up the larger pieces. “You didn’t have to kill my phone. I just got this one.”

He mumbled something that sounded like “He’ll beg for mercy.”

“What did you say?” I asked.

His brows pinched, the wrinkles in his forehead deeper than I’d ever seen. I wanted to kiss them away, but he didn’t look in the kissing mood.

He offered a hand to help me up. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m sorry about your phone. I lost my temper. Shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

I stood and he took the broken pieces from my hand, avoiding eye contact. He walked to the kitchen and dropped them on the table.

I huffed. “It’s time to get the police involved. It’s not just roses anymore.”

“He sent you a text, which means we have his number.” Franklin’s glare traveled the length of my body, rested on my breasts, then met my gaze. “I should be taking care of this, not the SPD. But fuck, you’re the worst kind of distraction. I’m off my game.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“What you do to that shirt is downright sinful.” Stepping into my personal space, he tugged on the hem, then slid his hands under the worn cotton to grip my waist.

He didn’t answer my question, but I was unable to voice my objection. He rubbed his thumbs in soft strokes up and down, then slid his hands around my back, down to my ass and squeezed. “You fill these out well.” He kissed me, pulled the waistband of the sweats and let it snap. “No greater ass in the world than yours.”

“I can think of one.” Uh, huh. His rock-hard gluteus maximus was as perfect as they came. I knew because I’d seen him in the buff. Even though I could count the real live naked rears I’d viewed in my lifetime on one finger, I couldn’t imagine anything more splendid than his. I massaged his keister, or tried anyway. It was impossible to administer a good squeeze to something that had no give.

Franklin groaned. It came from low in his chest. The sound touched somewhere deep in my bosom. He nibbled my earlobe and whispered, “I want nothing more than to fuck you crazy right now. But we have to go.”

Huh. What? Prickles of disappointment jetted across my flesh. “Go?” I asked.

“I’m getting you out of here. Away from the crazy shit.” He kicked a piece of my cell across the floor. “We’ll get you a new phone on the way. I’ll be right back.” He jogged down the hall and I heard the rattle of keys as he unlocked a door.

It took every bit of self-restraint not to run after him and get a look-see into his top secret lair. I was a good girl. Besides, I was still stunned by his announcement. Where could he be taking me?

He came out seconds later with a duffel slung over his shoulder and scooted me toward the door.

“Wait. I don’t have shoes. I’m not dressed.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.” Franklin squatted, grabbed me below my hips and tossed me over his shoulder like I weighed little more than a sack of potatoes. It was uncomfortable and totally unsexy, but I let him carry me down the stairs and stuff me into his SUV.

“I haven’t even brushed my teeth,” I protested.

He chuckled, slammed my door, and tossed his bag in the seat behind me.

My insides warmed when he slid into the vehicle and grabbed the steering wheel with his masculine hands. There was something so arousing about a pair of strong, thickly-veined male hands. My heart skipped a beat when his leg shifted to press the brake and his thigh muscle bulged underneath the tight denim of his jeans.

I lost my breath when he turned to me, eyes blazing, and ordered me to buckle up. God, what he did to me. It was unnatural, unbelievable, unfair. If I were
that kind of girl
, which I wasn’t, I would’ve torn off my clothes right there in the parking lot and begged him to ravish me.

I needed a distraction. “Franklin Reed. I demand to know where you’re taking me.” I pretended to pout.

He pretended to smile. It was fake, because the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled for real. There wasn’t so much as a crease. “Top secret.” Franklin paid more attention to the rearview mirror than the road ahead of him.

“Are we being followed?” I teased and turned to look behind me.

“I don’t think so. I’m circling around a few times, just to be sure.”

Oh. He
was
worried about a tail. My stalker, no doubt. A pang of guilt squeezed my chest. I sunk into my seat and tried to stay upbeat.

“Seriously, I’ve got no shoes. Where are we going?” I asked, wiggling my toes.

“A place where no one can touch us. You won’t need shoes. I’m going to spend the rest of my weekend memorizing every nook and cranny of that delectable body of yours.”

A furnace lit behind my cheeks. My brain voided itself of any witty retorts or sassy comebacks.

Franklin laughed. A real laugh with a genuine smile. “Holy shit. This is a first. Tatum Wood silenced. I never thought I’d see the day.”

I laughed, too, on the outside.

On the inside, well, I was a hot mess of raging hormones and giddy schoolgirl.

* * * *

We headed south for an hour, east for a short trot, then deep into the mountains for another thirty minutes. The paved highway morphed into a winding, pothole-littered, narrow roadway that resembled a walking path. It grew steeper as we trudged forward, and sunlight dissipated through the thick of trees.

The farther from civilization we traveled, the more Franklin’s facial features softened. We reached a modest cabin, and he parked right next to the front stoop.

A blast of cold, clean air hit me as soon as he opened the door. It burned my lungs like winter wind. He scooped me up and carried me to the worn wood porch.

“It’s open. I’ll grab our bags.” Planting a kiss on my forehead, he set me down on the first step.