Reinstated Bond (3 page)

Marilyn had left a cash deposit and signed in as Tanya Trump. He
memorized the room number and headed for the stairs.

Somewhere between floors two and three, he stopped. Again--no
plan. He couldn't just knock on her door. As skittish as she was, she probably
wouldn't answer. Maybe she'd answer for staff, though.

He backtracked to the second floor and used the courtesy phone
in front of the elevators to call housekeeping.

"Yes, ma'am, can I get some extra shampoo and conditioner
for Room 313? Towels, too? Mm-hmm. Just set them right inside the doorway if
I'm not there. I'll try to meet you up there. I'm heading out to my car to get
some things. Mm-hmm, thank you."

He waited there five minutes then climbed the remaining two
flights. When he heard the housekeeping cart clattering down the hallway, he
slowed his gait and watched the maid pick up a pile of fluffy white towels
before putting her master keycard into the slot.

She leaned against the door and disappeared inside just as he
crept up.

He sidled into the room right before the door shut and saw a
prone Marilyn atop the bed, sleeping in her clothes.

The maid yipped as she emerged from the bathroom.

He held a finger up to his lips. "Shh. She's had a long
day."

The maid nodded and made her exit.

He lingered at the bedside for a moment, staring down at the
woman he'd never quite gotten out of his system. She'd been a remarkable young
woman, so he couldn't help but to wonder what being with her would be like now
that she was all grown up. He'd changed a lot in ten years: he figured out what
mattered, and what didn't so much. At the top of the list of things he couldn't
give a shit about was other peoples' opinions. Yeah, he'd been a scared kid,
terrified about what his far-too-conservative parents would think. Well, he
knew what they would have thought. It wasn't hard to predict. They were bigots,
and not just for people who weren't white--the Aikens hated damn near everyone
not like them. Liberals, Yankees, Evolutionists--they hated them all. It took
his sister coming out as a lesbian when he was deployed overseas to shake things
up. She'd given their parents a hearty "fuck you" and hadn't spoken
to them since. When Carter went home one year on leave and was told what
happened, his parents told him to pick a side. He picked his sister's. So, he
was disowned, but cheerful about it.

What'd he have to lose now? Not a damn thing. There was the
small problem of Marilyn being an accused criminal, but they'd cross that
bridge later.

He pocketed her key card, her car keys, and slid his hand into
his other pocket to remove a set of handcuffs. He clapped one end onto his
right wrist and gently slapped the other around her left.

Her eyelids sprang open.

"Hey, baby," he cooed. "Not gonna run out into
the stalks this time, are you?"

"Fuck you, Carter."

"Aw, baby. With the number you did on my crotch, I'm not
even sure fucking is possible. Wanna kiss it and make it better?"

She rolled her eyes. "Aren't
you
direct."

He shrugged and heeled off his boots before crawling onto the
bed. "Don't you want to hold my hand?" He laced his right fingers through
her left ones and straddled her so he was over her hips. "That used to be
a big thing for you."

"Fuck you, Carter," she repeated.

"Be nice. Can't you see I'm trying to be nice? Make it
easy?"

"Make what easy? You taking me to the police so you can earn
your fee?"

"Guy's gotta work. I'm sorry it had to be you."

She blew a raspberry. "You really think I'd set fire to
someone's house?"

He flattened his body over hers, looped an arm beneath her back
and rolled them as one unit so she was on top.

She sat up, thighs clamped at his waist, and eyed him, waiting
for a response.

He unlaced his fingers from hers and planted his hands at her
narrow waist, grinding her crotch over his. "What is this, second
base?"

She sucked in a breath, then swatted at his chest. "Quit
it! Answer the question."

"Doesn't matter what I think, Mar. Not my job to think. My
job is to apprehend."

"Oh. That make you feel good about yourself?"

"It's a job, baby."

"Don't call me
baby
."

"Why not?" He grazed his free hand up her belly and palmed
one heavy breast. Those were new, too. She hadn't quite filled out last time he
saw her, although what she'd had back then had been nice. Round and pert. He'd
had fun with them. His cock stirred at the thought.

She nudged his hand away. "You lost that privilege."

"That's fair." He lifted the hem of her shirt and
slid his hand up inside, letting his palm graze the silky warm skin of her
belly and travel up her ribcage to her other breast, which he quickly freed
from its lacy constraint.

"Quit it," she said, swatting his hand away again,
but not before he'd flicked his thumb over her aroused nipple and made her
moan.

"Why?" He ran the pad of his thumb lightly over her
jaw, chin and lips before resting his hand at the back of her neck and pulling
her down to him for a kiss.

She was frigid at first, seeming to try so desperately not to
give in to him, but then there was her tongue, searching his mouth, and her
teeth pulling at his lips.

He ran a hand up the bottom of her shorts and gave her ass an
appreciative squeeze.

Nice
.

She pulled away, gasping. "Why don't you just turn me in
already? I don't want to do this."

"Yes, you do. Besides, wouldn't you rather spend the
evening on a nice soft bed than in a holding cell? It can wait till
morning."

"You're seriously going to turn me in?"

He shrugged. "I obey the law. My job is to encourage
others to do the same. Let's not let that get in the way of us having a little
fun."

She scoffed and swatted his cheek.

He cringed at the burn. "Guess I deserved that."

"
Fun
, huh? That all I am to you? A piece of ass? You haven't changed
a lick in ten years," she accused.

He growled and rolled her over once more, pinning her against
the bed. "That what you think?"

"It's what I know." Her expression was blasé.
Uncaring.

That wasn't
his
Marilyn. He narrowed his eyes at her. "You know better
than that. I told you I loved you and I meant it."

She held up a handcuffed wrist. "And yet…"

"Baby, you gotta let the law do its job, or what's the
point?"

"You really think I'm going to get a fair trial with my
accuser being the mayor's son?"

He sat up a bit. "I didn't know that."

"They want someone to blame. I'll do."

"Like hell. The truth'll come out. You'll see."

"I never pegged you as a starry-eyed optimist. I thought
that was
my
gig."

He twined his fingers in her hair and shrugged. "Dunno.
Maybe having my chance to play in the sandbox overseas flipped a switch in me.
I could either just let that heaviness ride me all the time, or I could hope
things would get better." He studied the long curls in his hands, actually
taking the time to feel how fine and coily each individual strand was. He
hadn't noticed before, back when he let his cock be C.E.O. of Carter
Incorporated. He didn't notice many fine details back then, such as how her
dimples only appeared when she was grinding her teeth. "When'd you turn
into such a cynic, baby?"

She shrugged. "Pretty sure it was a gradual thing."

"It wasn't me, was it? Did I start it? Did I do it to
you?"

She rolled off him and reached for the remote, not answering.
She turned up the volume of the television and tried to cross her arms over her
chest, but Carter gave her cuffed arm a small yank back to the center of the
bed.

"You ain't gotta answer that," he said.

"Super."

They stared at the screen for a while, not talking. He looked
over at the sullen fugitive and the hard set of her jaw and decided that, yes,
he
did
do
it to her. How fair was that? He was about to let her down once again.

CHAPTER FOUR

Carter still had the exact same laugh. It was a full-bodied
laugh that filled his face with light and made the bed shake. It was infectious
and Marilyn was having a damned hard time not letting the contagion spread. She
pressed her lips together and ground her teeth as she stared ahead at the dopey
sitcom. She'd remembered it was one he had enjoyed back in high school and had
groaned when she'd flicked past it and he asked, politely, if she'd turn it
back.

"I've only seen this episode once," he explained.

"Mm-hmm."

So, he watched.

She plotted.
Perhaps wait for him to fall asleep and find the key to the cuffs?
The key had to be on his body somewhere or maybe in his wallet. If she could
get his clothes off…

He gave her a little nudge. "Sorry, baby. I drank about half
a gallon of sweet tea at your mom's house." He scooted toward the left
edge of the bed.

"Huh?" She followed along, not having much of a
choice. Besides, she was curious about how he was going to negotiate hitting
the head without dragging her along as a witness.

"Yeah, damn good supper." He led her to the bathroom
door and reached into his back pocket with his left hand. He loosened the cuff
on his arm and immediately clasped it to the bathroom door.

"Fucker."

"Yeah." He entered the small bathroom and pushed the
door closed.

She kicked it. "Patience, baby. You'll have your chance,
too," he said from inside.

She growled and pulled futilely at the doorknob.

He flushed, washed his hands, and carefully pulled the door in.
"You need to go?"

She was about to tell him "no" seeing as how she
hadn't gotten to drink half a gallon of sweet tea like certain people had: tea
that was meant for
her
probably. She bet he even ate her chicken. He kind of had that
smell about him.

"Yes," she lied.

He loosened her cuff and she considered giving him a
junk-punch, but he backed up, obviously anticipating that ploy.

She stomped into the bathroom and shut the door. She paced in
the small room for a minute, pondering her plight, and decided that if she was
going to be tossed in the hoosegow anyway, she should at attempt one fantastic
gambit. She kicked off her shoes and socks, stripped down to her underwear, and
pulled the elastic tie from her hair. She teased out her curls, gave her
breasts a fluff in her demi-bra, and took a deep breath.

How bad could it be? Okay, maybe she was being slightly
self-serving in her not-so-subtle seduction attempt, but Marilyn of age
twenty-six was a practical woman. Sex didn't necessarily equate to love, at
least in her experience. She hadn't loved
any
of the guys she'd been with in the past few
years. Sure, she'd acquired some affection for them all, but beyond that they
were mostly warm bodies next to her at the movie theater or someone to pick up
the check at restaurants.

Around age twenty or so, she had gained an appreciation for the
great love her parents shared--the one that had her father, not a wealthy man
by any means--making repeated drives down to Houston where her mother lived as
a young woman until she finally relented and let him take her out. And it
wasn't that Nicola had been protesting so much. They were just so different.
She was Salvadoran with German Jewish ancestry. Harold was a Southern black
man, raised in the Baptist church, and couldn't understand much of what the
woman was saying. Still, from the time he met her at the little kosher grocery
store her father owned, they'd clicked. They were each other's one great love,
even if a lot of what they said was lost in translation early on.

Marilyn opened the door. She leaned against the little wall
between the bathroom and the greater room and cleared her throat.

Carter lay on the bed, twirling the cuffs around one index
finger. He stopped twirling when he saw her. "Holy shit, woman." He
sat up as she sashayed over to him.

"You like what you see?" she asked, borrowing his own
line and tossing it back at him.

"I'd be dead if I didn't." He tossed the cuffs onto
the nightstand and drew her between his parted legs. He ran his hands down her
back and caressed her lace-clad rear. "Damn, girl. I'm kind of offended
you've chosen this method of distraction. Do I look that easy?" He hooked
his thumbs around the elastic at the tops of her thighs and worked her panties
down.

"Yes."

He chuckled and pressed his nose against the soft curls he
exposed one centimeter at a time. "I've wanted this since I was seventeen.
Cut me some slack if I seem enthusiastic."

She had to hand it to him. He'd never pushed her. Sure, they'd
discussed sex a few times and came damn close to it on several occasions, but
he had never gotten angry or impatient when she pulled back. She was the one
who'd decided prom night would be it…until it wasn't.

"So, you're going to screw me tonight and hand me over in
the morning?"

He pulled back. "Whoa! You started this tango. I just said
yes to the dance."

"Charming." She slapped his hands away from her panty
elastic and hiked her underwear back up with a growl.

He let out a long sigh and shook his head. When she moved away
he put his feet back up on the bed and resumed his former television perusal.

She crawled under the covers at the space to his right and
pulled the blanket up to her chin.

"I imagine you'll keep your hands to yourself?"

He didn't even look at her. "I'll be a gentleman."

*

Carter got hot all of a sudden and forced one heavy eyelid
open, then the other. He let his eyes adjust to the dark and his brain
recalibrate to remind him where he'd fallen asleep. There was a naked leg slung
over his, an arm draped across his chest, and a face jammed into the crook of
his neck, constantly blowing hot, tickling breath onto him. At some point
during the night, Marilyn had bridged the wide gap between them on the king bed
and sidled up to him for a cuddle. He was happy to oblige her, but suspected if
she woke to find him enjoying her warmth as much as she obviously was his,
she'd likely balk.