Spice (19 page)

“No, which I suppose is answer enough. Still, I'll try again.” Siobhan blew out a breath, then gave Nadia a watery smile. “Keep hope alive, right?”

“Right.” She hugged the blonde woman again then stepped back. “It looks like my Friday night is open. Want to come over for a low-nutritional value dinner and a superhero movie marathon? Just you and me?”

“You're on. And I won't even be mad at you if you cut out after a phone call from a certain college professor.”

K
ane walked into his hotel's bar, his need for a drink eclipsed only by his need to hear Nadia's voice. The case he'd been called to consult on was horrific and shaped up to be big in a career making or destroying sort of way. The prosecution wanted to prove that the accused was completely sane and each side had provided experts to support their supposition. It seemed that no one wanted it to go to trial, but there was no way that anyone, especially the victims' loved ones, would let the accused get away without some repercussions. A trial was not going to be easy, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be a part of it.

He spotted his friend Simon Mayhew at the bar and went over to join him. “Hey, Simon. How's it going?”

Simon's dark face split into a huge grin. “Kane, good to see you, man! You know me, things are so good, complaining would be a crime!”

Simon signaled the bartender. “What's your poison?”

Kane ordered an Irish whiskey, neat, then took the barstool next to his friend. As usual, Simon had already become buddies with most of the patrons nearby. It was a gift he had, a gift that made him a top-notch investigative journalist and a regular on the twenty-four-hour news channels. They'd met on the set of one such program, talking about the Red Light case. Their back-and-forth had apparently made for great television, and they'd been invited back together numerous times.

They worked well together, so well that when their mutual agent had suggested that they collaborate on a book, Kane had quickly agreed. One nonfiction crime book had become three, and neither of them had looked back.

“So what brings you down from the bay to the City of Angels?” Simon asked after Kane took a sip of his whiskey.

“I'm consulting on a new case.”

“Really.” Simon turned to him, and Kane could easily see the wheels turning behind his coffee brown eyes. “Local or federal?”

“Come on, Simon, you know I'm not going to divulge that.”

“Now I'm really intrigued. Are you sure I can't convince you to become an unnamed source?”

Kane snorted. “Like it would be hard for anyone to figure out the identity of your source.”

“You have a valid point, Professor,” Simon said with a sage nod. “However, I wouldn't be a good journalist if I didn't point out that people can speculate all they want, but I never reveal my sources.”

“I know you don't. I still have no comment.”

“All right, man. I can respect you being a man of integrity and all.” Simon sat back, lifting his glass in a silent request for a refill. “Want to tell me why you wanted to meet? Not that I don't like seeing that pretty face of yours, but my wife is way hotter.”

Kane suppressed a flash of jealousy at the mention of Simon's wife. Simon and Caroline Mayhew had been married for nearly twenty years, right out of high school. Although he had managed to dodge all of Caroline's attempts to fix him up with one of her seemingly endless supply of single friends, Kane wanted what they had. He wanted what his parents had.

An image of Nadia came unbidden to his mind. Not naked and spread for him but standing in front of him in her Sugar and Spice T-shirt and those jeans that hugged her curves, concern and care lighting the depths of her eyes as she'd sent him off with a cup of tea and a bag of pastries. That Nadia was the treasure, the one she rarely allowed to the surface even though the care she felt for those close to her was intrinsic to her nature. He wasn't going to push her, but that didn't mean he couldn't lean a little.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Kane polished off his whiskey then asked for another on the rocks. “Yes. I wanted to talk to you about a new business opportunity.”

Simon's alert gaze sharpened. “What sort of business opportunity?”

“We've made a name for ourselves with our nonfiction work,” Kane reminded him. “What do you think about trying our hand at writing fiction? I'm thinking thrillers, police procedurals, that sort of thing.”

Simon stared at him for a charged moment, leaving Kane to wonder if his friend thought he'd popped his mental clutch. Then Simon burst into loud laughter that drew the attention of everyone in the bar.

“I say it's about damn time we do something like that!” he exclaimed, thumping Kane on the back. “We already do a good job writing and researching the nonfiction stuff. It shouldn't be that hard for us to switch to fiction, come up with a compelling main character or investigative team and the unusual cases they encounter.”

“That's what I thought too,” Kane said, warming to the idea. This was the best part about working with Simon—they fed off each other's ideas like piranhas at a buffet. He pulled out his smartphone and began taking notes as he and Simon tossed ideas, characters, and potential plots around. The more they talked, the more the thought of writing fiction grabbed him. They could do this.

“My schedule's tight right now, but we really need to jump on this. We need to call Stewart and sound him out about it.”

“He's probably got some contacts he can feel out. Will you have some free time tomorrow? We can meet in my office and call him.”

Kane shook his head. “My schedule is slammed tomorrow, and I want to be back home tomorrow night if I can help it.”

“Oh yeah?” Simon raised an eyebrow. “Any particular reason you're in a hurry to get back to small-town Crimson Bay when the bright lights of LA are waiting for you?”

“Fuck off, man.”

Simon broke into booming laughter. “There's definitely a particular reason. What's her name?”

Kane hesitated. Simon wouldn't be satisfied with just a name, and considering that he'd made Los Angeles his base of operations for the last fifteen years, it was more than likely that he'd know all about Nadia and her former life.

“Sorry, Simon, but I'm going to play this one close for a little while longer,” he finally said. “It's still new, but so far, so good. As for the project, we can do our usual communication thing—text, e-mail. I'll try to shuffle some things around, see if I can come back down in about a month or so if we need to do a face-to-face.”

“If you do, you should stay with us,” Simon told him. “You know Caro would love to have you.”

“Meaning, Caro would love to hook me up with a new batch of eligible women.” Kane held up his hands. “No thanks.”

“The only way Caro's giving up on you is if you give in to the inevitable, my friend,” Simon joked. “Surrender to the joy that is domestic bliss.”

“I don't have any plans to surrender yet,” he replied, trying not to think about a certain curvy brunette who had taken up residence in his mind a few weeks ago and showed no signs of moving out any time soon. “If I do, you'll be the tenth to know.”

“Dude, that's harsh.” Simon took another sip of his beer, his gaze assessing. “Everything all right at Herscher?”

“You act like you're an investigative reporter or something.” Simon was just too damn good at his job.

“Seems to me that's a smoke signal right there. What's going on?”

“Nothing but the usual drama that ensues when contracts are up and tenure is on the line.” He shrugged. “It doesn't hurt to keep my options open. Who knows? Maybe we can get this series off the ground and then remaining an assistant professor won't be that much of a big deal.”

“Either way, we need to make this happen.” Simon stood, reached for his wallet.

Kane stopped him. “I'll just put it on my room tab. Thanks for coming out.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm all over this project. Definitely worth the drive.” They clasped hands then did the straight guy half-hug thing. “Good seeing you, Kane.”

“You too, Simon. I'll flesh out our notes then send you a copy. Give my love to Caro.”

“Nobody gives Caro love but me. I'll tell her you said hello, though.”

Simon left. Kane settled the bill then headed for the elevator, his phone still in his hand. He wanted to call Nadia, but it was after nine and she had to get up at four. It would be selfish of him to call her just so he could hear her voice.

But he wanted to, He really wanted to.

Back in his room, he quickly stripped then showered, pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed with his phone and his laptop to flesh out his notes. The meeting with Simon had gone much better than he'd hoped. Optimism surged in his veins, optimism that had been in short supply earlier in the day. Trying to get inside the mind of a perpetrator was never an easy thing, especially when one had to wall off one's own moral code and assume the cold mantle of objectivity.

He didn't have to like the case to sign on, but he did have to believe in the cause. He had to believe his input helped, or there wasn't any point in doing it.

The new collaboration with Simon Mayhew gave him the positive energy he needed to get through the next day of meetings. So did the promise of Nadia waiting for him at home.

Sweet yearning filled him, just from thinking of her. She was important to him, more important than he could let her know as of yet. Despite nearly two months of intimacy, he could sense that she didn't fully trust him. She trusted him with her body, but despite agreeing to give a relationship a try, she wasn't ready to trust him with her emotions yet, with her hopes and fears. She was still skittish and he understood that. She probably had good reason to be cautious, given the fallout from her drug addiction past.

Still, he wanted her to know that he wanted more than reenactments of
The Perfumed Garden
, the
Kama Sutra
, and the other sex manuals. He hoped he'd shown that, by supporting her as she'd dealt with Audie. He needed her to know, in gestures grand and small, that he was in to her for far longer than it would take them to complete the book. By the time she realized it, he would be a necessary part of her life.

His phone buzzed. Expecting it to be Simon asking for their notes, he was surprised to find a message from Nadia. She'd snapped a photo of herself lying on her side in her bed, a piece of paper with his name written on it balanced on the pillow beside her.
Missing you,
the accompanying text said.

He was already calling her before the action registered, hoping that it wasn't a delayed text, that she was still awake.

She answered immediately. “Kaname.”

He slid down in the bed, laptop forgotten, work a distant memory as the sound of her voice saying his name wrapped around him. “I'm sorry I didn't call, sweetheart,” he said. “It's late and I didn't want to wake you up. I know how early you have to get up to open the café.”

“Jas is going to take care of it,” she answered, her voice soft. “And I took a nap earlier this afternoon so that I could be awake for you tonight.”

Warmth that had nothing to do with the two shots of whiskey he'd consumed earlier spread through his chest. “Thank you,” he managed to say past the sudden lump in his throat. He coughed to clear it. “And thanks for the picture.”

“You know you're welcome.” A rustling sound as if she'd turned over in bed. “I do miss you, Kane.”

“Will you do me a favor, Nadia?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

You.
“Whenever you can remember to do it, I'd love it if you would call me Kaname.”

“Oh. Of course I can do that.” She gave a light laugh that rippled through him. “It's weird how sometimes it feels right to call you Kane, and other times it feels right to call you Kaname.”

“I know.” He'd noticed. When she felt comfortable and secure in their intimate moments, she lowered her guard and called him by his full name. When she did, she paired it with a sexy, breathy tone that never failed to harden his cock. As it did now.

He reached into his boxers to adjust himself, thought better of it, then took himself in hand instead. That felt much better, though not as good as it would be if it were her hand gripping him.

“How was your day? You don't sound right.”

He didn't want to talk about his day, especially not the part spent examining photos and talking motives and psychological impacts. The fact that she could tell that he'd been bothered by the case told him she was more tuned to him than he'd hoped. “I'll be all right. The day was longer than I would have liked, but hearing from you is a definite improvement.”

“I'm glad I could help make it better. You sure you don't want to unload on me? I've learned to be a pretty good listener, and I don't judge.”

“I appreciate the offer, babe, but I'll be okay. I did take some time this evening to meet with a friend of mine, Simon Mayhew.”

“Oh yeah. He cowrote some books with you, didn't he?”

“He did,” Kane answered, ridiculously pleased that she knew that. “We're talking about diving into fiction, writing a thriller series together.” He gave her the highlight reel of his brainstorming session with Simon.