Too Much to Lose (8 page)

With a resigned sigh, I tug the
duvet from underneath his legs and draw it over him. Hunter mumbles but shows
no sign of waking. I swing my gaze between the couch and the other side of the
bed. Either way I won’t get much sleep. Perhaps I’m kidding myself—maybe I just
want to enjoy lying next to a man—but I decide to sleep on the bed in case he
has hurt himself more than we thought.

I drag off my jeans and fling
them in the laundry along with his bloodied T-shirt. My nightshirt is under the
pillow his head is resting on so I dig out a T-shirt and some of my less skimpy
underwear. I won’t sleep anyway so I can probably be up and dressed before he
even awakes. I eye the polka dotted panties and chuckle to myself. These would
really ruin my image if he saw them but better these than the lace thong I’m wearing.

Aware of the gorgeous man who
could awake at any moment, I flick off the bedroom light and put the T-shirt
and panties on in the dark. The rest of my clothes end up dumped somewhere near
the laundry basket and I slide into bed, grateful he at least chose to pass out
on the side I don’t sleep on.

Heat envelops me when my toes
brush his legs and I feel the crisp hair on them. An ache balloons in my chest.
I’ve missed this so much. The company of another person—not just a man. My aunt
tried her best when she became my guardian after the death of my parents but it
was never quite the same. Once she married Carl, that was it. Things would
never be the same again. I suppress a shudder. If I hadn’t run away at
seventeen, I don’t know what he would have done to me. My aunt left him once I
got up the guts to phone her and tell him what he’d done. Presumably he’d
admitted to it. She wrote to me while I was still living outside of London.
Carl ruined both our lives, I suspect.

I lie and listen to Hunter’s
heavy breathing for a while. Strange how that sound can be comforting. I wish I
understood him. Or at least my fascination with him. I’ve never met a man so complex.
The way he flashes from wry smiles to gut-wrenching intense expressions. He’s
intelligent, that much is clear, and brutally honest. Now
that
appeals
to me. Which is ironic considering my whole life is a lie. But I’ve been toyed
with so much in the past. A man who means what he says is refreshing.

That must be it. I haven’t met
anyone like him before and that’s why he intrigues me. Unfortunately that
doesn’t explain why I feel like I’m being struck by a thousand bolts of
lightning every time we come into contact. I yawn and curl up, carefully
avoiding Hunter. I don’t want to be experiencing any more lightning tonight,
thank you very much.

***

He comes to me that night. Touches
me. Whispers to me. Bile rises in my throat as I wait in the darkness in the
narrow single bed, my aunt’s faint snores seeping in through the open door from
the other room. I lie still and hope he thinks I’m asleep. It’s worse if I talk
back. One day, he promises, he will teach me what it’s like to be with a real
man.

Then we’re on set, bright lights
shining down on me. My uncle has gone and it’s one of the well hung porn stars.
He’s not good looking, even has a paunch, but as long as he’s got length and
girth, no one cares. As long as I look good, that’s all that matters.

I’m on a bed. A stranger
presses lubrication into me. I must have taken some strong painkillers because
everything is quite fuzzy. I’m still sore though. Before I can change my mind,
my co-star is on me. I squirm and fight him off but it’s no good. He’s stronger
than me. All the cameramen urge him on until his face melts. It’s Pete. He’s
laughing at me. Mocking me. The cameramen are gone and it’s my friends. We’re
in a bar and they jeer and shout. I’m a whore, they say. A filthy slut. No one
wants me. No one ever will.

Tears cloud my vision and I
curl up, trying to shield my naked body from them.

Hunter

A strange sound drags me out of
a deep sleep. It takes me a few moments of staring at the unfamiliar ceiling
for me to figure out where I am. I twist quickly and regret it as pain spears
up my side. Glancing down, I see the gauze and a generous amount of bruising.
Memories of Jess’s fingers on my chest, of her intrepid gaze raking me assail
me and I’ve got a damned hard-on.

Then I realize Jess is next to
me. The bedding is twisted around her legs and she’s in a cute little tee and
polka dot panties. My erection grows. Smooth endless legs and the cutest ass
I’ve seen in… well… forever, face me. Her hair is a wild tangle on the pillow.
I can’t see her face but I want to. She mumbles something. Is she dreaming of
me? ‘Cause God knows, I’ve dreamt of her enough times recently.

I stretch and consider her for
a while. I especially consider her ass. Goddamn, it looks so good. Even those
tight trousers she favours did her no justice. I’m surprised she opted to share
the bed with me—not that I meant to fall asleep. But still, I won’t pass up on
the opportunity. I’ve got another chance to persuade her to spend some time
with me now. She’s a hard nut to crack. Surely she feels the attraction
practically burning between us? So why won’t she give in?

Well, probably because she’s
smarter than that. She’s keeping herself buttoned down. If I could just find a
way in.

Great, now all I can think of
is the way in I’d really like to take. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach
for the waistband of those silly cotton things and peel them down. I’d curl my
hand around that lush rear and pull her onto me. Maybe I’d take her hard and
fast or slow so I could see her expression as I take her to the edge.

Another mumble from her has me
cursing myself. I need to gain control of my body—and my thoughts. Her waking
to find me with an erection isn’t going to help my case at all.

I draw in several long, slow
breaths and try to picture something unappealing. But nothing is coming and my
gaze keeps sneaking back to those fucking polka dots. I will never see spots in
the same way again.

I perk at the realization I’m
in her apartment and she’s sleeping. The letter. I need to get a look at it. My
gut tells me it’s something important. A key to unlocking the mystery that is
Jess and her schemes.

She tosses suddenly, a hand
smacking into my chest. The sting almost cures me of my erection and then I see
her expression and I couldn’t be less turned on. It’s pained, agonized. Brows
furrowed, lips twisted. Even with her eyes shut, I know something terrible is
going on in there.

Thoughts of the letter fly. What
do I do? Are you meant to wake someone who has nightmares? Or is that
sleepwalkers? I have no idea. Her movements increase, becoming frantic and I’ve
got to do something. I snatch an arm as it flies toward me and try to shake her
awake but it’s no good, she’s lost in her world of pain.

Sitting, I go for her other
arm. If I can’t wake her then I need to stop her from hurting herself at least.
Jess writhes and sweat glistens on her forehead.

“Jess, wake up.” Another moan,
another frantic movement. “Jess, princess, wake up.”

I use my chest to pin her down
now. She’s that close to flinging herself off the bed and tearing out of my
hold.

“No,” she cries and my heart
feels like it cracks a little.

“Jess,” I say, quietly this time.
“It’s just a dream. I’m here. No one can hurt you. Wake up. I’m here.”

I’m barely sure what I’m saying
or why that would soothe her but it feels right. Her movements slow and I
continue murmuring her name until her eyelids flutter open. I see those green
eyes gain focus and shock registers. I force myself to ignore the breasts
crushed against my chest and the brush of silky legs.

“What the he—Hunter, what…?”
Her voice is reedy and weak as she tries to push me off.

“You were having a nightmare.”
I roll off, instantly missing the feel of her body under mine.

She swipes a hand across her
forehead, reaches for the bedding and tugs it over her body. Disappointment
makes my gut clench but the way her gaze trails over my torso appeases my male
pride a little.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,”
she says weakly.

“Neither did I.”

We stare at each other for a
few breaths. Jess twines the corner of the duvet in her hands while I rub my
increasing facial hair. It strikes me I’ve never been in a bed with a woman I
haven’t fucked. I’m not sure what to do.

I fracture the silence. “You
want to talk about it?”

“What?” Her eyes go wide.

“Your nightmare?”

“No.”

“Sure.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Right… well, I’m just going
to…” I climb off the bed and hunt for my top. I need to escape. I spy it in the
laundry basket. Snatching it up, I avoid looking at her and head to the
bathroom.

Real smooth, Hunter.
Problem
is, if I look at her, I want to fuck her. Especially in those delicious
panties. I’ve never had issues like this with women—never felt vaguely unsure
of myself. Jess is crawling under my skin, playing with my mind and twisting
herself around my heart. It’s scaring the hell out of me. I can’t afford to be
so consumed by her when I’ve got bills hanging over my head and a pissed off
client who wants results. And I sure as hell don’t want to be involved with a
criminal.

I consider using her shower,
but don’t know if I should get the bandage wet so decide to wait until I get
home. I wash briefly at the sink, drag on my T-shirt and my side pangs.
Thankfully it’s just bruising. It could have been worse. My gut bunches. It
could have been Jess.

Using a finger, I dab a bit of
toothpaste on and scrub my teeth before rinsing my mouth. I hadn’t exactly
planned on staying over. In fact, I’m not sure what I planned by meeting her at
work. I was concerned for her. She’d been a wreck yesterday—so vulnerable. The
thought of her working late into the night had played through my mind and I
knew I wouldn’t be able to rest easy until I knew she was okay.

And I want more info, I remind
myself. Remember the job. Why is it so hard to remember she’s a thief?

Yeah, the damned job. I’m
seriously regretting taking it on. But without it, I stand to lose everything. My
mother lost everything when Dad left and I am not being that man. She worked so
hard to buy the house I now own after we moved from Ireland and to help me
through my courses so I could set up my own business. All the years I put into building
O’Reilly Investigations from the ground up and for what? It’s all going to end
up in the hands of the bank.

But it won’t—
if
I can
complete this job. The final payment will cover a few months on Mam’s house and
if I play things carefully, I can invest the rest in gaining some new clients.

By the time I’m finished in the
bathroom, she’s in the kitchenette and is wearing a robe. Damn.

Jess offers me a weak smile and
motions to the cup on the countertop. “I made you some coffee. I didn’t know
how you took it but there’s sugar on the side.”

I eye the cup and grin. “Black.
Perfect.”

She makes a face. “Yuck.”

My grin expands. I love seeing
her all make-upless and cute. I imagine I’m probably staring as she fidgets and
places down her coffee.

“I’ll just go and…” She motions
to the bathroom. “I don’t really have anything for breakfast.”

“No worries, princess.”

She shakes her head at the
nickname I have for her and slides past me. The door shuts. I don’t know why
that name suits, but it does. It was intended to be negative. Spoiled little
rich girl. Grew up with rich stepparents, speaks with a refined accent, wears
pricey jeans. But it doesn’t seem to be providing the distance I need and now
it sounds almost affectionate.

I grab the coffee, drink it
quickly, burn my mouth and pray the caffeine brings me back to my senses. Get
the info and get out. That’s my new motto. Get out before she can draw me
deeper. I dart a look around and go for the paperwork on top of the kitchen
cabinet again but the letter isn’t there now.  There goes that lead. I stuff
the papers back and do a half-hearted search of the cupboards in case it’s in
there. Looks like I’m going to have to turn my attentions to charming Jess and
hopefully getting her to open up enough to give me a way in.

About fifteen minutes later,
she emerges, make-up in place. She scurries past me in a blue towel, barely
looking my way and goes into the bedroom to dress presumably.

I clench the edge of the
kitchen side until my knuckles burn. A door—a thin, easily broken down door
stands between me and the woman who is likely now peeling off that towel. I’m
willing to bet her skin is still damp. My mouth dries as I consider how it
would taste. I’d lick my way up those legs to the apex of her thighs, then I’d
throw her down on the bed and sample between her breasts. I don’t need to have
done it to know it would taste like heaven. Her mouth is amazing enough. I
think her skin on my tongue would be the undoing of me.

“Shit.” I turn and slam my palm
on the counter but the sting does nothing to calm my thoughts.

“What’s wrong?”