With Extreme Pleasure (5 page)

“After all of that?” He nodded to indicate the pile of trash next to her arm “You should be.”

He’d been hoping to see a spark of the smart-mouthed stylist who’d moussed and gelled his hair into the same natural bed head he woke up with each day. For the moment, that girl was gone.

This one had drifted back to her brother’s death, and was going to need more than a junior cheeseburger or King’s digs to bring her around.

What he had to say next probably wasn’t going to be much help in making that happen. “We should get going. We need to find a place to bunk down for the night before you fall out from exhaustion.”

That had her lifting her head. “What do you mean, bunk down?”

“A bed. A place to sleep,” he said, keeping his eyes on her as he swirled what was left of his drink in its ice and brought the cup to his mouth.

“Together?”

“If we can’t find a place with two beds, I’ll take the floor. I’ve got a sleeping bag.” And if he was going to take her with him, he’d have to get her one, too. Something to think about tomorrow. Once he was thinking straight again.

He obviously needed sleep as badly as she did. Why else would he be considering taking her with him?

When she still hadn’t responded, and the silence between them had taken on an uncomfortable life of its own, he said, “You jumped into my ride like a stowaway. You didn’t think about sleeping arrangements?”

“I wasn’t thinking about anything but finding the cheapest way possible out of town.”

He gave her an eyeful. “You tried to get me to drop you at Greyhound. That dog don’t run for free, boo.”

“Which is why you were my first choice,” she said, sitting back, crossing her arms, her chin up, trembling though defiant. “You can take me farther away than I can afford to get on the bus. But now I’m wondering what traveling with you is going to cost me. And if you’re worth it.”

Again. She was running. He was certain. He was also certain he hadn’t told her she could come along because he was still fighting himself over letting her. “I said we need to find a place to get some shut eye. That’s it. Nothing about you traveling with me or any sort of cost.”

“Does that mean you’re not taking me with you?”

“It means I don’t know what I’m doing.” And if that wasn’t the biggest understatement he’d ever made.

“When will you know? Because if you’re not—”

“Cady.” He reached over, covered her hand that was back to nervously playing with the burger wrapper. “I’m not going to leave you on the street.”

“That doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better,” she said, turning her fingers into his and squeezing tight.

Tears welled in her lower lids that were already rainbow-colored and swollen. Talk about ripping a guy’s heart out. “Trust me, okay? Things will look better tomorrow.”

She snorted. “Assuming once I close my eyes, I’ll be able to open them again.”

Ripped out and stomped into the ground. Damn if he wasn’t going soft in his old age.

Even so, he continued to hold her hand while sliding out of his seat, using his free one to snag their trash and drop it in the receptacle on their way out the door.

Once they were back in the Hummer, he made yet another command decision that would put off his man versus nature vacation road trip. “I figure I’ve got another hour in me, so we’ll put this place a few miles behind us before stopping.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then he swore she fell asleep.

S
he was going to spend the night with Kingdom Trahan. The same Kingdom Trahan whose hair she’d tousled then smoothed then rumpled with her hands at the photo shoot director’s request, whose face she’d dusted with matte powder to dull the camera’s flash and the glare of the lights on the set.

He’d said no to anything else. No kohl or color on his eyes, no lowlights or highlights in his hair. The ad people could take him as he was, or not take him at all. He was a Cajun, not a queen. Yeah, that Kingdom Trahan. The politically incorrect jerk who’d stirred something female in her that hadn’t been stirred in forever.

And because she had yet to process what it would mean for them to share a room without a full production crew flitting around, Cady feigned sleep so he wouldn’t catch her trying to come to grips with a situation that she feared would test her in ways she was too tired to pass.

She had no plans to become intimate with him, and doubted he had any where she was concerned, though she couldn’t deny she found him distractingly attractive, and in a more sane time and place, she might think about giving it a go.

Right now, however, insanity was her reality—even more, she was certain, than at any time since Kevin had died. It was a scary place to be, and thinking about spending the night with Kingdom Trahan didn’t help.

He’d rescued her in the garage at Ferrer Fragrances. He’d rescued her from her psycho roommate. He’d rescued her on the front porch of her parents’ home, and rescued her when hunger had stolen her strength.

She didn’t like being a damsel in distress, but she liked even less the idea of being in close quarters with a knight in glossy black armor. She didn’t know if he would turn out to be like so many of his gender, expecting her to show her gratitude by taking off her pants. And she really didn’t like knowing if she had it in her not to.

What made things so bad was that he’d witnessed the Kowalski family dynamic in action. That left her feeling vulnerable. She didn’t like feeling vulnerable. She’d worked so hard to fit comfortably into the protective façade she’d donned to attend Kevin’s funeral. Not once in the past eight years had she taken it off.

And even though she hadn’t said much, she still couldn’t believe she’d told King what she had about Kevin. She didn’t talk about Kevin with anyone. Ever. She hadn’t since the trial. Not even after being kicked out of the Kowalski family and the bombardment of questions that followed.

Instead of being stalked, hijacked, and ambushed into answering, she’d moved from her campus apartment into the city and vanished, juggling part-time jobs while taking an extra year and finishing her business degree online.

She’d moved as often as she’d changed jobs. She’d kept her number unlisted until she could no longer afford a phone. She’d done anything she could think of to keep from being found by reporters who refused to let go of Kevin’s story, by old friends who really weren’t, by new enemies who really were.

Anything except changing her name. That had stayed.

Yes, her parents had made it clear that she was no Kowalski to them, but changing her identity would’ve been the ultimate admission of defeat, and because she was a Kowalski, she would never let things go that far.

How far she was going to let things go with King in exchange for his help, however…

She shifted in her seat, letting her head loll sleepily on her left shoulder. The interior of the Hummer was dark, the tinted windows making it seem even darker, so she opened her eyes just a slit and peered at him while he drove.

It wasn’t hard at all to see why Ferrer Fragrances wanted to use him in their ad campaign. Even if he hadn’t been distantly related to Michelina Ferrer, he would’ve been the perfect choice to sell her products.

He had the sort of smoldering look that drew women and their disposable income like flies. Cady wasn’t immune, but she wasn’t in any sort of situation to take advantage of his honey. And, yeah. That’s what he made her think of. Honey.

He was smooth. He could be sweet. Being in his company was definitely going to get sticky. And if she got too close, she was certain she’d feel his sting.

“What’s so funny?”

Funny?
Had she laughed aloud and given herself away? “What do you mean?”

“So you’re
not
asleep.”

“Not now,” she grumbled, stupid for thinking she could get away with playing that she was.

“Good. Then you can tell me what’s so funny, because it’s dark and quiet, and I’m boring myself to death over here.”

The lights from the dashboard lit up bits and pieces of his profile. His cheekbones, his lips, the rough stinging stubble on his chin…“Nothing is funny.”

“You laughed.”

Laughing was good. It meant she hadn’t called him honey out loud. “I must’ve been dreaming.”

“What about?”

Even though he wasn’t looking at her, she frowned. “Are you always so nosy?”

He shrugged then rolled his shoulders as if to ease the stress of driving. “If I’m curious enough, interested enough. Sure.”

“What are you?” she asked, changing the subject to keep the conversation off her dreams about sticky sweet substances and licking them out of the hollow of his throat. “Curious or interested?”

“Bored.”

“Yeah. So you said.”

“Hey, you pretended to go to sleep and left me alone in the dark, boo.”

“You have a radio.”

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Why would it matter? According to you, I was only pretending.”

“To sleep, yeah. Doesn’t mean you weren’t lost in thought.”

Her thoughts could’ve used an interruption, she mused, straightening in her seat and realizing how nice it was to have someone be considerate of her. “That was very thoughtful of you. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She let several miles go by before speaking again. Then she broached the subject that had been simmering in her mind since he’d first mentioned their stopping for the night. “I think I’d prefer it if we shared a room. But with two beds. I’d feel safer.”

He didn’t answer right away, and that bothered her. She wanted to know what he was thinking. About her. About what he’d learned, what he’d seen. She wasn’t happy that she’d become a burden. It was so much easier being his stylist than his stowaway.

Leaning over him, being close enough to count the scattered gray hairs at his temples, near enough to see the details of the scars criss-crossing his jaw…Honey or not, that was as personal a relationship as she was comfortable with.

His knowing about Kevin and her parents, even about Alice and what Tyler had done, cut too close to the bone. Gah, what was it going to take to have a life worth living? Would she be paying for a mistake that was as stupid as it was innocent for the rest of her days?

“Why would you feel safer?” King finally said, his words slicing like rays of harsh sunshine through the cloud of depression cloaking her.

She was some kind of melodramatic, wasn’t she? “Uh, because I wouldn’t be alone?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, shaking his head as if his question hadn’t been worded right either.

“Well, then? I’m not a mind reader here.”

“Safe implies danger,” he said, his tone that of a guardian to a charge. “Since I don’t see your mother or father or your roommate following us, I would think being in a room of your own would be the safest bet.”

“Why?” she asked before she could think better of it. “Are you out to get me now, too?”

“Who’s out to get you, Cady?”

“Just because I’m paranoid…” Head back, she crossed her arms to hold onto the painful tightness in her chest that seemed the only thing keeping her in one piece.

She should never have told him about Kevin. Or let him see that she was no longer a daughter a mother could love. If she slipped again, let down her guard and told him her whole life story…

She wondered what he would say if she asked him for plane fare to Alaska. Fairbanks sounded good. Juno. The North Pole. Then she wondered what he’d say if he knew the truth about why she would never feel safe again.

She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t push though she knew the subject would rear its ugly head again once they’d checked into their room.

Instead, as he took the next exit, pulling the Hummer under the awning of the chain motel’s entrance, she pressed her lips together to keep her teeth from chattering and broadcasting the state of her nerves.

She watched him skirt the front of the big vehicle and head inside. Watched him hand over several bills and his ID to procure the room. Watched him laugh as the female registration clerk flirted and smiled and probably gave him her number along with the key.

Then she watched him come back, climb into the driver’s seat, and show her what he had in his hand. One key. Meaning…one room. Just like she’d requested.

Now if anything went wrong and morning arrived filled with regrets, she’d have no one to blame but herself. She snorted, because really, was that any different from any other time she woke up to start a new day?

She nodded her thanks, hoping one of them had some aspirin, hoping he didn’t try to talk her out of her pants, hoping that when she woke up in the morning, tomorrow would indeed be a another day and not just this one continued.

If it was, she swore she was going to go back to sleep until she withered away like a plant tossed around and left rootless by a big bad storm.

O
ne room. Two beds.

Two bodies. One big fat secret.

King wondered what all of that added up to, and whether going to the trouble to do the math would yield him anything he needed to know or whether he’d be better off dropping the problem of Cady’s secrets and getting some sleep.

While the waif with the mysterious past dug through one of the garbage bags in the SUV’s backseat, King rifled through his supplies for the things he’d want before morning, wishing he had a better handle on her need to feel safe so he’d know whether to bring his gun.

He didn’t think the threat she felt was one that would come knocking on their door. He didn’t see her parents loading up in the LeSabre and following.

He didn’t imagine her jealous roommate had that big of a beef with her, or that the boyfriend was desperate to apologize or try to finish what he’d started.

But King ended up grabbing his gun—and Alice’s—just in case.

Once he and Cady had their gear together and their hands more than full, he pointed the way and walked her down the hotel’s first floor hallway to their door. Neither one of them said a word on the way. Cady clutched her overstuffed backpack like a satchel of stolen cash.

He’d brought his fair share of women to similar places, nicer places, ones not half so, and there never had been a lot of talking involved on the way in, or the way out. But this situation wasn’t like those where talking didn’t have anything to do with renting a room.

The fact that he wanted Cady to talk, that he wanted to hear what she had to say proved it. He needed to find out what was going on with her so he could figure out what the hell to do with her after tonight.

He slid the card key into the slot. The green light lit up and the lock clicked. He pushed the door open and gestured her inside. She passed the closet on the left, the bathroom on the right, and stopped.

“Take whichever bed you want,” he told her, slinging his duffel onto the closet floor and checking the room’s thermostat. The place could’ve served double duty as a freezer.

As long as he wasn’t cold, he didn’t care where he slept. If Cady hadn’t decided to stowaway in his SUV, he’d be stretching out tonight in an insulated sleeping bag under the stars. This room was for her.

Still holding onto her things, she crawled up into the center of the bed closest to the exit, and sat cross-legged. “I’ll sleep here.”

“Fine,” he said, walking to the other side of the room to pull back the curtain and look out the window. He wanted to see how far away his H3 was parked and make sure the lights from the parking lot reached it. “I’ll sleep all the way over here.”

Cady groaned her frustration. “I trust you, King. I’m the one who wanted us to share a room, remember?”

He let the drapes fall into place and faced her. She still sat in the center of the bed, legs crossed, closed in on herself, her backpack a shield. Only her head had moved, allowing her to keep him in sight.

He felt like some sort of predator being eyeballed by his suspicious prey. “I remember.”

“And yet, here you are, being petulant.”

He snorted, arched a brow, took a step toward her. “Petulant?”

“What else would you call it?” she asked, gesturing with one hand. “‘I’ll sleep all the way over here.’ You act like I’m putting you out.”

Challenge accepted. Another step taken. Hands at his hips as he stared down. “Aren’t you? This isn’t exactly the route I’d planned to take home.”

“And you wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t insisted on taking me to my parents’ house. I would be on a bus and you would be miles away.” She wasn’t going to give him an inch, flouncing there, crossing her arms.

“I have no one to blame but myself, then. Is that what you’re saying?” Because if that was what she was saying, he had a few things to say of his own.

She shook her head. “No. I’m the one who climbed into your truck in the first place.”

“Good. At least that part you remember.”

“With you to remind me, it’s not very likely I’ll forget,” she grumbled, adding, “ever,” before she unzipped her backpack and began rooting around.

King waited for her to finish, but it quickly became clear that she wasn’t really looking for anything or planned to get back to him on the topic of blame. She was distracting herself, or him, or the both of them. The distraction had worked. He’d lost his train of thought.

Crap.

“I’m going to shower,” he finally said, heading for the bathroom before she gave him a reason to change his mind.

He was itching for a fight, and it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the one who’d pissed him off, that he was frustrated by the situation he was stuck in. She was the one here, the one within shouting distance.

He wasn’t that much of a beast not to recognize the danger in such a situation. Convenience played too big a part in abusive situations. Anger taken out, aggression spent on innocents was too commonplace.

King had seen it. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fall victim to that behavior, or use Cady as an emotional punching bag. He’d freeze his ass off under the needlelike spray of cold water first, though steaming himself pruny instead sounded really, really good.

He was tired. Who knew time spent playing white knight could wear a guy plumb out, he mused, shucking off his clothes? Here he’d thought he’d end his day with a cup of campfire coffee beneath a blanket of stars. He wouldn’t bathe, he wouldn’t shave. He’d just be.

Spending it in a tiled tub enclosure with fruity smelling soap did not have the same sense of adventure. And knowing he was going to have to do something about the woman in the other room lessened his enjoyment of the pounding wet heat.

Storing her things and dropping her at the bus station was sounding better and better. She’d be out of his hair, and they both could get on with their lives. He had beer and crawfish waiting for him in Bayou Allain, and she had…nothing, nowhere.

Nobody.

Back when he was a heartless bastard, that wouldn’t have caused a twinge. But he seemed to have found a heart. And after seeing the job Cady had been doing fending for herself, the idea of sending her on her way had his ticker clanking around in his chest.

Sometimes he wasn’t sure being hollow wasn’t an easier way to get by. It sure as hell helped when he’d been told a few years ago by the boy’s mother that he had a son—a kid who was now fourteen. If any part of him had been able to care about anything back then…

He reached for the shower’s controls and turned up the heat. The thought of having a child whose life he wasn’t part of would’ve sent him tumbling into an even blacker mood had it not been interrupted by the bathroom door opening.

He stilled in the act of scrubbing the day’s sweat from his face and waited to see if Cady had something to say, or if she’d only come for the facilities because she couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable if she had.

But she didn’t say or do anything. Best he could tell, she was standing unmoving just inside the door. And since his clothes were in a pile somewhere near her feet and his towel on the edge of the sink, he needed her to do whatever it was she’d come to do and get out.

So he nudged her. “First my truck, and now my shower. Is nothing sacred?”

“Sorry,” he heard her mutter. “The TV wasn’t working.”

What the hell?
“You came to get me to fix the TV? Did you try calling the front desk first?”

“No. I mean, the TV works fine. It just wasn’t…working. As a distraction.” She groaned beneath her breath, the sound giving off an emotion he hadn’t heard before. “I needed a distraction.”

She had dozens of channels broadcasting more distracting crap than a person could need in a lifetime. She wasn’t making any sense. And he wasn’t exactly comfortable here with the situation.

“You’re looking for a distraction? In here? Where I’m bare-as-the-day-I-was-born naked? Cady, Cady, Cady.” He clicked his tongue. “You devil.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like, boo, because you coming in here saying you need a distraction kinda leads me down that road.” He stared at the shower curtain where he could see her shadow on the other side. It was the strangest way to be having a conversation, not one he was exactly good with.

The water was beating down on his shoulders as he stood with his hands at his hips, keeping his secrets out of sight the same way Cady was on the other side of the cheap white vinyl keeping hers.

His were of a physically personal nature; he didn’t hang it out for everyone to see. But her own package of mysteries was obviously pretty damn heavy. After all, it had sent her seeking refuge in a steamy wet bathroom when she had a perfectly comfortable bed to hide out in.

King leaned into the spray, rinsed the shampoo from his hair, the soapy water from his face, neck, and chest. He was clean and ready to get out, but he was also butt naked, and she was standing between him and his towel.

Except standing wasn’t exactly the right word. Even through the curtain he could see her nervous movements, pacing, rocking, leaning over the sink and talking into her hands instead of to him.

He’d had enough. “Cady, either talk to me or get out so I can get out.”

“I can’t go back out there.”

Then talk it was. “Because?”

“I just can’t. In the city, I felt safe. The incident with Alice aside,” she added. “In the city, I was just another nameless person in the crowd. It was easy to stay out of sight, lost, bland, blending in.”

She was not bland. She was anything but. “And somehow that all changed with me taking you home?”

“That place is not my home.”

No, but it used to be. She had a lot of history there. Was standing out now what was bothering her? “You think the gossip mill is all churned up with tales of your face meeting your mother’s fist?”

“It’s not the tales and the gossip that scare me.”

Scared? That’s what she was feeling? He would’ve thought something like rejected, dejected. Embarrassed. Any one seemed more in order. “Then what scares you?”

“That after all these years, they’re finally going to catch me. And kill me when they do.”

Okay, now this was getting spooky weird, but the thing about feeling safer sharing a room? If she thought someone was after her, it made sense. Made him glad, too, he’d kept his gun close. At least until he knew more.

Like whether she had a real reason to be frightened. Or whether she was some kind of schizo whack job. “They? Who is they?”

It took her several seconds to respond. He sensed her move again, lean back against the wall beside the door. “I don’t know their names, or even who they are except for being friends of the guys who went away for Kevin’s murder.”

Real enough. So far. “And you think they’re after you?”

“They’ve been after me since the trial.”

There were a dozen things he wanted to ask, all related to wondering why she was still living here in this part of the country when she had no ties? Why, if there was a legitimate threat, had she not found out who
they
were and filed a restraining order? Why wasn’t she in witness protection?

But her fear was immediate, her need for a diversion urgent enough to bring her in here while he showered. He ended up asking, “And you think they’re here? Now?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…When I looked out the window, I saw a truck idling behind yours, then rolling forward slowly and stopping as if searching for our room. Or searching for me.”

He didn’t want to discount what she was feeling, or ignore what she thought she’d seen. But he’d been the one driving, and nothing about the traffic around them had struck him as strange or hostile.

No, he hadn’t been on the lookout for a tail or had any reason to be, but those early years behind bars had left him with a good pair of eyes in the back of his head.

As far as he knew, they were still working, and they hadn’t seen a thing. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

She bit off some not so nice words. “You’re sure I’m hallucinating? Is that it?”

Women. Twist and turn everything a man said. “No, I’m sure you saw what you saw.”

“But until you see it for yourself, then it doesn’t count.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“You didn’t have to. You don’t believe me.”

What he believed was that they weren’t going to get anywhere with this barrier between them.

He shut off the water, grabbed his wet rag and held it with one hand in the most strategic of locations, then whipped the curtain out of the way and met her gaze.

The hooks clattered the length of the rod, and Cady jumped, her eyes going wide as she took him in in all of his Garden of Eden glory.

Then a smile teased one corner of her mouth upward, and a knowing brow followed suit. “Nice fig leaf.”

He glared, moved his other hand to his hip to secure the terry cloth from both sides. “I can’t talk to you when I’m naked and you’re not.”

“Are you saying you want me to take off my clothes?”

That hadn’t been the response he was after, but now that she’d brought it up…“If you’re not up for doing that, then I’m going to put mine on. You can stay and watch, or stay and help, or you can turn your back until I’m dried off and dressed. And we can pick up this conversation then.”

She’d lost a bit of her smirk during his speech, and though she hadn’t run screaming out of the bathroom, he wouldn’t be surprised if she turned and did.

He wasn’t much to look at as it was, but dripping wet and naked save for his terry cloth fig leaf—the rag itself growing wetter with all the dripping going on—he could scare the chocolate out of an M&M candy shell.

So it left him feeling strangely naked and vulnerable when she was slow to reach for the handle, and even slower to open the door, leaving him behind with an expression he swore was tinged with regret.