All Things Pretty (12 page)

“Oh
god!”
I whisper, my muscles
tightening as I spiral up and up and up.

Sig pumps his finger in and out of me, rough
and fast then slow and deep, pausing every few seconds for his
thumb to massage my clit. “Feel
me.
Just
me.”

It’s too much–his mouth, his hands, his
heat. When he thrusts another finger into me, I shiver once before
the spasms of an orgasm start, the only orgasm I’ve ever
experienced at the hands of someone else. Oh, I’ve gotten off
before, a few times even in front of someone else. And I’ve faked
them, too. Hundreds of times, probably. But never has someone else
brought me here. And never,
never
has it felt like this.

My whole body burns and tingles, but in the
most delicious way. I feel like I’m floating, high above the floor
on which my feet are planted. I’m conscious only of feeling more
satisfied than I’ve ever felt and of Sig’s sweet kisses as they
draw ever closer to my mouth.

His fingers are still inside me, moving
slowly, languorously, urging the waves to keep pouring over me. But
for the pursing of my lips to stifle the noises that are poised at
the back of my throat, I’m paralyzed, at his mercy. And happily
so.

Until I remember where I am. And who waits
just outside this small room.

When I can breathe again, I cup Sig’s face
and bring his eyes level with mine. They’re as dark as I’ve ever
seen them. Raw. Passionate. Possessive.

“You can’t be here. With me,” I huff.
“Lance’ll kill you if he finds out.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

“Sig, you don’t know him. You can’t take
risks like this.”

“I know the risk. And I can handle it.
Besides, you’re worth it.”

“But what if he hurts you?”

Sig shrugs.

“So I’m worth it? Even if it hurts?”

“
Especially
if it hurts.”

I can see by his expression that my words do
nothing to deter him. It’s written all over his face that he wants
to rescue me. Which is why I have to rescue
him
. “Please,
Sig. You have to go.”

His eyebrows draw into a frown. “I’m not
worried about Lance and I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about
you
.”

“Don’t be. I can take care of myself.”

“It sure doesn’t look like it to me. What
the hell are you doing with him?”

There’s angry judgment in his eyes. He just
doesn’t understand. No one does.

I shut down. I can feel it. Withdraw into
the only safety I know–solitude. “I have my reasons.” I look down
at the floor, avoiding his eyes.

“And they are?”

“None of your business.”

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, smoothing
my hair away from neck and laying his palm against my pulse.

“Do what?”

“Shut me out. I want to help you.”

“You can’t.”

“Maybe I can. And there’s only one way to
find out.”

At that, I glance back up into his face,
into his warm cocoa eyes. “Trust you, right?”

“Yes. Why is that so hard?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“I might if you’d let me in.”

“I’m sorry, Sig. I just…I just…I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

“Is there a difference?”

“There’s a big difference.”

“Then take your pick. Neither one changes
the facts.” I take a deep breath and press my hand to the center of
his chest, gently pushing back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need
to get back. Before I get you hurt.”

“
You
won’t get me hurt. You didn’t
ask me to come here. You didn’t make me seek you out.”

I pause, the warmth of his body heating the
skin of my hand, all the way through to my bones, it seems. “Why
did you? Seek me out, I mean.”

“It’s my job, isn’t it?” His words feel like
a slap to the face, after what just happened between us. My
solitary shell, the dark, safe place in which I hide, holds even
more appeal now. Until he speaks again. “That’s what I should say,
but it would be a lie.”

“A-and what would be the truth?”

“That I can’t stop thinking about you. That
I can’t stand the thought of him touching you, of him making you do
things for him, for his pleasure. The only hands that should ever
be against your body are these,” he says, holding up his hands.
“
Mine.”

I don’t know what to say to that. Part of me
thrills at what he’s implying–that he cares about me. But a bigger
part of me shies away, distrustful as always.

“Try not to think about it. That’s what I
do.”

His brow furrows again and I know I’ve said
too much. I can’t admit to things like that. “Then why do it?” I
say nothing, simply hold his puzzled stare. “None of my business,
right?”

I see his frustration mount, and he steps
back and runs his hands through his messy, dark blond hair. The
action draws my eye and my palms tingle with the remembered feel of
the silky strands tickling them as his fingers invaded my body.

“I won’t give up,” he states flatly,
determined.

“I wish you would.”

“Do you? Do you really? Don’t you want
someone to help you? To save you? To rescue you?”

“Some people can’t be saved.”

“But you’re not one of those people. I
refuse to believe that.”

“I-I have to go,” I tell him again, moving
slowly past him, my arms crossed over my chest. Somehow, although
the temperature hasn’t changed, I feel frozen in my nudity.
Vulnerable. Miserable.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I don’t turn to look at him; I only nod as I
carefully open the door and slip out into the empty hall.

Stopping just outside the doorway, almost
exactly where Sig was standing, I straighten my spine, square my
shoulders. I quickly remind myself of the reasons, of the whys and
the musts, then I plaster a demure smile on my face and I go back
in to face the music. At least for a little while longer.

CHAPTER TWENTY- SIG

I haven’t spoken to anyone since last night
when I stormed back through the club and told Barber I was leaving.
I gave him no explanation, didn’t feel like I owed him one. And to
hell with him if he didn’t like it. He won’t have to tell me how
and when to do my job. I’ll keep my eyes on Tommi until I can take
down Tonin and set her free. She has been drawn inexplicably into
my mission, even if the department has no idea the degree to which
she is involved in my plan. Serve and protect–that’s what we do.
That’s what
I
do. And Tommi needs protecting, whether she’ll
admit it or not.

After scarfing down a leftover cheeseburger
and two pieces of pizza from my practically empty fridge, I brew a
pot of coffee, dump as much of it as I can fit into a travel mug
and I hit the door. When I arrive at Tommi’s, there are no signs
that they’re awake. Or even at home. But her car is still at
Tonin’s. Unless she got it last night and has already left.
Assuming that’s not the case, though, I suppose that she’s in
there, and that she needs me.

A ride, I mean,
I clarify to
myself.

At eight o’clock, the front door opens and
Travis appears. He’s wearing his usual hoodie, pulled up over the
low bill of his hat, and he’s walking with the enthusiasm of any
other kid who has been ousted from his warm bed to go to school
when he’d much rather be sleeping.

A few seconds after he steps onto the tiny
front porch, Tommi follows, pausing to reach back and pull the door
shut behind her, testing the knob to make sure it’s locked. She
looks fresh and beautiful, not like she had a night like she did,
and she’s dressed impeccably. Of course. She doesn’t look up as she
makes her way down the driveway to where I’m parked at the curb, so
I take in her clothes, her body, the way she moves.

She’s wearing light brown pants that hang
like some sort of expensive material, the shift of her supple
thighs barely visible beneath it. A dark orangey-pink blouse with a
plunging neckline is tucked in at the waist, accentuating her
curves in a demure, hot-teacher kind of way. I think again of her
cut off shorts and tank top, my favorite. I miss them. More than I
probably should and for reasons I dare not think about.

“Where are you going after we drop Travis
off at school? A political fundraiser?”

She says nothing, still not meeting my eyes
as she holds the door for Travis and then climbs up into the
passenger seat in silence. Her brother has no such problem
answering, though.

“
Laaance
likes her to dress that
way,” he sneers.

“Travis!” she says, a little snappy before
she softens her voice and asks, “Did you get your lunch from the
kitchen?”

I hear his frustrated sigh as Travis pats
his backpack, green zippers clacking.

“I wouldn’t have to aggravate you about it
if you’d just leave your bag in the kitchen at night. I’d put your
lunch in there in the morning and not have to ask you every day if
you got it,” she explains a tad defensively.

Travis says nothing.

“I’m making chicken pot pie tonight. Don’t
make plans,” she requests, less of an edge to her tone now. To this
he grunts. “Did you hear me?”

Travis nods, continuing to stare morosely
out the window. I guess his part in the conversation is officially
over.

I wait for a minute before I speak. “I just
meant to say that you look beautiful. Stuffy, but beautiful,” I
confess quietly, glancing over at Tommi.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, not taking her
eyes off the windshield.

It’s my turn to sigh. Doesn’t seem like
they’re much for talking this morning, so I crank up the music for
the rest of the ride to school, singing along with the songs that I
know. Loud as hell, too. A couple of times, I check my rearview and
find Travis trying not to grin. Now if I could just get Tommi to
come around.

When we drop off Travis, I can’t help
noticing the way Tommi stares after him, her heart in her eyes.
What’s eating at her? What isn’t she telling me?

A lot, I imagine. I think this woman must be
an enigma wrapped up in a bundle of secrets, secrets maybe nobody
knows. But I aim to find out. Luckily, I’m good at working puzzles,
at figuring them out. I just need a few more pieces. I’ll have to
finesse them out, these important facts, but I’ll do it. I can be
pretty damn persuasive when I set my mind to it.

She doesn’t say a single word on the way to
Tonin’s place. I think we’re both aware of the big elephant sitting
in the back seat, though.

I can recall with disturbing clarity the way
she looked last night, the way she felt in my arms, under my hands,
against my body. Her smell, her taste…
Damn!
I want more. A
lot more. I think she does, too, but there’s a whole lotta shit
holding her back. By rights, there should be a lot holding me back,
too, but I figure it can only help strengthen her trust in me and
go toward accomplishing the overall goal of taking Tonin down,
which should make her life a whole lot better.

The more I think about it, the more I’m
convinced that Tonin’s got something on her. Or maybe he’s giving
her something that she desperately needs. I can’t imagine what, but
he has some kind of hold on her. I mean to break it, though. If
she’ll just trust me.

When I pull into the spot right beside her
car in the garage, I reach out to take her hand before she can
hurry out of the truck. “Spend the day with me today. Not because
I’ll be following you, but because you want to.”

Her eyes are full of all kinds of
things–fear, sadness, regret. “I-I can’t.”

“You can. If you want to.”

“I have a spa appointment.”

She didn’t say she didn’t want to, just that
she has other plans. “Skip it.”

“If Lance found out…”

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know him. You don’t know the kind
of reach he has. You’re playing with fire.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

We’re quiet for a few seconds as I stroke
the back of her hand with my thumb. “I wish you wouldn’t worry
about me.”

She looks down at our hands. “I wish I
didn’t care,” she confesses so softly I almost don’t hear her. She
pulls her hand from my grasp. “We’d better get upstairs. My
appointment is at ten.”

After last night, there’s no question that I
go up with her. All the way up. And when we ride the elevator back
down almost two hours later, there’s no question that she’ll come
with me, in my truck.

Not a single word is said until Tommi is
climbing out of my vehicle and onto the street in front of the spa.
She gives me her polite smile, the “Lance” one, as I’ve come to
think of it. Fake as hell.

“Pick me up at two?”

“I’ll be here,” I say with a nod.

Four hours at a spa? What kind of shit is
she having done?

I already know the answer most likely. She’s
carrying one of the oversized bags she brings when she’s got her
little computer. That means the spa has a back door and that
there’s a Wi-Fi spot nearby. I’d bet money on it.

I check the area for places that might offer
Wi-Fi and dark privacy. I spot at least two on the same side of the
street. I devote the next few minutes to thinking like a woman who
feels trapped by a dangerous criminal, a woman who is doing
something that she doesn’t want to get caught doing. How would she
go about this?

If I were her, I’d schedule a legit
appointment and get some spa-ing done. Then, maybe
afterward
I’d sneak out the back and into one of the other places to do my
covert shit. That would be the wisest thing, I think. That way if
Lance called the spa, they’d say that she had a ten o’clock
appointment and that she was not to be disturbed or whatever. An
extra hour at the end could be chalked up to anything, I would
imagine. She fell asleep in the sauna, she got caught up talking to
some of the girls or another client. Hell, maybe he wouldn’t even
ask. Women dawdle. He has to know that. And she can lie very
convincingly, especially to a guy with an ego like Tonin’s.