All Things Pretty (8 page)

I watch her flit here and there, bending and
straightening, reaching for things and turning back. I have no idea
what she’s doing, so with a glance left and right, I step closer to
the window and peek through the sliver-like part in the
curtain.

It
is
Tommi, as I suspected. I can
see her ringing out a washcloth and then turning to her left. I see
her shoulders work and when she leans back into the scope of the
crack, I can see her mouth moving, too. She’s talking to someone,
but I don’t know who. I listen closely. I can hear the sexy timber
of her voice, but just a rumble. Not clearly enough to make out
words. And that’s the only sound I hear.

She smiles occasionally, but it’s a sad
smile. Bereft. I notice the slope of her shoulders when I see her
pick up a laundry basket. They look tired and…heavy. Like she’s
carrying the weight of the world on them. I shift in front my
peeping slit, my eyes never leaving her as she makes her way slowly
toward me. I smash my cheek against the glass to keep her in my
sight as she bends. That’s when I see the woman lying in the bed. I
can’t see much more than her profile, but her platinum hair is the
exact shade of Tommi’s and their nose and mouth could be that of
sisters. Or, considering the age of this woman, mother and
daughter.

Tommi leans down and presses a kiss to the
woman’s cheek. She lingers for a few seconds and then straightens,
lovingly stroking the woman’s face before she walks out of the
room, cutting the overhead light off as she goes.

I think back to what I know about Tommi,
about her mother who draws disability checks. I didn’t give it much
thought, but this is more disabled than what I would’ve expected.
From the looks of it, the woman needs more professional care. Yet
Tommi is providing it. All by herself. But why? Why, when I’m sure
Lance would give her as much money as she wanted or needed, would
she do this to herself?

I back up to follow her through the house.
She passes the kitchen and disappears into another room, one
without a window. She’s in there for five or six minutes–maybe
starting the laundry?–and then she comes out again, her arms
empty.

After she gets herself a yogurt and a bottle
of water from the fridge, Tommi heads for a room toward the front
of the house. I walk around, sticking to the deeper shadows of the
yard, away from the windows, until I see the blue flicker of the
television pour out into the night. The sheer curtains in the
living room are pulled shut, but they’re so thin they provide
little in the way of privacy. Of course, if she doesn’t turn on the
lights, it’s pretty hard to see in unless you’re right on top of
the place, like I am.

I watch her pull her feet underneath her,
covering her legs with a blanket as she delicately spoons yogurt
into her mouth. Even in the low light, I can see her tongue trail
across her upper lip to clean it off. My mouth waters as I think
about licking those lush lips and then tasting the flavor of the
yogurt on her cool tongue. I’m guessing that not even the most
decadent variety could compare to the taste of Just Tommi.

I stifle a groan.

After half an hour, she’s fast asleep on the
couch, obviously having meant what she said about staying in. As
much as I’d like to stay and watch her, I’m too restless. Instead,
I walk back to my house to get my truck. Maybe I’ll stop back by
Tonin’s place under the guise of just reporting to him about
Tommi’s activities over the last couple of weeks. See what he’s up
to.

What I find when I get there, while not
really valuable to my investigation, pisses me the hell off!

CHAPTER FIFEEN- TOMMI

I straighten my black sleeveless blouse and
slim, short black skirt as I give myself one last glance in the
mirror. I try to ignore the longing for relaxed fit jeans and a
comfy tee. There won’t be any of that today. Maybe not until all
this is over, considering that I now have a shadow.

I walk by Travis’s room and knock again. “If
we don’t leave now, you’ll be late. Let’s go!”

I know he’s tired. He didn’t get in until
almost 1:30 last night. I could’ve fussed, but I didn’t. I was just
glad he came home in one piece and that I didn’t get a call from
the police or the hospital. Those are always my two biggest fears
when he leaves at night. But my hands are tied, so…it’s a fear I’ve
learned to live with.

Travis finally comes out of his room, hood
flipped up, hat pulled low. He doesn’t meet my eyes again this
morning, just brushes past me and flings open the front door.

I follow him out, my eyes traveling
immediately to the spot across the street that Sig occupies. It’s
empty.

I’m surprised and disappointed. Very
disappointed. Much more than I should be, which
should be
not at all. I should be relieved to have a few minutes to myself.
Only I’m not. I like seeing him each morning. And throughout the
day. For the first time in years, I’ve felt a little less lonely.
Despite my brother and my mother and Lance with all his goons, I
never feel quite like I’m not alone. Maybe it’s because the game I
play is a solitary one, whether anyone else knows it or not.

After I drop Travis off, I pull back out
into the street. That’s when I see him. Sig, slumped down behind
the wheel of his big, intimidating truck. I have to resist the urge
to smile when I see him nod. I don’t know if he can see me looking
at him in my mirror or if he can
feel
it, like I often feel
him. Either way, he knows I’m looking.

Even from this distance, I can see the
sparkle in his eyes. It’s like he has the inside track on a private
joke. He’s the first of Lance’s men who has had a shred of
personality, much less this much of one. Most people in his line of
work are very hard and unpleasant. Sig is anything
but
hard
and unpleasant.

I study the big hand draped over the
steering wheel. I recall the long fingers and wide palm from when
he helped me on the side of the highway, the way he handled those
tires. I bet those hands could wreck a man’s face if he used them
in such a way. But I also bet they could be incredibly gentle, too.
On a woman’s body, for instance. I remember all too well the way
they felt at my waist when he lifted me into his truck. And then
the way they slid slowly from around me, like he didn’t want to let
me go.

Of course, it won’t do me any good to think
of things like that. He was forbidden before. He’s flat out
dangerous now. He could ruin everything. Get people hurt, himself
included. And that’s a risk I can’t take, no matter how tempting he
is.

I refuse to look behind me again until I
pull into the parking garage and find that Sig is no longer back
there. I get out and walk to the side entrance that leads to the
lobby. Just as I’m reaching for the door, warm fingers–the very
same warm fingers that I was thinking about only minutes
before–cover mine and I feel Sig’s big presence behind me. I stop,
turning to look over my shoulder, his palm still pressed to the
back of my hand.

His eyes are dark and intense, belying the
half grin that tugs at his lips. The look sums up this man
perfectly. He’s playful and flirtatious, but at the same time
something about him threatens to consume me. He leaves me feeling
breathless and off kilter when he’s close like this.

“Good morning,” he offers in his deep,
smooth voice.

I don’t respond; I just attempt a smile.
Both of us remain perfectly still.

“I trust you slept well.”

“I did, thank you.”

He watches me. I watch him right back.
Knowing I should move. Yet I don’t. I like being close to him,
breathing in his clean, manly scent, seeing the way the gold flecks
in his eyes seem to spray out from his dynamic pupils like lava
spewing forth from an active volcano.

“Thank you again for the chocolate pie last
night. I went to sleep with that sweet taste on my tongue.”

Oh god! Why does that sound so dirty?

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“It was delicious. Makes my mouth water just
thinking about it.”

I catch and hold my breath.
This
is
why I should be glad he’s not near me more often, or that I’m not
with him more each day. It’s been two minutes and already I feel
like I might spontaneously combust.

I exhale slowly. His eyes shift to my lips.
I watch him lick his own, like he’s wishing he tasted
me
there. I’m wishing the same thing.

He leans in closer, the scruff on his cheek
scraping sensually across my own as he puts his mouth near my ear.
“Breathe, Tommi. Don’t forget to breathe.”

Somehow, I’ve turned. I’m now plastered
against the building beside the door, my fingers still gripping the
handle, his palm still covering my knuckles. The concrete is cool
at my back, a stark contrast to the heat I feel emanating from Sig.
His body isn’t touching me, but it might as well be. I can
practically feel every hard contour, like my skin is reaching out
for it.

Then, just before the incredible tension
lulls me into doing something stupid, he retreats. Gently rolling
our hands until his is on the bottom, he grips the handle and pulls
open the door. He holds it for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I
smooth my hair and blouse, and walk demurely into the building. I
know without looking that his eyes never leave me.

We ride the elevator in silence. I wonder if
Sig is aware of the crackle of electricity between us. It’s like a
living thing, snapping and sizzling. When the doors swoosh open
onto the penthouse lobby, I’m hesitant to meet the eyes of Dane and
Gerard. I wonder that I don’t look different, so much so that they
somehow know what was happening in there, what I was feeling.

I take a deep breath and make my way to the
living room. I stop at the edge when my gaze falls to the couple on
the couch.

Lance is sprawled on his back and a girl is
on her knees between his legs, her hand down his lounge pants. I
clear my throat loudly and he cranes his neck to look back at me.
His lips curve into a lascivious smile that tells me so much.

I wondered why he didn’t mention any plans
for the day. Now I know. I also wonder if the girl just got here or
if she’s been here since last night.

“There she is,” he says of me, tugging on
the dark fall of hair that’s spread across his stomach. A very
attractive young girl, probably not much more than eighteen or
nineteen, smiles up at me.

She starts to unbutton her top.
“Finally!”

Lance barks a general, “Leave us!” to
everyone in the room. I know that applies to everyone but me.

I don’t glance behind me, but I can almost
feel the burn of Sig’s eyes between my shoulder blades. My cheeks
sting with humiliation. Most of Lance’s men are used to his…ways,
but Sig isn’t. This is the first time he’s walked me upstairs. He
has no idea what kind of man Lance really is. Or what kind of
person I am because of him.

A stab of regret, a pinch of loss–loss of
what could’ve been between Sig and me if things were
different–slices through me. I’ll never have a guy like him. Even
though he works for Lance, something tells me that he’s a good man.
Better than most of the others. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s that
he helped me when I was stranded, when he had no idea who I was.
Maybe it’s that he was so genuine and kind and polite when he was
getting nothing in return. Whatever the reason, my gut tells me
that he’s more. Just…
more.
And that I could never deserve
him. This is proof. Proof of what I am, what I’ve become. What I’ve
had to do.

I swallow an uncharacteristic lump of
emotion as I straighten my shoulders and move into the living room.
I stopped being squeamish about stuff like this years ago. There’s
only one explanation as to why it would bother me now. And
that
is just one more reason why I have to keep Sig as far
away from my heart as possible. He’s no good for me, for my plan.
He’ll only get me hurt. Get both of us hurt. And I’ve come too far
to let that happen now.

CHAPTER SIXEEN- SIG

I’m torn. My cock doesn’t know whether to
fill up with blood or shrivel into a damn vagina.

The thought of Tommi being undressed by
another woman is a huge turn-on. The idea of delicate, painted
fingernails scraping over her nipples, the image of ruby-red lips
kissing her bellybutton is so hot I could drive a nail into a
wooden board with my dick.
Holy Jesus!

But.

The thought of Tonin putting his hands on
her, his mouth on her makes me furious. Like, put my fist through a
man’s face furious. He doesn’t deserve her. I know she’s with him
willingly, but I can’t believe that she’d be here if she had any
other viable option.

I go back down to the lobby and text Finch,
the other undercover. He’s going by the name Hop for the time being
and I’m posing as his cousin, so we can get away with a certain
amount of casual communication without it seeming suspicious. After
leaving Tommi upstairs with
that,
I can’t just sit on my
hands and wait for things to fall into place any longer. I
have
to do
something.

Me: Tonin is tied up with a couple of
chicks. Anything I can do to help you?

He doesn’t respond right away. Probably
asking his boss, one of Tonin’s higher-ups.

Hop: Not right now, man. Just cleaning out
the warehouse.

Warehouse?

Wonder what he plans to do with a warehouse?
In looking back over what information Finch has been able to turn
in, which has yet to amount to much of anything because he’s still
unproven in Lance’s operation, I don’t remember any mention of a
warehouse. Unless it’s a recent purchase. And if it is, what the
hell does Lance Tonin need a warehouse for? It’s not like drug
dealers keep stock or anything. But they
do
need a landing
place for shipments when they come in. That or maybe he’s branching
out into some other illegal kind of shit. Hell, I’d take anything I
could use to bring his ass down. Anything at all.