Jar of Hearts: (Family Stone, # 5 Keisha and Shane) (Family Stone Romantic Suspense) (8 page)

The windows were fogged and the interior of the car was scented with them. The sweet musk of Shane, Keisha, and explosive sex.

She inhaled deeply and held the scent inside her trying to commit this moment to her memory banks. Little tremors still rocked her, his semi-hard cock inside her, his rough hairy thighs between her softer ones, his balls snugged tight against her swollen sex, the restriction of her pants around her ankles, and the contraction of his stomach muscles against hers as he basically held an extended pushup.

His bunched biceps were as thick as her thighs, and his chest was wider than her door frame. The brother was built. She was no giant, but his bulk made her feel almost delicate, feminine.

Shane groaned again. And although she’d like to think it was her sexy personality. She was pretty sure he needed to move from his contorted position. “You need to move?”

“Hell, no. Let’s stay like this all night.” He nuzzled her again. “If I could keep you locked up back here, naked and sweet and open, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

The words should have pushed her buttons, gotten her back up. But his rough admission just made her want to start on round two. “Why don’t we continue this conversation inside?” Her voice had softened as she thought about how uncomfortable he must be right now.

Her butt was stuck to the leather seat and her back was about to start cramping.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Shane smiled and Keisha’s heart tumbled. “God I love that sweetness. I love that you just turned it on me.”

It was too late to try to bring back the attitude. She’d have it back in place tomorrow but right now, his sweet was working for her too.

With a silent, unexpected thud, she fell. She knew better and still she wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that softness, that gentleness in his words, and wish that he’d be there for her forever, that she could count on him not to let her down.

Eight

The next morning, Keisha strode to Shane’s Charger, putting a little extra swing in her hips since she knew he was behind her. Her high heels clicked against the asphalt in a confident rhythm. Last night had been amazing. Again.

He groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.”

She let her lips curl and a lightness filled her. She felt good. Happy. She tossed a saucy look over her shoulder and felt like laughing. Her. Laughing.

“If the shoe fits….”

“Those shoes should be illegal.” Shane had sidled up behind her, his body molded behind hers, one thick forearm wrapped around her waist, his chest warm against her back and her butt snugged up against his groin. “Later, I want to see you in just that pale yellow lace bra and panty set and those pumps. Then I’m going to fuck you against the wall.”

Her whole body softened and her sex went wet at his words. That was the reason they were late this morning.

They’d gotten distracted when he’d come out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets sprinkled on his skin. And she’d been half dressed in her pastel yellow lace demi bra that pushed her breasts up and together accenting her cleavage, a matching thong, and her snakeskin pumps with a pale yellow heel that matched her lingerie. She knew they made her legs look good.

They’d taken one look at each other and within seconds, he’d had her flat on the bed, and was buried inside her while her heels dug into his butt and he powered in and out of her.

Keisha’s knees went weak at the memory. “Sounds good,” she said breathlessly.

They slid into the car. Shane looked pretty good himself. He’d replenished his Go Bag sometime yesterday, and was wearing khakis, a white button down that emphasized the burnished ebony of his skin, and penny loafers.

“Pop the glove box and put this inside for me, would you babe?” He handed her his weapon and then started the car.

She opened the glove box and that’s when she saw it. When the sexual glow from last night, and this morning, evaporated in a searing moment of pain. The diamond earring sparkled in the warm light from inside the glove box. The woman’s jewelry was a glaring visual reminder that Shane Washington was a player.

She pressed her lips together and her mouth turned down.

“What’s wrong?” Shane had instantly intuited her change in mood. He clasped her chin gently and turned her head so that she was forced to look at him.

“Nothing.” Her body was stiff as she continued to process the implications of that earring. “We’re already late. We should get going.”

“Babe. I know you. It’s not nothing.”

Keisha blinked slowly, tried to hide her emotions from him. He didn’t know her. He knew the her that gave in to his charm and her own traitorous body. Not the her that protected her heart at all costs. “Maybe I’m just prepping for this takedown.” It was going to be a delicate situation.

“That’s not it either.”

“Fine. I was just reminded that you’re a player.”

“Why are you bringing that up again? Because our sex is off that charts?” he asked with frustration. “It’s off the charts because of us, together. We combust.”

“I’m sure you…combust with plenty of women.”

“Jesus, Keish. I’m with you right now.” But then as if he realized that she’d backed off when she opened the glove box, Shane peered inside. “What did you see?”

Keisha shrugged.

But Shane wouldn’t let it go. She should have known he’d be a bull dog when it came to getting to the bottom of her attempted dismissal.

He didn’t even seem to see the incriminating evidence. “Come on, Keish. At least give me the courtesy of an answer, and a chance to defend myself against whatever perceived problem you’ve got with me now.”

“Why do you care?” she snapped.

“Hell if I know. But I do,” Shane snapped right back. “Tell. Me.”

Finally she recognized the determination in his narrowed gaze, relented, and just told him what was bothering her. “The earring.”

“What about it?”

“You can’t be that obtuse,” she said.

“It belongs to a client,” Shane said with exasperation. “She’s one of the clients who gets extra service. I do a lot of business with her company. I dropped her
and her husband
off at home after they got back from a business trip to San Francisco. Then I found it in the backseat when I was cleaning my car.”

Keisha stayed quiet. She’d jumped to conclusions. But maybe that was just her brain trying to spare her future heartache. Because she was pretty sure that she was in too deep to totally avoid pain.

“Hey,” Shane said gruffly. “Next time. Ask me. Don’t just assume.”

Next time. As if there would be a next time. Keisha crossed her arms over her chest, she knew the posture was defensive but she was feeling the need to protect herself any way she could.

“There will be a next time,” Shane insisted. “Okay?”

“We’d better get on the road.”

He sighed and put the car in gear.

And she knew this discussion wasn’t over.

***

They entered the offices of Food for Life only a few minutes late.

The offices were built in a small corner of the warehouse. The walls had been painted a cheery pale teal, and gray linoleum covered the cold industrial cement floor. In the middle of the room, two standard office desks with fake wood veneer circa 1970 faced each other, and the wall was lined with old metal filing cabinets. A bulletin board, pinned with flyers printed on neon paper advertising the various fundraisers and donation days, was on the wall right inside the door.

On the same wall as the door were two large windows with a view of the parking lot and the semi-trucks ready to be loaded with shrink-wrapped pallets of boxed food. Shane put a proprietary hand in the small of Keisha’s back, determined to let everyone know she was his. Silly, but the move was the civilized man’s equivalent of the caveman marking his territory.

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Washington.” Monica Peterson was dressed to work in the warehouse but the rest of the room’s occupants were in business suits. And while Shane could care less about fitting in and the ‘uniform’ of the casually wealthy, he knew that this group would take him more seriously if he looked like one of them.

Keisha had obviously thought the same. Dressed in her black suit, short black skirt, tight pale yellow cami, a crop black jacket and those killer pumps she projected class and confidence. He loved her in her black cargo pants and tight Under Armour, but those pumps seriously kicked up his heart rate. He vowed he was going to have those shoes digging into his butt another time.

Shelley was there looking fairly nervous. Shane tried to give her a reassuring smile but he wasn’t positive it worked when she blanched and ran a hand down her tan skirt.

Bob Michaels, the Chairman, kept clicking his pen. He’d been informed that they’d identified the culprit but they didn’t tell him who it was. They needed the edge of surprise so they could get Wallaston to confess.

Jack Stone had come as backup but his main priority was to protect Shelley.

“Why don’t we all get more comfortable,” Bob Michaels suggested. They’d prepped him ahead of time so that he’d know they wanted everyone corralled into one room. “Let’s head into the conference room.”

One by one they shuffled into the long rectangular room. Unlike the outer office, the floor in the conference room was carpeted, likely to muffle the sound. Jack had already set up electronic measures to capture the confession on audio and had a highly sensitive microphone taped to his chest. Precautionary tactics in case this got ugly.

Shane couldn’t imagine that anyone in this room was all that dangerous but with Keisha next to him, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

Keisha and Shane sat, and turned down offers of coffee, soda, or water.

“Now, Mr. Washington, you mentioned some concerns on the phone,” Mrs. Peterson led the discussion.

“Yes.” Shane confirmed. “First off, I wanted to say thank you for being so accommodating as to meet with us today. My travel schedule is unpredictable, and Keisha and I like to make decisions together.” He shot an adoring glance at her.

Instead of her trademark sass, she only narrowed her eyes and smiled before turning to the other members in the room. “We were very impressed with your operation, the scope of the clients that you serve, even the efficiency of your volunteers,” Keisha said precisely and sweetly. But Shane knew that soft voice was the precursor to words so sharp they could cut.

However her words were all true. After their time working here yesterday, Shane was planning on making that donation to the food bank.

“And what did you think?” Don Wallaston directed his comment to Shane, completely dismissing Keisha.

Shelley paled and Shane knew this was where they needed to be very careful.

“We were disturbed to find that some of the produce was tainted with illegal pesticides,” Keisha interrupted before Shane could speak, her fists on her hips and her glare accusing as she confronted Wallaston.

Shane stared directly at Wallaston watching for his reaction, while he snapped pictures with the small camera embedded in a button on his shirt. Jack had leaned forward in his chair waiting for Wallaston to answer.

There was a flash of surprise in his eyes but when Wallaston replied his face was flat and showed no emotion. “That is preposterous,” Wallaston said, projecting an attitude of mild confusion. “We wouldn’t allow that.”

Bob Miller interjected, “Unfortunately, we tested some produce that was delivered under cover of the night, and it definitely does not adhere to current FDA regulations.”

Shelley’s hands were clasped in front of her on the table. She looked as if she’d aged twenty years in the last day. “The broccoli is from Happy Tummy Farms.”

“What do you have to do with this Shelley?” Monica Peterson frowned, or tried to, her brows and forehead barely moved.

“I am co-partner of the farm,” Shelley confessed. “And the produce was tainted.”

“So you knew about using Aldicarb!” Wallaston accused.

And Shane knew they had him. Because no one had mentioned the specific type of pesticide that had been used on the produce. And Aldicarb was actually approved for use on certain vegetables just not broccoli.

Jack hadn’t moved but even Shane could see the tension vibrating off him.

“Well now, Mr. Wallaston.” Keisha smiled, and Shane was sincerely happy that shark grin wasn’t aimed at him. “No one mentioned what kind of pesticide you purposely used on that produce.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I had no idea you authorized this.” Shelley jumped up. “This was supposed to be a good thing. And you ruined it.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes and Shelley angrily wiped away her frustration.

“Face it, Wallaston. Shelley wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Keisha said gleefully. “You’re going down.”

“You can’t prove I had anything to do with this,” Wallaston snarled. “I’m just the capital guy. I’m not involved in the day to day of the running of the operation. And—”

“Shelley wouldn’t have access to Aldicarb,” Shane interrupted.

Wallaston calmed, leaned back in his chair, and smiled. It was that same smile he’d given Keisha the other night when he’d noticed her hickey. Smarmy and slick, like he had a secret. “You aren’t going to make this public.”

Shane raised his brows but stayed silent.

“Why not?” Keisha was sitting right next to Wallaston, her hands loose and open by her sides, but her anger was like a snake coiled around her body.

Suddenly the vibe in the room turned ugly.

“The negative publicity would be deadly.” Wallaston smirked some more. “Food for Life can’t afford to make it known that they almost distributed tainted produce.”

And fuck him, but he was correct. The resulting publicity would damage their credibility and they’d lose donations. In the end the recipients of the food they collected would be the losers. But damn, Shane wanted to nail this guy. As Shane watched Keisha he knew she felt the same.

“Luckily we didn’t distribute any of your produce,” Bob Michaels said. “You could have caused thousands to be ill.”

Shelley had jumped up to pace the carpet. “You destroyed the soil.”