“Cashmere,” I explained then jerked it at him again. “Please take it.”
“Hanna
—
”
“Take it.”
“Honey
—
”
“Please,” I whispered, my voice suddenly husky, “take it.”
He studied me closely as he took it then abruptly his head jerked down
,
and, as if he didn’t know his mouth was saying the words, he stated, “Fuck me, it
feels like heaven.”
“Cashmere,” I repeated and his eyes came back to mine. “I had a nice night,” I continued,
moving directly to the door, opening it then standing wide so he had plenty of room
to get through. “Thank you.”
He looked at my feet then out the open door then at me.
He hesitated what seemed like days before he walked to me and stopped close
. T
oo close. I had to tip my head way back (even in four inch heels!) and he had to dip
his chin way down.
“Outside the headache, you okay?” he asked low.
“Outside the headache, peachy,” I lied and quickly concluded. “Thanks again for a
nice night.”
Raiden didn’t move.
My heart kept breaking.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he told me.
Right.
“Okay,” I replied
,
though
I didn’t know how he’d do that since he didn’t have my number
. He also
wou
ldn’t be able to do that because I was no way, no how picking up
any call from an unknown number. A
nd last, he simply wasn’t going to do that because he was totally lying.
“We’ll go to a movie,” he stated.
“Great. I like movies.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
He moved into me.
I moved back.
He stopped, his brows snapping together. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I should never drink red wine,” I shared.
Another lie. I loved red wine and it loved me, though in abundance it could make me
maudlin
,
but I was three whole glasses away from maudlin.
Something else was making me maudlin.
“It always does a number on me,” I kept lying when Raiden didn’t move or speak. “But
I just can’t seem to eat a steak without it.”
“Next time, beer,” he said.
Like there’d be a next time.
Raiden still didn’t move.
I didn’t either.
This lasted some time.
God! He wanted to “end this”? Why didn’t he end it?
“I should probably get some ibuprofen,” I told him on a prompt for him to leave.
“Doesn’t feel good, leavin’ you alone and feelin’ like shit,” he replied
,
and seriously,
seriously,
what
was
it with him?
He could just go.
Why didn’t he just go?
“I’ll be fine.” More lying.
“All right, baby,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes.
Baby.
“Hanna?”
I opened them. “Goodnight.”
He held my eyes and his were searching. Then he lifted a hand and tucked my hair behind
my ear.
I felt his sweet touch in my scalp, down my spine and the tingles it caused exploded
along the small of my back.
And there he was, Raiden Ulysses Miller, in my foyer, tucking my hair behind my ear,
faking concern about my fake headache and faking that he was into me.
He wanted to fake it?
Fine.
He could fake it.
I’d give him a doozy of a chance to fake it.
And at the same time, I was going to take my shot, my last chance, the only one I’d
ever have.
And I was going to go for the gusto.
I lifted my hand, wrapped my fingers around his bicep, leaned in and went up on my
toes.
I pressed my lips to his.
They felt
great.
So great, I couldn’t take more. That was all I was could do. That took all the courage
I had left. I didn’t want to know how good it could be and never have it again, even
if it was fake.
So that was it.
But Raiden…
He was good at faking.
The master.
I knew this when his arm instantly sliced along my lower back. He hauled me into his
hard body
and
his mouth opened over mine
. M
ine automatically opened under his and his tongue slid inside.
His tongue felt better, tasted divine
,
and I pressed into him, tangling mine with his.
My last chance.
He was giving it to me.
Suddenly, I didn’t care if it was fake.
Suddenly, I didn’t care if I’d never have it again.
I had it now.
I was going for it.
I tilted my head and offered him everything.
He slanted his
.
I heard the soft “
flunf
” of the afghan falling to the floor and his free hand drove into my hair, fisting.
I felt pain that should have felt bad but felt oh-so-good spike across my scalp and
I pressed deeper into him, giving more.
He took it.
My hands slid up his arms, his shoulders and finally, finally, I had his hair sliding
through my fingers.
It
was
thick.
It
was
silky.
It was
perfect
.
He shuffled me back
.
I hit the door, the door hit the wall and he pressed in.
I pressed up, held on and kept giving.
Raiden kept taking.
It was the best kiss of my life.
It could have been the best kiss in history.
It took superhuman effort to remember it wasn’t real
. To
tear my mouth from his, wrench myself out of his arms and step out of reach.
Lost momentarily, I lifted my hand to touch my mouth, my breathing heavy
. T
hen I lifted my eyes to see his head turned toward me, his eyes on me burning in a
way that made
me
burn,
everywhere
.
Really, a
great
actor.
Tactical error, taking my last chance.
Now I had to get this done.
I rounded him, crouched where he dropped the afghan, picked it up and moved to stand
at the other side of the door, holding it out to him.
“Drive safe home,” I said and he stared at me.
“Come again?” he whispered and there was something sinister in that whisper that scared
the heck out of me.
But I ignored my fear, jiggled the afghan at him and repeated, “Drive safe home.”
He approached me and I felt my body stiffen from head-to-toe.
Raiden didn’t miss it. I knew it when his frame jerked to a wooden halt and his eyes
bored into mine.
“Talk to me,” he ordered, his voice now low and rumbling
,
but also strangely rough and
commanding.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow when you call. Now I really need to get some medication
and lie down.”
He lifted a hand and curled it around the side of my neck, dipping his face close
to mine.
“Now isn’t the time to start playing games, Hanna,” he warned quietly.
Was he serious?
He
was saying that
to me?
I looked him straight in the eye and declared, “No games, Raiden. It’s just a headache.”
More like heartache. “With me, you get what you see, that’s it. No mystery. No nothing.
Just me.”
“You aren’t you,” he told me.
“You don’t know me,” I returned.
Raiden went silent
,
but he didn’t move away.
Then he murmured, “Fair enough.”
Thank God.
He slid his hand to the back of my neck, pulling me close as his head lifted up and
he spoke, “You kiss like that when you got a headache, honey,” he touched his lips
to my forehead and they moved there as he finished, “lookin’ forward to havin’ your
mouth when you don’t.”
Liar.
Liar.
Liar.
I decided not to respond.
I also decided not to allow myself to think about how wonderful it felt to have Raiden
Miller kiss my forehead.
His hand slid to my jaw and his chin tipped so he could catch my eyes.
“‘Night, Hanna,” he said softly.
“Good-bye, Raiden,” I replied.
His eyes flashed at my words
,
but his face moved in. He touched his lips to mine, moved back, took the afghan from
me and sauntered out the door.
Keeping up appearances, I stood in it
,
and when he swung in his Jeep I waved.
Raiden did not wave back.
Then I closed the door and locked it. I switched the outside lights off and turned
off the lights that I’d left on in the foyer. That done, I dashed up the stairs as
best I could because I was also tugging at the buckles and straps of my sandals to
get them off while I went.
I hit the bedroom, tossed my shoes on the bed and turned on the lamp on my nightstand.
Only then did I hear the Jeep pull away.
He waited until I’d made it upstairs and he knew I was settling, getting ready for
bed before he drove away.
That was sweet.
God, I wished he was real.
I dashed back down the stairs
and
grabbed the phone in the hall
. I
ran through the dining room into the kitchen, snapped on the light and found the
phonebook.
I flipped through it and found the number for the Sherriff’s Police.
Then I called it.
Chapter Seven
Reward
Raid
Raid walked down the sidewalk to the shiny, black SUV parked on the side of the road
in town. He pulled open the door and angled in.
Blue and red lights flashed into the cab as they did the same outside, illuminating
the street.
“You hear the police band?” Tucker Creed asked.
Raid kept his eyes to the three squad cars and one K-9 SUV all angled in around Bodhi’s
bike shop. Then he shifted his gaze down the street where, at a distance of a little
over a block, two more squads and another K-9 unit were angled outside the gift shop.
“Raid, you hear me?” Creed asked
,
and Raid cut his eyes to his partner.
“I heard it,” he growled.
“She called it in,” Creed told him something he already knew.
“I said I heard it,” Raid repeated.
“You know how she knew to call it in? You said she was clueless,” Creed asked
,
and Raid’s eyes moved back to the flashing squads.
He knew.
She’d played him.
Sweet, shy, cute, goofy Hanna Boudreaux didn’t go out for a breath of fresh air to
clear her head and try to get rid of a burgeoning headache like she told him she had.
She’d been the one he heard open the ladies room door.
She’d overheard him.
She’d covered it, came back looking freaked, lied that it was a headache and then
spent the next thirty minutes acting jacked because she was freaked that her friends
were fucking her over.
Then, minutes after he left her at her house, she’d made a call and blown their whole
fucking, eleven month operation.
“This lead’s dead,” Creed declared
,
and Raid looked back at him. “They got both that Bodhi kid and his girl in custody.
May luck out and they’ll flip for the police
,
but this guy pullin’ the strings, doubt those two goofballs got the breadcrumbs to
lay that trail so they’ll probably only give the cops shit we already got.”
None of this was wrong.
Creed kept going, “Headin’ back down to Phoenix. Sylvie’s already pissed I’ve been
up here this long. Says I need to haul my ass back to the valley and play Daddy to
Jesse
,
and next time it’s her turn to try and track down drug supplying whackjobs.”
Tucker Creed had been coming up, on and off, a day here, a week there when things
got hot, for the last eleven months.