Текст книги "Surviving Ice "

Автор книги: K. A. Tucker

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

And it makes her a threat to them.

And to Bentley.

It’ll take Fields time, though, to do that. Unless a Mario is named in that album. Then it won’t take much time at all. “I wonder if Dylan sent you a picture of us . . .”

Her face crinkles into a smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll be sure to check the pictures more carefully when I get it back. I don’t remember seeing any Johns in there, but of course, he rarely included names.”

Okay. If Dylan’s mom didn’t identify them by name, then that may buy me some more time. I reach over to grab a pen. On the corner of the newspaper, I jot down my new cell number. “If you need some help, please give me a call.”

“I’ll call you when I get my album back. Thank you, John. That’s so kind of you. All of you boys have been so good to me, coming by to visit.”

“Family is important to all of us.” I smile and feel like a complete hypocrite.

I say my good-byes and leave, my guilt over being involved with this cover-up growing with each step.

TWENTY-NINE

IVY

“Rough morning?” I ask, eying Sebastian’s stony face from the passenger side. Considering he left my bed at five this morning after logging in eleven hours of sleep and getting laid—repeatedly—he should be outright chipper, not in this mercurial mood.

Which makes me wonder where he goes when he’s not with me.

My distrustful side tells me he goes home to a girlfriend. Maybe they’re on the outs, but still . . . that shit ain’t cool. I push those thoughts out of my head, though. They’re a sign of insecurity, which is the last thing I will let creep in.

“Have you ever had someone you trust completely betray you?” he asks softly. I don’t think he meant to say that out loud, though, because when I turn to study him, he’s clamped his mouth shut.

I can’t help staring at his profile for a long moment. He shaved off his short beard, and he looks very different. Younger. No less handsome, though I can’t decide which look I prefer.

“I don’t think I’ve ever trusted someone completely.” Except maybe Ned, and look where that got me, because I trusted him not to do something so stupid as to get himself shot.

“There’s something for you on the backseat,” Sebastian says, abruptly changing the topic.

I turn to find a small white Macy’s bag sitting there. With a frown, I loop my finger around the string to grab it. Inside is a brand-new bottle of my favorite perfume.

“I figured you needed another one.”

“Yeah. I did. But . . . how did you know which one?”

“I took the lid with me yesterday.”

“Sneaky.” I didn’t notice. “So you really like it or is this a subtle hint?”

He smirks. “I really like it.”

“Thanks.” I guess I know what he was doing for part of this morning, at least. I tuck the gift into my purse. “When do you think you’ll need to go back to work?”

“I’m taking some time off. A few more weeks, at least.”

“So this isn’t just a normal vacation?”

“Considering I’m about to spend another day cleaning up a ransacked house, I’d say that it’s definitely not a normal vacation.”

I reach over to pat his knee—affectionate gestures are not really my thing, but I desperately want to touch him—and offer, “I appreciate the help. Thank you.”

He traps my hand beneath his before I have a chance to pull it back, curling his fingers between mine as he makes a turn into the neighborhood.

“You know, every time we turn down here now, I keep thinking that I hope whoever did this to the house found what they were looking for. I hope they never come back.”

“If they do, then I guess it’s good you have me here.”

I roll my eyes. “I told you, you’re not my bodyguard.”

“So you say . . .” The tiny smirk curling his lips is adorable.

“I’m not paying you.” I pause. “Unless you’re taking sexual favors for payment.”

His gaze veers off the street to settle on me for a moment. “I’m not opposed to that arrangement.”

A bubble of nerves bursts in my stomach. He doesn’t sound like he’s planning on leaving me anytime soon.

The bubble is quashed the second we turn the corner to find three guys on Harleys parked outside the house.

I recognize the blond beard immediately. “What the hell is Bobby doing here?”

“Stay put,” Sebastian says, throwing the car in Park. He slips his gun out from his boot and tucks it into the back of his pants.

I open the door and climb out, my adrenaline pumping. He sighs with exasperation, but he doesn’t scold me. He knows better.

We meet behind Sebastian’s car and walk together toward Bobby, who’s climbed off his bike.

“Nice shiner,” I say, nodding at the prominent black-and-purple bruise marring Bobby’s left eye. Curtains in several windows of wary neighbors across the street shift. I wonder how long I’ve had bikers sitting outside Ned’s house.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asks in an icy tone, his gaze shifting to size up the other guys—the two from yesterday. Another guy I’ve never seen before steps out from a pickup truck parked along the curb.

Four against one. I don’t like these odds.

“We came to offer a hand.” Bobby looks directly at me, ignoring Sebastian. “Ned was family to us, which means you’re family, too. Carl over there,” he points to the guy who got out of the truck, “does plaster. You need someone who knows what they’re doing for that.”

“Did Moe send you?”

Bobby’s lip twitches just slightly. “Maybe.”

I heave a sigh. I’m not in a position to tell them to go to hell, even though I’m still pissed at Bobby for leaving me in the dark about Ned’s gambling situation. “Great. We can use all the help we can get.” Spearing Sebastian with a warning glare and a whispered hiss of “Don’t beat them up again” just loud enough that Bobby can hear it—for ego-bruising purposes—we head into the house.

THIRTY

SEBASTIAN

It’s been a long time since I sat on a front porch with a cold beer, watching the sun set after hours of hard manual labor.

I forgot how good this feels.

Dean and Thomas—the guys I knocked out yesterday—are loading the last of the debris into the back of the truck. That’s the third trip to the dump for them today. They’ve stayed out of my way for the most part. All of them have.

“So, if we come back here tomorrow, will you be here?” Bobby asks.

I roll my eyes through another sip. Dakota showed up about an hour ago with a twelve-pack of Coronas and some homemade muffins that Ivy interrogated her over before allowing her to hand them out. Bobby and his guys have been trailing her around like lost puppies after their owner, and she’s happily let them, flicking her hair over her shoulder, showing off the tattoo Ivy just did for her.

“I guess you’ll have to come back and help Ivy to find out, won’t you?” Dakota laughs. It’s such a soft, seductive laugh. I have to hand it to her—she knows how to manipulate men into getting what she wants, and right now that’s helping her friend fix this house.

“Oh, we’ll be here until this place is as good as new. Don’t you worry.” The dumbass is falling right into her trap.

“Good.” Her sandals slide against the concrete steps as she makes her way down to sit beside me. “How’s that beer?”

“Nice and cold. Thanks.”

She smiles boldly at me. If it were anyone else, I’d say she was flirting, but I don’t think that’s the case with her. Glancing over her shoulder, she murmurs, “Who knew these bikers could be good for something besides causing trouble?”

“We should have the place fixed with a few days of solid work.”

“I think Ivy should stay in San Francisco. Don’t you?”

I blink at the sudden change in subject. “If she wants to, then yeah. It’s a great city.”

“She wants to. She just hasn’t admitted it to herself yet. But I’ve never seen her this happy.”

A sudden, angry holler of “Dammit, Bobby!” coming from inside makes me nearly spit out my mouthful of beer. “Is that so?” I ask with a wry smile. But inside, her words are resonating deep with me. I don’t think I’ve been this happy in a long time either. Even with all the guilt and worry that’s eating me up inside.

Dakota leans over to rub my biceps with her arm. “And she’s perfect for you. I can just feel it. It’s like”—she holds her hands in the air, her fingers rubbing together as if testing out an invisible fabric—“those first few warm days when the ice begins to melt. When you just know that the long, cold winter is over.”

I have no fucking clue what she’s getting at, but tension slips into my back with her choice of words. I know that’s all it is—a word—and it’s just coincidental, but it reminds me who I am. I’m not really this guy who follows a woman around, shares meals and beds, shops for locks and perfume. I’m only pretending to be him right now.

What if Ivy finds out?

“I’ll leave dinner out for you two,” Dakota says with a smile and a pat, climbing down the steps and heading to her car, a vintage yellow Volkswagen Bug. Exactly what I’d expect her to drive.

I sip the rest of my beer slowly as I watch first Dakota pull away, and then Carl in his pickup truck. Dean and Thomas follow minutes later, with silent but respectful waves to me that I match, the deep rumble of their Harley engines earning a few glances out of neighborhood windows.

It’s when I tip my head back to finish my beer that I catch a glimpse of the figure sitting in the navy sedan down the street. I noticed the car there three hours ago, but it was empty. Or I thought it was.

Now it’s very clearly not.

“Hey, you want another one?” Bobby asks from behind.

I would have said no. Now I reach up over my head and feel him shove the ice-cold can in it. Cracking it open, I force my eyes away from the car and the figure inside for just long enough to pretend I haven’t noticed it.

Bobby hunkers down beside me, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm. “Jeez, that one has a temper on her.”

“She has to compensate for her size somehow.”

He bursts out in laughter, but then glances over his shoulder. “Don’t let her hear you say that. You’ll end up with your nuts in a sack on your pillow by morning.”

I was always good at carrying on a conversation while scoping out enemy territory, but I’m struggling to do it now. Maybe I’ve been working alone too long. I just want Bobby to leave so I can figure out who the hell is in that car.

I’m pretty sure I already know.

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“Here.”

“Yeah? Same. Went to school in Colma.”

I sip on my beer instead of answering, letting the silence drag on.

“So, you and Ivy?”

Now I turn my attention to the burly blond guy next to me, to glare at him. “Are we really doing this, man?” I’m not going to sit on the steps and talk about whatever’s happening between the two of us.

He shrugs and climbs the steps, disappearing back into the house.

“Thanks for the beer,” I call out, taking the steps down two at a time. I walk to the end of the driveway and make a point of staring at the shadow in the car. Letting him know I see him.

The car pulls away from the curb and takes the first left turn.

Too far away for me to catch the license plate.

So this is how it’s going to be, is it?

I grit my teeth against the bubble of anger rising. Is this Bentley? Is it that fucking idiot Mario?

I reach into my pocket to pull my burner out, to call Bentley and blast him. But no . . . fuck it. I’ve warned them both.

I won’t warn them again.

THIRTY-ONE

IVY

“What do you know about this guy?” Bobby asks, peering out the window in Ned’s living room. It has a perfect view of the front porch, and of Sebastian standing at the edge of the driveway, staring at something down the street that I can’t see.

I fold my arms across my chest. “Enough.” My body is aching from hours of stooping over and climbing stairs and lifting. I don’t know how many times I had one of these guys trying to tell me to back off because something was too heavy for me, and me yelling at them that I’m fine.

I should have listened.

“Why?”

“Dude’s weird.”

“No he’s not. He’s just quiet. That’s how I like my men. Not chatterboxes.” I stare pointedly at Bobby. He hasn’t shut up for more than five minutes all day.

“Where does he live?”

“In a house.”

“Ivy . . .”

“He kicked your asses yesterday. Like I’m going to give you guys his home address.”

Bobby scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, he did. What kind of guy needs to know how to do that?”

“He was in the navy. He served in Afghanistan,” I finally offer, more because I want Bobby and the guys to show some respect for Sebastian.

Bobby nods slowly, as if that clears things up for him. “What does he do now?”

“He’s a bodyguard.”

“For what company?”

I shrug and scowl. “I don’t know.”

“I can ask around. What’s his last name?”

“You’re not asking around about him. Leave him alone.”

Bobby looks at me in shock. “You don’t even know the guy’s last name, do you?”

“So what if I don’t? I don’t know your last name. Hell, I don’t know what your dad’s real name is!” I know it’s not Moe, just like Tiny’s real name isn’t Tiny.

“Yeah, but you’re not bangin’ my dad or me.”

I cringe at the suggestion.

“I’m just lookin’ out for ya, is all. That’s what Ned would want us to do. This guy just shows up out of the blue right after Ned dies, and now he’s stuck on you like glue.”

“He doesn’t do things half-assed.” I think it’s all-or-nothing with a guy like him. Just like it’s all-or-nothing with me.

“Yeah . . .” Bobby doesn’t sound convinced. “Something about him doesn’t sit right with me. You’ve always been a smart girl. Use your gut and get some answers about him. I don’t trust him.”

“Funny. He doesn’t trust you either.” Though Sebastian hasn’t come out and said it, I see it in his eyes every time he looks at Bobby.

“Yeah . . . I figured as much. I’m takin’ off now.” He slings his jacket over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?”

I sigh, offering a grudging, “Thanks for the help.”

“Thank my dad. He tore a strip off my hide yesterday for gettin’ mad at ya.”

I listen to Bobby’s heavy footsteps pound down the steps, considering his words.

Sebastian is still a mystery, I’m aware of that. But is there something that I definitely need to know, and now?

Something he’s not telling me?

The last thing I want to do is pry. He’ll tell me more about himself when he’s ready, just like Dakota said. As weird as she is, she has the uncanny ability of being right about these things.

“Hey, Ivy!” Sebastian’s deep voice calls out and my entire being automatically responds, my heart skipping a beat, energy spiking, a thrill coursing through my limbs. All at the sound of his voice calling my name.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s head out. I need to eat.”

“Coming.”

“Ned used to eat subs at least three times a week,” I murmur through a mouthful. Not graceful, I know, but I’m starving.

“Hey, listen, would Dakota mind if I stay at your place for a few nights?” he asks, his eyes are on his rearview mirror more than the road ahead, as they have been since we left Ned’s house.

“Not at all.” I frown. “What’s wrong with your place?”

“Plumbing issues.”

I pick away quietly at the sandwich, not believing his answer but having no good reason to question it openly. Plus, that means Sebastian’s guaranteed to be in my bed for the next few nights. Win-win.

The light ahead turns yellow. I’m expecting Sebastian to stop, because there’s plenty of time. Instead he slams his foot on the gas and the engine roars as it kicks into high gear. I nearly choke on my mouthful of Dr Pepper as we sail through the intersection on a red light, earning blasts of angry horns as Sebastian swerves around a turning car.

Not until we’ve slowed down does he ask, “Are you okay?”

I turn to glare at him. “I’m fantastic.”

His steely look breaks for just a second with a tiny smirk, but he doesn’t say anything else.

I’m a deep sleeper. Once I’m out, I’m out for the night. But I’m not used to sharing a bed with anyone, or having anyone in my room while I sleep, period. I guess that’s why I keep waking up through the night. I’m usually draped across Sebastian’s body—an arm here, a leg there. This bed is only a double, and while I’m small, Sebastian takes up well over half, lying on his back.

But tonight, when my eyes crack open at three a.m., Sebastian isn’t even lying beside me. He’s settled in front of the window on the wooden chair that normally sits in the corner—a creaky, narrow antique that groans under the slightest weight—with one foot resting on the windowsill, an arm draped over his knee. His hard gaze is locked on the street beyond the billowy white eyelet lace curtain where he has pushed it aside.

I remain still and study him—his long muscular body, the faint streetlight streaming in highlighting the curves and hard edges. He’s pulled on his briefs, much to my dismay, as I would have had a great view of all of him from this angle. As it is, I can still see my detailed work on his torso, which I find myself loving more and more each time he lets me tend to it.

“I know you’re awake.”

My heart jumps at the sound of his deep voice cutting into the silence, but then I smile. “How do you know?”

“Your breathing changed.”

“You’ve been listening to me breathe? Why?”

“Because I like the sound of it. It’s peaceful.”

He hasn’t turned from the window yet, so I continue my unabashed study of him. “How do you stay in such great shape?”

“I work out almost every day.”

“You haven’t the last couple of days.”

“No.” The corners of his mouth twitch. “I’ve been too busy.”

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the mess at the house, or the nights in this bed. I’ll assume both.

My gaze wanders down. He has a runner’s legs and I’m guessing he’s fast. “What’s that scar on your thigh?” I’ve noticed he protects his left leg whenever we’re together, putting more weight on his right side. It looks like it might have been painful.

His hand slides over it, his jaw tensing a touch. He doesn’t answer right away, and I don’t push, simply watching him.

“Bullet wound.”

Sebastian’s been shot? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised given his history and his career—and all the scars on him—but . . . I know skin and scarring, and that one is fresh.

The idea of Sebastian being shot recently ties my stomach up in knots.

“While you were working?” I assume so, given his job.

“Yes.”

“Is your client okay?” Maybe not. Maybe this is why he’s taking time off.

He nods, and I breathe a sigh of relief that I’m sure he can read. “Well, that’s good.” So maybe he took a bullet for the person. That would be commendable. I wonder when it happened and where. Was it in the news? I should pay more attention to the news.

“Does that happen a lot? You getting hurt?”

“Not a lot. Occasionally.”

“Do you love your job?” He must. Why else would you do this?

“Yes and no.”

I wait, watching him, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“I’m really good at what I do.”

“I imagine so.” I’ve felt a thousand times safer since Sebastian stepped into my life, and he’s not even my bodyguard. Officially, anyway. With the amount of sex we’ve been having, I may as well be claiming it as payment, all joking aside. Then again, I’m benefiting from it as much as he is.

“When do you not love it?”

His Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. “When I have to do things in order to protect innocent people. Things that a lot of people may not approve of. That may scare them.”

I try to hide my frown but I fail. He’s not looking at me, but I’m sure he saw it. He seems to see everything. What kind of things would a bodyguard possibly do, besides fire back? I bite back the question before it slips out, because my instincts tell me he’ll tell me if he wants to, when he’s ready. He’s simply testing the waters with me right now, I gather. As in, Would Ivy approve? Would Ivy be scared?

I’m not afraid of Sebastian. The first day he strolled into the shop, I was. But since then, he’s been this calm, quiet, reliable safety net for me. He operates with discipline and control and, my gut says, by a moral code. And somewhere in the mix of chaos, I think I’ve started developing real feelings for him.

That scares me more than anything he might have done.

But right now, I think he’s waiting for some kind of answer from me. My breath shakes with a deep inhale. “Do you ever have a choice, doing whatever you’ve had to do?”

“No.” His answer comes quickly, without hesitation. “Not if I want to save lives.”

“Were you protecting someone who deserves to live?”

“Yes.” Again, not a waver.

“Then I’m sure you’ve always done the right thing, even if it’s not the easy thing.”

His shoulders seem to sag with relief, as if he needed to hear that. I’m glad I said it, even as I’m quietly wondering what he’s hiding. Bobby’s warning from earlier resurfaces. He’s not comfortable around Sebastian, that much is obvious. It could simply be because Sebastian leveled him and two of his guys without breaking a sweat.

But what if it’s something else? I’m usually intuitive. Ned always said my mind was as sharp as an upturned tack lying on the floor, waiting for an unsuspecting foot.

What if my feelings for Sebastian are blinding my senses? Because, even with those thoughts swirling inside my head, all I see is a man I am beginning to care deeply about.

I’m falling for you.

He pries his eyes from the street to settle them on me, and my stomach clenches because I realize that I just spoke those words out loud. I wasn’t supposed to. He’s not supposed to know how I feel. Dammit, Dakota!

A conflict is at war in his eyes, and I silently try to guess exactly what he wants to say.

That he’s leaving.

That this isn’t going to work.

That he knows I care way more than I ever wanted to.

That he isn’t falling for me.

He says nothing, though, and after a moment, his gaze drifts over my body, covered in a sheet. I feel it as surely as I feel his hands when they glide over my bare skin. I feel it in my chest, knowing that he’s not going to get up and leave after my accidental admission. At least, not just yet.

“Is there something more interesting out there on the street than in here?” I don’t know how he’s capable of getting me worked up with just a look.

The chair creaks in relief as he stands. “Not at all.” His thumbs slide under the waistband of his briefs as he peels them off and lets them fall, giving me a good eyeful before he climbs back into bed.

It almost distracts me enough that I miss the gun lying on the windowsill.

Almost.

I push that aside because I trust that Sebastian has a good reason for having his gun lying there, and it has nothing to do with hurting me, or anyone who might not deserve it.

His weight is almost too much as he fits himself between my thighs and guides my legs around his hips. I happily comply, my fingers weaving into the mess of hair on top of his head, savoring the feel of his jawline, covered in a thin layer of dark stubble, as his mouth skates across my neck. Needing him inside me right now, to comfort me in my uncomfortable, vulnerable state.

His breathing grows heavy and fast and eager against my ear.

I expect him to reach for a condom from the nightstand. But after several long moments of him simply pressing his body against me and building my anticipation and frustration, I slide a hand under his chin and push his face up to meet my questioning gaze.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” I’ve screwed everything up, haven’t I?

He smiles. “Yeah, you should have.”

Relief swallows up this awful, vulnerable feeling inside me. I trail a finger over his bottom lip and he catches it with his mouth, kissing the tip gently, intimately.

And then he leans closer and begins kissing my mouth in the same way, not like he’s kissed me before, with reckless abandon. Like he’s trying to tell me something with each soft sweep of his tongue, with each gentle nudge of his nose against mine.

I try to match this unusual affection with my own. To tell him what I’m feeling right now without saying the words—that I’m crazy about him, strange, mysterious ways and all.

“You know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” he whispers against my mouth.

“Yeah.” Why is he asking? What is he thinking?

He shifts his hips and sinks into me. He pauses to meet my gaze, waiting for me to object, I’m sure. Normally, I would. Hell, I’d buck a guy off me for assuming going bareback was okay, especially without asking.

Sebastian has never objected to putting on a condom before. He was always the one reaching for one, which made me feel good because it means it’s common practice for him to use them.

But I can tell by the look in his eyes now that this wasn’t a forgetful slip up in the heat of the moment.

He waits inside me, letting me decide what I want to do.

How safe I feel with him.

How much I trust him.

I curl my arms around his head and pull his mouth down. And push my hips into him.

He moans softly against my ear and then starts to move, the muscles in his body cording in such a beautiful way with each thrust, as they come harder and faster, and his pants grow louder, the bed creaking noisily with each one until the headboard is knocking on the wall behind us.

I don’t care about that, though. All I can think about is that Sebastian is about to orgasm inside me.

Just the thought of that brings me immediately to the edge. His own groans follow closely behind, and I revel in the feel of him pulsing inside me, my thighs squeezing his body involuntarily.

My chest swelling with warmth and adoration.

I’ve never trusted anyone this much.

Completely.

He rolls us over so that I’m lying on top of him, but he doesn’t pull out.

We fall asleep like that.