It tickles, teases, temps me to grab it and claim the pleasure, begs me to move faster.
I don’t.
James groans, it’s suppressed, and his thighs harden beneath me. Then he nods, and it seizes us both, snapping our spines straight, forcing our chests together, as well as our mouths, and I am kissed into oblivion as he spills himself inside me, his strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tightly as we shake and kiss and moan.
I puff and pant into his mouth, sliding my face away and burying it in the crook of his neck. “Okay?” I whisper, not liking his silence.
He nods, feeling out my finger and turning the ring.
To remind me it’s there.
“I love you,” I murmur.
And he nods.
James moves around the kitchen silently, the shadows between his shoulder blades growing and shrinking each time he reaches into a cupboard or opens a door or drawer. He slides a plate across the island to me. “Eat,” he says, clipped.
“I’m not—”
“I can’t remember the last time I saw you eat, Beau.” He picks up a piece of toast and thrusts it toward me. “So eat.”
I accept and he goes to the fridge, pulling out an array of green fruit and vegetables, placing them all onto the counter before collecting a chopping board and a blender. I nibble the corner of my toast as I watch him move quietly and efficiently around the kitchen, peeling and cutting and loading into the blender. “I’ve been thinking.”
“Be careful,” I quip, getting a brief warning look thrown my way as I chew.
“You can take the delivery.”
I swallow slowly, still on my stool. I’m surprised, but I fight not to show it. “What’s changed?” I realize that’s a stupid question. Ollie’s phone call is what’s changed. Or has standing on his head leveled out his reasonable side? Or . . . did Danny just speak to him? Reason with him? Convince him they haven’t got a lot of choice? That I’m capable.
“Nothing’s changed.” He tips a glug of apple juice into the blender. “I still don’t want you to do it.”
“So why are you agreeing?”
Pausing with his juice making task, he considers the jug for a while, as if waiting for it to offer up the best way to give it to me. “Because, Beau, if I don’t control my instinct, I will be suppressing yours.” He looks at me. “I can’t lose you.”
I relax on my stool, softening. This immense, powerful killer looking so uncertain carves out a piece of my heart. “You’re not going to lose me.”
A sharp nod as he goes back to juicing. “So what did he say?” he asks, not looking up at me.
I pause mid chew, wiping a few crumbs from the corner of my mouth. “I will get a call from—” My cell jumps across the marble, an unknown caller lighting the screen. James’s finger stills on the blender button, his eyes on my cell too. “From a detective,” I finish, placing my toast down and brushing off my hands before taking my cell to my ear rather than putting it on loudspeaker for James to hear. “Beau Hayley,” I say, as James abandons his green juice and collects a dish towel, wiping his hands as he observes. I want to leave the kitchen. But I can't do that.
“Miss Hayley, Detective Clarissa Collins, MPD. Is now a good time?”
Is there ever a good time to have these kinds of discussions? There absolutely is. Preferably when my boyfriend isn’t in the room. And then it occurs to me . . . should I know about Dad? Ollie didn’t mention anything other than he couldn’t talk on the phone, which tells me he didn’t feel safe. Private. “How can I help you, Detective?” I ask, feeling so fucking uncomfortable under James’s watchful gaze. He’s questioning why I haven’t opened up the conversation to him.
“I wondered if I could trouble you for some time.”
“Sure. Now?”
“I was hoping to see you in person, but I stopped by the address we have on file for you and the house is empty.”
She wants to see me? “I don’t live there anymore.”
“With your uncles?” she presses, making me frown, her answer telling me she probably knows a lot more about me than I would like, especially if she’s been digging around in the police files. I look at James. Does she know I’m now engaged to marry a mass murderer? Jesus fucking Christ.
“Yes. They separated,” I say, trying to sound willing with the information. Cagey will get me nowhere. “My uncle Lawrence is away on vacation.” I make a point not to say where. “And . . . well, his husband—” I look at James. Won’t he stop with the concentrated, annoyed stare? “He left and we haven’t heard from him since.”
“You mean Dexter Haynes? MPD?”
“That’s right.”
“But a missing person’s report hasn’t been filed?”
She knows why that is. It must be common knowledge in the force that Dexter was bent. “Have you called me to talk about my uncle, Detective Collins?” The moment I utter her name, James has his cell phone out of his pocket, undoubtedly to message Otto and have her checked out.
“No. No, I wasn’t,” she says, her voice softening. Softening ready to hit me with the grim news that my father is dead. “Can I take your address? I can be there in half hour.”
I look around the kitchen of The Brit’s Miami mansion. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” And she’ll know why that is too. “Whatever it is you need to talk about, we can do over the phone.”
“I don’t th—”
“We can do it over the phone,” I reiterate, getting agitated.
“It’s your father,” she says, as I stare at the board full of chopped fruit. “I’m so sorry, Miss Hayley.”
“What happened?” I ask, trying not to sound robotic but being unable to help myself.
“Wrong place, wrong time,” she replies, making me blink my surprise and look up at James. His brows are heavier than usual, his expression questioning without being questioning. I click my cell to loudspeaker and set it down, if only because I need someone to hear the bullshit I know I’m about to be insulted with so that when I go on a rampage, he will understand why.
“Wrong place, wrong time?” I mimic.
“There was an incident at a local hotel. We haven’t got the finer details just yet, and I am limited on what I can divulge, but it appears there was a dispute between two local gangs that spilled into the hotel. I believe your father had a meeting there. He got caught in the crossfire.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m very sorry, Miss Hayley.”
I look at James, hoping to see some semblance of surprise, but instead I find only an impassiveness that confuses me more. Caught in the crossfire? My God, are they honestly going to try and convince me again that I’ve lost another parent by sheer bad luck? “Thank you for the call.”
“One more thing,” she says, stilling my fingertip just shy of the red icon on the screen. “There’s a journalist. He’s already leaked information and pictures. I didn’t want you to be surprised when you see it on the local news.”
James goes straight to his phone again, and I thank Detective Collins once more before hanging up. “We need to find Frazer Cartwright,” I say immediately, getting down off my stool. “I can’t believe they’re doing this to me again.” I sink my fingers into my hair and clench. “Caught in the crossfire?” I say over a laugh, feeling tears pinching my eyes. And then . . . I gasp, dropping my hands from my head, staring at the floor. “Is he dead because of me?”