“And that, Rick Savage, makes that scar dangerously sexy.”
“And therefore, you want to lick me all over.”
“Actually,” she says, “I do. If you survive this shave.” She holds up the razor. “Let’s test my skills. Like I said, I’m out of practice.”
She reaches for my face and I catch her wrist. “Because you never did this for Gabriel.”
She snorts. “He didn’t trust me with a blade.”
“Actually,” I say. “I don’t remember you being all that good with a blade.”
Her green eyes twinkle with mischief. “But you, Rick, loved to live dangerously then and now.”
I ease in close and nuzzle her neck, that natural scent of hers, mixed with the floral shampoo I’d grabbed from her shower, a heady mix that stirs memories in me, so damn many memories. “God, woman,” I murmur, leaning back to stare down at her, my gaze lingering on her recently glossed lips, before they lift. “If I kiss you right now—”
She presses her mouth to mine and hell yeah, I’ll take that invitation. I hold her close and kiss the hell out of her and when it’s done, she’s covered in shaving cream, and we’re both laughing. “Now I have to redo my make up,” she chides, and when I cup her backside, lifting her with the intent of carrying her straight to the bed, her long, perfect legs wrap around my waist. My damn cellphone rings and a second later, so does hers.
“Crap,” Candace murmurs. “What if that’s Gabriel and what if your team is warning us he’s up to something? I’m not home. I told him I’d be home.”
Sighing, I set her down, while silently cursing the power that dweeb of a man still has over her and us. She twists away from me and hurries into the bedroom where her phone is buzzing.
I scowl at the idea of her talking to that man and grab my phone from my pocket, to find Adam calling. “We’ve got shit to talk about. Unless you’re naked—spare me that shit—come to the door.”
“Do you have anything to tell me about Gabriel calling Candace as we speak?”
“No, but from your foul tone I’m sure we’ll discuss it soon.”
“Let yourself in.” I hang up and turn around to find Candace in the doorway, my shaving cream still on her face and mine, as well.
“It was him and now he’s texting me. Did you know what it’s about?”
“No,” I say. “The call wasn’t about that little pussy Gabriel.”
“Rick,” she hisses, a chide in my name. “What am I going to say about not being home?”
I grab a towel and wipe my face, and then cross to stand in front of her to do the same.
“Tell him you stayed with your friend again last night.”
“I told him I was going home.” Her voice is urgent, panicked.
“Baby, relax.”
“I’m not going to relax. And we can’t keep pretending tomorrow night isn’t happening. I know you don’t want me to go to this party with him, but I’m going. You need the cover to kill Tag and your team needs the cover to extract my father. I’m going. The end.”
I need the cover to kill Tag.
I haven’t actually told her I was going to kill Tag. Or hell, maybe I did. Maybe that’s how loose I’m becoming with her about me and my perpetual killing sprees. “Will Linda cover for you?”
“She hates Gabriel and wants you and I back together. Yes. She will, but what if he’s watching her house? And I told him I was feeling better and headed home.”
“Tell him that you forgot something at her house and you two started watching a movie and it got so late you were just not up to driving home.”
She swallows hard. “Right.” Her fingers drag through her hair. “I’m not thinking straight but what if he’s watching her house?”
“That possibility is exactly why I don’t want you at the party, but for now, assume he’s not.”
Her cellphone rings again and she glances down. “It’s a client. I’m neglecting my work, but I can’t talk to him right now.” She declines the call.
I cup her face. “Relax, baby,” I say again. “I got you and I got this.”
“Tomorrow night’s important Rick. It’s the night that delivers you and my father back to me.”
The tremble in her voice, the heartache in her eyes, guts me. I did this to her. I left her. I let Gabriel come into her life. “Baby, I’m already here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Killing Tag and his men is dangerous. I don’t want Gabriel to touch me. You know this. God, I know you know this. I don’t want to pretend to love him. But one night, two hours really, in a public place with that man, is a small price to pay to have you and my father with me for the rest of my life.”
And one night could strip her away from me forever, but this isn’t a battle we can fight right this moment. “Let’s do this,” I suggest. “We’ll plan out how to make tomorrow go well, together, after you call him back. Buy us time. Tell him you still feel under the weather.”
“Rick—”
I kiss her. “Do this for me, baby. Leave it open-ended and then we’ll talk. Okay?”
Her cellphone starts ringing again, and she glances at the number. “It’s him.”
“Take it.” The door to the hotel room opens and before she can react, I say, “It’s our people. I told them to come on in.”
“Our people,” she whispers.
I stroke her hair. “Our people, baby. Answer the call.”
She inhales and punches the answer button. “Hi,” she says sweetly, so damn sweetly that I have to turn away from her. I cannot stand the fucking idea of her talking all lovey-dovey to that unworthy limp dick bastard. I press my hands to the bathroom counter, lowering my chin to my chest. She’s right. Tag is dangerous, but then so am I. And Tag’s no fool. He wasn’t wrong about me wanting to kill Gabriel. I do. I’d really enjoy killing him and if our team doesn’t find a way to put him behind bars, I will—with a fucking smile on my face.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Candace
I’m not capable of looking at Rick and talking to Gabriel. I’m just not. I turn away from the bathroom and walk toward the bed, “It’s hard to reach you these days,” Gabriel says, accusation lancing his words.
“I can say the same of you most days,” I comment tartly and then because a play to his ego is always a good play, I add, “And I suspect that will be true a whole lot more often after you become president.”
He sighs. “That will be the day. A great day, don’t you think?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. How did I not notice how often he simply dismisses me?
“How are you feeling?” he asks, a question that might seem to some, as if he cares. Actually, he does. About how me being sick affects him Saturday night.
“The sickness comes and goes. I went to Linda’s last night to grab something I forgot and had another bout of sickness, so I just stayed. And we watched Pretty Woman which you won’t watch with me.”
“Oh well hell, thank Linda for saving me.” And thank God, he moves on, seemingly satisfied by my comments. “Do I need to send a stylist to help you with a dress?” he asks.