“You’re an angel! Ahhhhhhhhh.” This followed by sputtering as he once again submerged himself. And he was also … gargling? Then: “You shouldn’t have to lend me your clothes.”
I’m not. “S’okay, they’re not mine.” Or his. Rake would probably catch on if the American stranger happened to have a set of his clothes on hand. On the other hand, it was Rake, so who knew? “You want some supper?”
“Ohhhhhhhh myyyyyyyy G—yeah, that’d be great.”
She heard the expected rap on her door and opened it to see Elena framed in the doorway. They’d been friends for years, but Delaney could never get over how Elena always looked sixteen. Odd enough when she was twelve, downright spooky now that she was in her twenties. But it came in handy when they needed to lure in a pedo, or a bully in search of prey. That was how they’d met, actually—Elena was fighting off the worst bully in the school, who was a head taller and had thirty pounds on her. None of which mattered after Delaney came up behind him and drove her foot into his balls.
So satisfying. Like punting a football.
“She’s asleep,” Delaney said, following Elena into the room.
“As expected, poor thing.” She scooped Lillith up and nodded toward the bathroom. “Ooof! How’s that going?”
Delaney made a face.
“It will be over soon.”
“It better. We’re on a tight deadline.” To put it mildly. This job had to go perfectly, which had sounded fine on paper, but Rake in real life was a walking, talking monkey wrench. She had exact parameters to stick to, and the family was counting on her. If she pulled this off, she’d have more money than she had made in the last ten years. If she pulled this off, the Big Pipe Dream was a certainty, and not only would they be safe, they could make others safe, too.
“It will be fine. And you’re not alone.”
You’re not alone. The siren song the Big Pipe Dream was based on.
But Elena chewed her lip when she said it, aware that well-meant platitudes weren’t a guarantee of a positive outcome. Delaney held the door for her—they’d agreed earlier that Lillith would sleep with the girls so she could have eyes on Rake—and out they went.
Fifty minutes later
(man am I glad we’re in a hotel; I would not want that water bill)
Rake emerged, dressed in the dark shorts and navy blue T-shirt she’d left for him and rubbing his dark blond hair with a towel. Clean underwear in his size would have been way too much of a coincidence, so she knew he was going commando. She also knew she should stop thinking about his commando charge, so to speak. And absolutely stop thinking about the dark blond treasure trail she caught a glimpse of before he’d tugged the shirt down.
Clean and sober Rake was thoroughly yummy Rake.
“Ah, man, I feel…” A pause while his face disappeared behind the towel as he rubbed. “… almost human, or at least a rough facsimile.”
“You look like a hedgehog.” And he did; his damp hair was standing up all over in wet spikes that somehow made his eyes even bluer.
He grinned, bent, and shook his head in her direction; she had to bring up her arm to block the droplets.
“Real mature. Gah, you got my forehead and my knees, how’d you manage that?”
“Don’t know, don’t care, and mock my hair and drying method all you like—”
“Great, thanks.”
“—because I don’t give a shit what I look like right now, clean, I’m clean!” He twirled around, channeling Mary “I’m gonna make it after all!” Tyler Moore, and she leaned back to avoid being inadvertently smacked; the room was jam-packed with junk from corner to corner. “Finally finally clean!”
“I’d hope so, you were in there almost an hour.”
“Where’s Lillith?”
“My friend Elena took her to her room.”
“Oh. Good.” Rake brightened. “Well, whatever you guys think is best, and have I mentioned how thrilled I am to be clean? Never did generic hotel shampoo make such a sensual, cleansing lather.”
“God, listen to you, I think you may have lost your mind—listen, if you want, I can send your old clothes down to the—”
“No! They must be burned,” he announced. “Then burned again. And then the ashes should be sprinkled on Blake’s morning oatmeal, which should also be burned.”
Her good humor at his antics vanished. Wow. Keep not learning, rich guy. It’s funny how this was exactly the kind of guy she’d hack and, if he didn’t fall in line, would put a hit on. But her employer’s instructions re Rake Tarbell were pretty clear. “You don’t want them back. Got it.”
“No, I do not.” He was checking himself out in the full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. “Huh. These look like a pretty close fit.” He tore his gaze away from his reflection to look at her over his shoulder. “And you just happened to have them lying around?”
Excellent observation. She rolled her eyes. “I have a life outside of you, Rake, and I wouldn’t be the first tourist to hook up on vacation.” True, and true, and don’t notice that I didn’t actually answer your question. Don’t notice much of anything about me, really. Instead be a little abashed. Enough to offer up a small apology.
“Sorry, sorry,” he said, turning back to check himself again. “I’m the last person who should be judging you on that one. It’s none of my business and I really appreciate it and whoever he is, he’s a lucky guy.”
Well, that would be the salesclerk at Kohl’s who sold them to me, so I’ll pass that on to her.
“So.” He tore himself away from his shiny clean reflection. “Now what?”
Now what turned out to be room service, and for a few seconds Delaney and the room service guy wondered if Rake was going to burst into delighted tears.
“I’ve—I’ve never been so happy to see a garden salad in my life,” he whispered, then fell to his meal with all the delicate finesse of a starving goblin. “Oh God, it’s even got cherry tomatoes in it! Beautiful, luscious cherry tomatoes! I hate cherry tomatoes!”
The waiter wasted no time heading for the door, and seemed disinclined to turn his back on Rake, and who could blame him? Rake didn’t seem to be eating so much as jamming the food into his yawning mouth hole at roughly the speed of light. She gave the waiter a tip she hoped would soothe his frayed nerves, then fell to her own supper: more bruschetta than you could shake a stick at, followed by a plate of melon and prosciutto and a big-ass glass of milk—the latter surprisingly hard to find in Italian hotels. Who knew that stint on a dairy farm her fourteenth year would lead to a lifelong love of dairy products?
She watched Rake eat, because looking away was not an option. If she only heard the noise and had no context, she might think he was strangling a dying pig. But nope—he just really, really liked lardo. Especially lardo wrapped around pork chops and snarfed down with green beans so thin, they looked like a pile of green Pick-Up Stix.
Later, when he’d collapsed into a delirious full-belly food coma, they discussed terms.
“So manual labor?”
“Yes.”