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Jackson threw the bag back. “You owe me.”
Rory caught the bag easily and shook his head. “I owe you nothing.”
“I’ll get it. It’s only a matter of time.” Jackson turned away, Dino quickly falling into step behind him.
That grin made Rory suspicious. He began to wonder if Sky had been following him as well. Was she working for someone?
Why hadn’t he been cautious when she’d popped up out of nowhere? Because she was flirting with you and you liked it, idiot. Had Sky actually suggested the swap because she wanted the bag—and was she working with Jackson or someone else? He thought back over what she’d said. She’d nearly thrown the bag back in his face when she thought it had drugs in it. No, she didn’t know what it was. If she did, she wouldn’t have bothered pretending to care. Unless it was a good act. She was clever, devious even. Always had been. Little Miss Trouble, he’d called her.
Weaving through the crowd in the tube station he headed for another rail line and jumped on the train headed home. As he traveled he ran through the conversation with Sky. Would the girl he’d known back at home in Cadogan have succumbed to Jackson’s persuasion? She wasn’t likely to be working for the police or any other investigation group, but Jackson had a loose mouth and had bragged about the hacker tools he had access to. Could someone have targeted her, paid her to get in touch with him? The idea unsettled him.
Once he got home to the house he shared with three other guys, he headed for his room and shook the contents of her bag out onto his bed. Flicking through the notebook he saw numerous sketches, tiny detailed drawings of London scenes. How long had she been in the city? And why was she there in the city, and on the train. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that she was working for Jackson, or maybe someone else he’d pissed off. He’d soon find out.
Poking through the other items, he lifted the lip gloss and took off the top.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in the scent.
He pictured her mouth, those full, lush lips, and he remembered what it felt kissing her. They’d driven each other mad, that one hot summer they shared house. Whenever he worked on his motorcycle in the back yard, she’d hang out in a bikini top and frayed denim shorts that barely covered her shapely behind.
He’d wanted her. Badly.
Sky, the forbidden one. The reason he’d left Wales.
* * * *
“Hey Sky, want to come in for a coffee?” Jamie called down the corridor as Sky made her way to her door.
“Love to, but I’ve got urgent stuff to do.” Sky waved at her neighbor, and grappled with her keys, dying to get into her private space for a closer look at the contents of Rory’s bag.
Jamie nodded and watched as she made her way inside the one room she currently called home. Jamie, who’d introduced himself moments after she moved in, was one of the few people she’d met in London who she could call a friend. He’d told her the best places to hang out, the cheapest places to eat, and he always gave her a free beer when she went to the club where he worked as a barman.
Once she got inside she chucked Rory’s bag on the futon, switched on the TV for company, grabbed an apple, then sat down and examined the contents of the bag.
Just as he’d said, it was all computer stuff. There weren’t any personal items at all, which disappointed her.
Sky counted out the USB sticks and then turned the hard drive over in her hands. Why was it so important to him? It fascinated her. He’d been desperate enough to take her up on her offer to swap bags. He definitely hadn’t wanted those other guys to find it on him. Was he involved in something? Rory used to make money fixing up motorbikes. He had a knack with computers too, and back at home in Cadogan he’d often fixed peoples PCs for cash. Was this precious cargo part of some exciting project he had on the go? The idea made her pulse pace a little faster.
Kiddo. That husky voice and that soft Irish brogue of his echoed in her mind. She’d never tire of listening to him. He always used to call her that, kiddo. She still wanted to get on a level with him, prove she wasn’t a kid. Two years in London hadn’t changed that, thankfully. I found you, my sexy Irish biker.
Rory, Sean and their dad had been headed to London when they stopped in North Wales and Rory’s dad met Sky’s mum. Rory was suddenly a full time feature in their home. After less than a year, he took off with Draco and Sean. Not before she’d got the serious hots for Rory though.
It used to make her pant with lust when he slouched through the door, dressed in leather with a pocket full of cash from who knew where. They were both rebels at heart. Rory had represented bad behavior to her and she’d gravitated to him, much to his annoyance—he never played by the rules back then—but he’d always been more subtle about it than she’d been. Her aim had always been to annoy her mum. Rory was the clever one. They’d been forced to play happy families, but he’d been surly and impatient around her, like she was the little stepsister who got in his way when he was trying to work on bikes or computers. He’d rejected her, and it still smarted.
She looked at the marked USB. No data label. Just the small red dot in one corner, looked like it was indelible pen.
She lounged back on the futon, clutching it to her.
He’d held it.
Moaning softly, she pressed the small box harder to her chest, thinking about him. Two years in London had changed him, physically. The swagger that defined him was still there but it was more contained. He looked older, and he was bigger built, where he’d been leanly muscled before he was beefy shouldered, and confidently sure of himself.
Kiddo. How cool would it be to make him regret that, to discover she was a woman now, not a kiddo? Sky smiled. Very cool.
CHAPTER THREE
The following morning Rory stepped onto the escalator leading from the tube station into Paddington Station and wondered why the hell Sky had suggested eight thirty. It was the worst time in the world to be traveling in London, the time when all those going to be late for work turned rabid. It was every man for himself. Getting through Paddington Station during the morning rush-hour commuter chaos was his idea of hell.
Right about now he’d usually be traveling to work on his motorbike. He only hit the tube when absolutely necessary—or, in the case of the day before, if he might need to shake someone off in the crowds. He’d always done everything within his power to avoid the morning rush hour, including getting up before dawn broke. Now, he was stuck in his own personal hell because he’d trusted his stepsister to hide a crucial piece of data he couldn’t risk losing.
