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“No,” I said grimly. “No, I’ve got that covered for the moment.”
38
Fiona
Itried to sleep, but couldn’t. Nightmarish images of the last 12 hours kept playing in my head, and I kept returning to the question of why Jack was lying to me.
I found myself staring at the photo on Jack’s bedroom wall – the one of him and Ali standing by the jukebox – when I heard his motorcycle roar up his driveway.
The sound that should have made my heart soar made my stomach clench.
I desperately wanted to believe he was a good man.
But now I wasn’t sure of anything.
Except that I had a job to do – if I wanted to find Ali’s killer.
And get out of this alive.
Rather than meet him at the door, I slipped into bed and waited. I was wearing panties and an over-sized t-shirt that came down to the tops of my thighs. It was what I normally wore when I slept alone. I didn’t want to fuck him – especially not knowing what his intentions were towards me – so I wasn’t about to break out the lingerie.
In fact, I SO didn’t want to fuck him that I pulled down the t-shirt under the covers as far as it would stretch. If he got into bed beside me, I didn’t want him to feel any more of my body than was absolutely necessary.
I heard the door open a moment later, and the sound of the floorboards creaking under his weight. I rolled over and looked at him – and smiled in spite of myself. He had taken off his boots and was carrying them in his hands in order not to wake me.
Would a bad guy do that?
“Hey,” I said.
“Did I wake you?”
“No… not really.”
He sat down on the bed, put one hand on my head, and stroked my hair. “How’re you holding up?”
“Not so good.”
“I can imagine.”
“How are you?”
“I’ve been better,” he said wryly.
He stood up and started undressing. He pulled his t-shirt up over his head, exposing his rock-hard abs, his muscular chest, and those powerful biceps. Then he shucked off his pants, letting me see those massive thighs, that powerful ass, and the long, thick heft of his cock pressing against the fabric of his boxers. Even soft, it was seriously impressive.
In spite of all my fear and anger and uncertainty, my body still reacted to the sight of his. It was nearly impossible not to, with the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen exposing all that muscular, hard, naked flesh. And teasing me with the outline of what I really wanted to see.
He caught me looking at him and grinned. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”
I huffed in indignation. Like I’d been thinking no such thing. (Yeah, right.) “Don’t get your hopes up.”
“I don’t think I’m getting anything up,” he groaned as he fell into bed beside me, then nestled up behind me, spooning me. “All I want to do is go to sleep for a week.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, and snuggled closer against his powerful chest, letting that massive right arm settle around me.
I suppose I should have been terrified. After all, he had lied about the Santa Muertes breaking into my room… he had known it was Roach (albeit Eddie impersonating Roach) who had left the motel…
And yet, he had taken his boots off when he walked in the room so as not to wake me.
