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And after I quit, the department would send in someone else undercover. That really bothered me, for a number of reasons. I didn’t want someone lying to Dmitri, deceiving him. I felt protective of this man somehow, and I knew why.
Already, unbelievably, I was falling for him – even in just a few short hours.
He was everything I could want, and far more than I could ever wish for. Yeah, I barely knew him. But I felt drawn to him with a raw, undeniable intensity that I’d never imagined possible. It felt like, no matter how much I had of him, it would never, ever be enough.
So basically, I was totally setting myself up for heartbreak. He’d probably be done with me by morning. He’d move on to the next flavor-of-the-moment, the next blonde or twelve.
What a depressing thought.
Chapter Three
“Jess, I’m in big trouble.”
“Jamie, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Can you meet me for Sunday brunch? I’ll tell you everything then. How about Halloway’s in thirty minutes?”
“Yeah, of course. What’s this about?”
“It’s about a guy.”
“Holy shit! See you at Halloway’s – and make it twenty.” And she hung up on me.
I grinned as I slipped the phone into my pocket and went and located my orange flip flops, which would of course go perfectly with the baggy vintage Hawaiian shirt and camo cargo shorts I was wearing. Jess was going to love this outfit.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Jess demanded, standing over me with her hands on her hips as I took a sip of coffee at our usual table in the little patio behind Halloway’s.
“You like it? I put this outfit together just for you.”
“I’m burning that shirt next time you leave me alone in your apartment,” she told me, sliding into the chair across from me. She was wearing a black fitted t-shirt and jeans, her long, dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. And somehow she looked perfectly elegant.
“So how are you?” I asked. “How’s Fernando? Did he already call you four times today? And how are the ducks?”
She leaned back in her chair and glared at me. “Ok, A, they’re not ducks. And B, yes, of course he’s called me four times already. And C, if you don’t quit stalling and start talking about this guy that’s gotten you ‘in big trouble,’ I swear to God I will scream until your ears bleed.”
“Ok, ok!” I grinned and took a deep breath. “Jess, I met someone.”
“Yeah, I already cleverly pieced that much together out of your ‘it’s about a guy’ statement. Did you meet him Friday at that club?”
“Yes.”
“So who is he?”
“Well, he’s kind of…the subject I was sent to investigate.”
“He’s the – oh holy shit!” She stared at me in abject horror. “No. Do not tell me you’re talking about Dmitri Teplov!” At least she had the decency to say that in a loud stage whisper, instead of yelling it at the top of her lungs.
“You have to meet him, Jess. He’s nothing like you’d imagine.”
Now she was staring at me like I was batshit crazy. “Oh yeah. I definitely have to meet him. In fact, just the other day I was saying to myself, you know what my social circle needs? More drug lords.”
“Could you stop judging him for like, two seconds and just listen?”
“I doubt it.”
“We sat up all night Friday watching a Star Wars marathon.”
“What?”
“And then we spent all day yesterday together. We drove down the coast to Santa Cruz in his Maserati – he let me drive. He tried to buy me a surfboard, because the waves were excellent. I wouldn’t let him, of course. And then we went to the Boardwalk and ate cotton candy and rode the Giant Dipper eleven times in a row, just because I said it was my favorite ride when I was a kid.”
She blinked at me and said, “You’re kidding.”
“He’s fucking amazing, Jess.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
“Not technically.”
She raised a well-shaped eyebrow. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that even though he gave me the most intense orgasms of my life at least half a dozen times between Friday night and this morning, none of them involved actual sex,” I told her.
“Well, at least you had the sense not to fuck him.”
“Oh believe me, I would have fucked him, or let him fuck me – whichever. It was Dmitri that wanted to wait. He didn’t think we should rush into it, because he knows I’m inexperienced.”
“Well, Christ, that’s good at least.”
Our friend and waitress Molly, who we’d known since freshman year of high school, appeared then and greeted Jess with a cup of coffee and a big hug. “Hey girl. The usual?”
“Hey Mol. Yeah, my usual and a mimosa. No, scratch that. Make it a screwdriver.”
“Really? Hitting the hooch before eleven a.m.?” Molly grinned at her.
