Make Me Up (Killer Style 3)

And she wouldn’t.

Time to end this little charade and get back to Harbor City and the bitch of a client she had to deal with before the arts gala tonight. Natasha Orton wasn’t the worst beauty client she’d ever had to dust with setting power from her makeup kit of wonders, but she was damn close.

“It’s over.” Drea took a single step away from him.

He moved lightning fast to get in front of her, his bulk blocking her view of the rest of the group. “Don’t go away mad, babe. Let me make it up to you. Tonight. My place. No one has to know.”

She tossed her cup and plate into the trashcan. “Charming.”

He threw up his hands in frustration. “Around most people, I am.”

“And I’m not most people.” Pushing her point home, she traced a finger across his broad, sinewy shoulders and used the softest hint of pressure to nudge him out of her way so she could march across the grass to say goodbye to her best friends. “You should remember that.”

“As if I could ever forget.” He finally stood to the side, letting her pass.

Her step faltered, but she kept moving forward. She knew better than to show even the slightest weakness.

Cam Hardy watched slack-jawed as Drea strutted away as hot and untouchable as the sun. His standard operating procedure was to be the one making a quick escape without a second look back. Drea had shredded that SOP with her hot pink fingernails.

He was damned lucky she hadn’t used those talons on him—on second thought, he always enjoyed it when she did. What he’d give to feel her nails scrapping down his chest, her dark brown skin pressed against him. Everything south of his belt buckle went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat.

He sank his hand into the nearby cooler. The ice cooled down his hand, but the rest of him remained hot and ready. What the fuck was he doing wrong? He hadn’t been this clueless since he’d first realized there was a difference between boys and girls. Sweet talking women had always been easy, a skill that had served him well in his early years on his own when he needed a place to stay for the night…or an alibi. As a kid on the street up to no good, he’d usually needed both.

“Dude, she just sank your battleship.” Alex Lee, one of two new hires at Maltese Security, stopped at Cam’s side but kept his gaze locked on Drea as she said her goodbyes. “That was like watching the Titanic go down, but without that annoying song.”

How this asshat had made it through the pre-hire personality screening was a mystery. “Fuck you.”

“My lip reading skills are off, but going by body language, I’d say that’s exactly what she told you.” Alex crossed his arms, his gaze still tracking Drea’s progress across the yard to the side gate that lead to the driveway.

The other man didn’t leer exactly, but Cam didn’t have a bit of doubt about the thoughts playing out in Alex’s head right now. And that made him want to pound the other guy’s face until his eyes were swollen shut. Just because it was a fling didn’t mean he wasn’t possessive of Drea.

Years ago, when he was still hanging on the bottom rung of a street crew, he would have let the other guy know as much. But this little puke stain wasn’t going to fuck things up for him now. He’d come home to the last city in the world he’d ever wanted to return to so he could pay an old debt. His teenage years had been a bitch, and if it hadn’t been for the judge, he’d either be dead or in jail. So when the old man had said he needed a favor, Cam had dropped everything and come home to Harbor City.

“Is there a point to this chat?” He finished the last third of his beer in one long pull.

Alex shrugged. “Just my enjoyment.”

He crumbled the beer can and tossed the squashed aluminum ball into the recycling bin. “You’re a real son of a bitch that way.”

“No doubt.” Alex took a swig of beer, his eyes never leaving Drea’s ass as she walked out of the gate. “Ever think you’re just not her type?”

What a total tool. “And I suppose you are?”

“Yeah. I am.” Alex turned and stepped into Cam’s personal space like a frat boy hungry for a fight. “Trust me, she can see through your bullshit from a mile away.”

He didn’t give a millimeter. “Don’t hold back.”

“I never do. Unlike you. I’ve been reading the old case files. You’re good, but you’re a loose cannon, and you don’t play well with others. It shows in your results.”

A familiar coldness spread outward from his stomach. It used to be all he ever felt. They’d called him the Iceman for good reason, but this prick didn’t know any of that. “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

“Ah yes, the mysterious pseudo-military organization you were with before Maltese?” Alex flipped his empty can into the trash, and the move brought him toe-to-toe with Cam. “Being a hired thug really doesn’t do much to build up a resume. Add to that your criminal record and I’m surprised you even got an investigator’s license. What did you do, sleep your way into the approval?”

Everything froze. The air went from summer’s heat to the polar vortex’s frigidity in an instant. All of the BBQ’s noise faded into the background, and Cam was in the Iceman’s kill zone. “You’d better shut your mouth before I shut it for you.”

Alex puffed up his chest. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Hey, morons.” Ryder pushed her way between them, managing to stomp a foot down on both of their shoes and jam an elbow in each of their ribs. “May I remind you this is a family BBQ with kids and others who aren’t used to dealing with your daily bitch fits? Now, make nice before I throat punch both of you.”