Fool Me Forever (The Confidence Game 2)

He winced. “I didn’t want Cookie Jar getting his claws into you.”

She stopped swaying. “You thought I needed a babysitter?”

“No. Yes. I was already feeling protective of you, and I knew more than you did about what was shaking out.”

She went stiff in his arms. “I don’t need a protector. Although having one for those instances where muggings and knives are involved is a plus. The last man who was supposed to protect me and my family turned our lives upside down.”

He needed words of explanation, apology, and they weren’t queuing in his head. “I—”

Her finger across his lips. “Wait. I’m not finished. You, of all people, can’t protect me.” She came close; their bodies bumped again. Keeping his hands off her made them twitch at his sides. “But I know you now, spy cameras and alicorns, and I don’t think you had anything but the best intentions.”

“You’re not mad?”

“You romanced it out of me.”

A great gust of air left his lungs, stirring her hair. Had to be the best sleight of hand he’d ever pulled off. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

She went to her toes and kissed him, and while her words where only a whisper, her “Except be you,” was a rudely honked horn, an aircraft breaking the sound barrier overhead—they took the stiffening out of his knees.

Everything about the rest of the evening was saturated in sweetness and longing. The way they clung to each other, dancing barefoot until glancing and sliding and holding their bodies wasn’t enough touch, enough of each other’s skin and smell and movement, but was all the foreplay they needed to hit the bedroom with the lights blazing. To want from each other, make and satisfy demands with no fear of rejection. Lenny had him willingly on his knees; he had her thrillingly on hers, her hands braced on the headboard while he took her from behind.

She traced the ink of his tattoo with her fingers and her lips, and he felt each line stinging anew, before she soothed it. He made her gasp and squeal, and together they demolished the bed, exhausting themselves to sleep as each other’s pillows and sheets.

Add conversation and a little experimentation with the spy camera he’d had hooked up to work that gave them naughty pictures that would never be leaked anywhere.

It was the same the next day. The clock had it in for them, though. It was relentless in wanting to pull them apart, and late afternoon they both got agitated. His distress came out in silent brooding, hers in being extra bright; it threatened to give him a headache.

She made a last pot of coffee and called it that. Packed what she wasn’t wearing in the red shopping bag and fixed her hair, so it didn’t look like he’d had his hands in it. “You’ll let me know about the return of the money? You’ll let me know when you think Cookie Jar is going down?”

The former was his only excuse for contacting her again, and the latter she’d read in the press.

She wanted to wrap them up neatly and pack this weekend away like the awful Christmas sweaters Mom gave him that he couldn’t wear, and he couldn’t give away. He understood, because it was exactly what he did with emotions that made him uncomfortable.

They tried to watch a movie, but Lenny couldn’t sit still. He didn’t know what to do to make this easier for her.

Instead of letting his ringing phone take a message, he excused himself and picked up. By the time he’d finished listening to his sister Tresna’s woes and came back to the living room, Lenny had her shoes on and was ready to go.

“I should,” she said, eyeing the door, her expression tense.

“I could make an early dinner.”

She shifted uneasily. The length of the suede sectional separated them. It was effectively the length of the state, the expanse of time and the universe.

“I had a wonderful time. You were the perfect vacation love affair.”

That was the fucking problem here. Vacations were supposed to leave you refreshed and ready. Affairs were meant to go on, or they were simple hookups. There was nothing simple in what they had here. “Lenny, we—”

“Don’t.” She came across the room to him. “It will just get harder.” He opened his arms and she stepped into him. “Go take Cookie Jar down for me.”

“I’ll do that.” Feeling wretchedly shitty, he kissed the top of her head and held on to her. They stood there a long time for two people who’d agreed separation was the best outcome.

Lenny’s hands traced wings on his back, and she laid her cheek against his chest.

“One last kiss, then?” he asked, and as she lifted her face, the distress etched on it made him groan. He kissed her as softly as he was able, as if she were glass and he might shatter her, as if she were steel and he might break himself on her, and then he let her go, moving to the door to open it for her.

It was all mechanics, then. Thank you for the clothes and good luck with the con. No, she didn’t need a cab. It would be better if he didn’t come down with her. And a muttered, “I’m sorry,” that made Halsey nearly rip the handle he was holding off the door.

“Lenny.”