Hottest Mess (SIN 2)

I frown. "And what?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just want a place in the city."

I consider pushing, but I don't want to be that girl. It's one thing not to have big secrets between us. It's another to feel obligated to share every single thought and idea.

"It's only one bedroom," I point out.

"Do I need more? After all, as far as the world knows, the point of this place is so that I don't have to commute from the mansion. Go to work, come back to my Upper West Side apartment."

"You could afford something bigger. With an office."

"True. But I can pay cash for this place without tapping the trust."

"Really?"

He nods. "I want to do this on my own. And I have enough saved from work and what I make from Deliverance."

"Oh. I'd kind of assumed it was a charitable thing."

He chuckles. "We don't turn down cases if there's a need. But our services aren't given free. We invest back into the tech. And we compensate ourselves, too. Our time is valuable. For that matter, so is our service. So," he continues, "what's the verdict?"

"I think you should go for it," I say, then tug him into the bedroom long enough to give him a deliciously sensual kiss before we join the agent on the balcony to tell her the good news.

Afterward, we walk the short distance to the townhouse, and he steps back as I unlock the door. "You're not coming in?"

"No," he says. "I'm not."

I tilt my head, surprised. Then he moves in and stands very close to me as he reaches around to open the door, his arm brushing my shoulder. "Pretend I'm kissing you good night," he whispers, then backs away.

"Dallas." I hear the plea in my voice. I want him to come in.

But he just shakes his head and smiles. "Sweet dreams, sister mine. Until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I repeat. And when I go into the townhouse, I'm smiling, too.

Steak and Potatoes

Just a normal dinner party, Dallas thought. Just your average, every day evening around the table with the man who may well have masterminded your kidnapping, the sister you're in love with, and the older woman you used to sleep with.

No doubt about it--as a group, they made one hell of a Norman Rockwell painting.

"This is why I chose this house," Colin said, indicating both the dinner table and then, with another sweep of his hand, the patio upon which he had grilled their steaks and vegetables. "Entertaining. Family. And perfectly done steaks."

"Here, here," Jane said. "But don't forget the wine." As if to illustrate the point, she took a long, slow sip of an exceptionally smooth pinot, keeping her eyes on Dallas from over the rim of the glass. Damned if just the look in her eye didn't make him go hard.

"I could use a refill." Adele pressed her hand on his thigh while she leaned across him to grab the bottle. "Pardon my reach," she said as her sleeve brushed against his.

He knew she was trying to get a rise out of him, but he had no reaction at all. Not physical, anyway.

Emotionally, he wanted to tell her to calm the fuck down, because Jane was there. But Jane was sipping her wine and chatting with Colin, and so maybe Dallas was being hyperaware and paranoid.

Maybe.

Hell, maybe he was being paranoid about Colin being their jailer. Because how on earth could the man just casually have them over for dinner--how could he have interacted as a friend for the last seventeen years--if he'd put both Dallas and Jane through that kind of torture?

The man would have to be so fucked up it was almost beyond belief. Dallas, however, knew better than most that some horror stories were real. And that some monsters looked like men.

For that matter, some monsters looked like women.