Undercover Engagement (Private Pleasures 5)
“I didn’t think of doing it that way,” he admitted, but he refrained from confessing he would have discarded the idea even if he had entered his mind, because he didn’t want her hanging out with those guys without him close by. He also didn’t want to get kicked again.
She picked up her coffee and took a sip. “Well, if we’d discussed your plan before you just”—she gestured across the table—“flew solo and left me grounded, we might have done it differently. Agreed?”
Doubtful. “Agreed.” He took a hit of the coffee.
“Did you learn anything while you were out there with them, shooting the shit for over an hour?”
“Eden, they were stoned within three minutes. I learned hanging out with them when they’re stoned is about a thousand times more boring than hanging out with them when they’re not stoned. Then I was stoned, too, and I honestly had no idea how much time went by.”
That appeared to mollify her somewhat. She relaxed and hitched an arm around the back of her chair. The move parted her robe. Different pajamas, he noted, strangely disappointed. His imagination was working overtime, and he was losing his shit.
“Want to tell me about the nightmare?”
Not particularly, no, but this was her price, and he figured he owed her as much. After fortifying himself with another swallow of coffee, he stared a hole through the table and tried to come up with a concise, abridged version. “The dream comes from a memory. It sneaks up on me sometimes when I’m tired. When things get outta hand.” When I feel out of control.
She leaned forward and cupped her hands around her mug. “Must be a hell of a memory.”
He nodded and inwardly flinched at the bruises on her wrists. More of his handiwork. “The last con my father ran with me involved a fraudulent real-estate development scheme—luxury condos near the French Quarter. He took a lot of money from a lot of people, but he kept holding out for this whale investor from New York. Dad never knew when to cut bait and sail. New York comes down for the meeting, and, unbeknownst to Romy, brings his brother-in-law. The brother-in-law just happens to remember Romy from a casino con he ran in Jersey about ten years earlier. Next thing I know, there’s a pillowcase over my head, an arm like a vice around my throat, and I’m getting my ass stomped seven ways from Sunday. I woke up eighteen hours later in a hospital bed, with tubes coming out of me, a doctor on one side, and two cops on the other.”
“That’s awful.” Her expression held so much compassion, he wanted to warn her not to waste the emotion on him. He didn’t deserve it.
“I know. That’s when the real pain began.”
“Don’t joke.” Her eyes went green in the sunlight. “If I ever see your father again, I may punch him before he can say hello.”
“You won’t see him again, choux. His appearance at graduation was an attempt to see if I’d lend him some credibility—‘my son the sheriff’—but since I don’t owe him a damn thing, I declined the loan. Instead, I sent his fiancée some interesting data on Romy Swain.” Trust no one, least of all family. “Big, ole shame, baby, but the wedding’s off. I’m thinking he’ll steer clear of me from now on.”
“Good.” She frowned. “Well, not good. I’m sorry you have a terrible father and the psychological scars of a shitty upbringing you were lucky to survive.”
Actually, never mind the sympathy fucks. He couldn’t handle being the object of her pity. “It’s not all as dire as that, Eden. I’m adaptable. I adapted.” He shrugged, even though his gut felt uncomfortably tight. “My past hardly ever ambushes me like it did last night.” He leaned across the table, lifted her hand, and brought her bruised wrist to his lips. “Sorry I took it out on you.”
“That’s all right.” She brought her arm back to her side as soon as he released her. “No harm. No foul. I’m…um…sorry I almost shot you.”
“Come again?”
She sent him a sheepish look. “It would have been an accident, obviously, but when I heard you moaning and moving around out there, I thought someone was in the house, attacking you. I got my gun from the closet and came running to your rescue, only to have you knock it out of my hand. I had a tense moment when I thought it might go off on impact.”
“Christ, Eden, or you could have been shot.” Last night just went from worse to worse. But, damn, she’d had his back. “Next time you think I’m being attacked, jump out the window and call for backup.”
“If you ever suggest that again, the next person who attacks you will be me.”
“That’s fine.” He held up his hands. “I can take a punch.” Folding his arms across his chest, he leaned back and looked at her. “Anything else you want to talk about regarding last night?”
She stared at her fingernails. “Nope. I think we’ve covered everything that needs to be covered.”
Chapter Fourteen
He wasn’t going to let it go. She could tell by the way that slow, cocky grin split his face. And she’d forfeited the upper hand by backing away from the discussion, revealing her discomfort with the topic.
It was uncomfortable, dammit. Uncomfortable on a physical level, because she couldn’t even sit on the hard kitchen chair without feeling the aftereffects of last night and craving relief from the need he’d stoked but not satisfied. Uncomfortable on an emotional level, because she didn’t want to need him for anything beyond the assignment, even from a purely physical standpoint. It disturbed their nonexistent equilibrium.
“You’re all flustered just thinking about it, aren’t ya, choux?”
“Bored,” she countered, sipped her coffee, and prayed her expression reflected as much, but she felt some telltale heat in her cheeks. Why couldn’t he put a damn shirt on? Feeling the need to fluster him some, too, she added, “Sorry, cooyon, but in the grand scheme of things, the sex just wasn’t that noteworthy to me. What is noteworthy is that I figured out why you keep pushing me aside and putting yourself out front.”
That wiped the grin off his face. “I don’t.”
“You do.” She held up her index finger. “It’s okay for you to be alone with our targets, but you work it so I get to sit in the house.”