Always With You Part Two (4 page)

But hearing that my husband isn’t falling for it, whatever “it” is, knowing that his guard isn’t down no matter how relaxed he might seem, makes me feel better.  Heart and soul and all the way down to my toes.

φφφφφφφφ

It feels good to be back behind the bar. It feels normal, and normal is very welcome at a time when most everything else feels out of control.  It’s like being in my happy place where there’s no worry of pregnancies or paternity or conniving exes.  Just the crowd and the bar, the place where I met the love of my life.

I smile at Ginger when she whirls around on her barstool, away from a retreating Gavin, and sips from her nearly-empty martini glass.  Her eyes are practically glazed she looks so happy.

“Careful. You’re going to dilute your martini with drool,” I tell her with a grin.

She slurps up some more, oozing vodka from one corner of her still-curved mouth.  Delicately, she swipes at it with the tips of her fingers, all lady.  But then she licks dirty martini off those very same fingers as she winks at me, all Ginger.

“I’ve heard it’s a punishable offense to waste vodka in Russia,” she announces.

“Well if you ever go there, I think you’re safe.”

She sighs loudly.  “The good thing about rocking Gavin’s world is that I get to see you more often.”

“Is that the
only
good thing about sleeping with him?”

“God no!” she says with a frown that says I’m being ridiculous, which I knew I was.  “My lady parts haven’t been this happy since I got my first vibrator.”

I giggle when a guy leaning around her to order raises his eyebrows at her.  “I got your vibrator,” he says with a wide, lascivious smile.

Ginger’s mouth drops open. “Seriously?  Is that the best you’ve got?” 

“What? You’re hot.  Something wrong with showing you some interest?”

She slowly swivels away from him, shaking her head before taking another sip of her drink.  The guy looks to me in question and I just shrug, moving to fill his order of two gin-and-tonics.

“Keep the change,” he says before he walks away, much more subdued than when he arrived.

“Thanks,” I say to his back as he disappears into the dense crush of bodies.

I’m ringing up his drinks, tapping my foot to Katy Perry’s
Dark Horse
when I hear the volume level of the crowd drop by a decibel or two.  I glance up to see what’s going on.

It seems as though everyone notices him at the same time. Like the world got quieter, the air got stiller.  I think every single eye in Dual is turned in his direction.

“Holy shit on a stick!  Who the hell is that and why the hell do I have to be a faithful woman?” Ginger breathes from the other side of the bar.  From my peripheral vision, I can see that her glass paused half way to her mouth, which is currently slightly agape.  That’s the extent of what I notice about my friend. The rest of my attention, like practically everyone else’s, is riveted to the man nearing the center of the room.

He’s easily as tall as Cash, which puts him almost a head above every other man in the club.  But his darkness—the midnight hair, the honey-gold skin, the jet black clothes—make him stand out all the more.  He’s flawless.

I acknowledge that in the most clinical way possible because Cash is still by far the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.  Hands down.  That’s why I don’t feel like noticing this guy’s physical perfection is a betrayal. It’s more like noticing that the sun is bright or the sky is blue. It’s factual. Accurate. Honest.  Even as happily married as I am, there is just no ignoring or denying the breathtaking beauty of the stranger when he walks in.  Even the
men
seem to notice him. I’d say they’re taking note for totally different reasons, though.  There’s a calm, confident quality to him that makes me think of extreme competence.  Or maybe extreme danger.  Like he has nothing to fear from anyone. Ever. 

I let my eyes roam his long, muscular physique in a lightning fast skim during which I fully expect to see the bulge of a gun somewhere.  That might explain this air of…dominance? Certainty?  Fearlessness?  I’m not sure what to call it, but whatever it is doesn’t stem from carrying a gun.  That much I can see.  His body shows only the smooth line of his superb build, covered in snug black material from head to toe.

Back at his face, I see his eyes scan the room. Something in his expression makes me think he managed to take in and catalog even the tiniest, most insignificant of details in that one quick sweep of the space.  As though he’s now made an assessment of it all, he begins to weave his way between bodies in a slow, serpentine path. Every woman he passes leans slightly toward him, drawn to him without even realizing it.  Every man he passes gives him a slightly wider berth, wary of him without even knowing why.

As he walks toward me, his eyes find and come to a stop on mine.  He holds them as he approaches and I note that they’re just as breathtaking as the rest of him.  I suspected that they were a light color when I first saw him, and now I see that I was right.  They’re a fascinating pale caramel color, like Cash’s favorite whiskey when he pours two fingers into the bottom of a glass. 

There’s no smile in those warm depths, but there’s a solidness that tells me whatever men fear in him is no threat to me.  And I’d say men definitely fear him.  The ones unlucky enough to piss him off.  The ones unwise enough to find themselves on the wrong side of him. 

I’d say there’s plenty for a woman to fear, too.  At least one that’s not as taken as I am. This guy isn’t the bar type. He’s the dark corner type, I bet. The kind that could talk a girl into pretty much anything without even trying.  The kind that gets his hooks in so painlessly you don’t even know you’re hooked until it’s too late.  Until he’s gone.  Gone without a trace.  Just a memory you can’t shake.  Makes me glad that my heart belongs to someone else.  And that he is mine without question.  Even when people like Sophie show up every now and then to put us to the test.

It’s on that uncomfortable note that I become aware of   practically every head in the joint turning in our direction as the tall stranger leans an elbow on the bar and gives me a crooked smile.  I wouldn’t doubt that just such a smile has probably dropped more panties than Wilt Chamberlain, as Ginger would say. 

“Hi,” he says in a voice as dark and rich as the oak of the bar.

I take a deep breath.  “Hi.”

He turns that crazy-hot grin on Ginger next.  She’s already wobbling on her barstool beside him.  “So this is where all the beautiful women gather,” he says offhand.  When Ginger says nothing, he laughs in a rumble that dances through the air like the sexy thump of a bass drum.  “What are you drinking?”

Ginger continues to stare at him for a few seconds before she stammers, “V-vodka martini, extra dirty, extra olives.”

“Extra dirty?” he asks, one smooth black brow arching.

She nods as he holds her wide eyes.  When he turns back to me, I see her shake her head, like she’s clearing a fog from it.  I can’t help laughing, too. I’ve never seen Ginger at a loss for words before.  Not.  Ever. 

I recover more quickly than everyone else.  It seems that bit of levity snapped me right out of the weird thrall that has undeniably captivated the patronage of Dual.  “What can I get you?”

“Another vodka martini for the lady.  Extra dirty, extra olives.”

“Yes, sir,” I say as I start to make her drink.  “Anything for you?”

“A club soda, please.”

“Straight? Or do you want that cut with water?” I tease.

“No, I take it straight. I like the hard stuff,” he says, playing along.

I smile.

“So do I,” Ginger pipes up from beside him, finally regaining her wits.  “Like the hard stuff, I mean.  I’m taken, though.  Bummer.”

“Yes, bummer,” he repeats.  “But it’s probably for the best. I’d hate to ruin you for other men.”  His grin is all cocky male and Ginger falters again. 

I slide the drinks out, one to Ginger, one to the stranger.  “On the house,” I tell him when he reaches into his pocket for money.  “I’ve never seen someone strike this one speechless,” I say, nodding toward the still-gaping Ginger.  “If we had a wall of fame, I’d add you to it.”

“If you had a wall of fame, I’d give you a better reason than
that
to add me to it.”

“I’m taken, too,” I confess mildly. 

“Bummer,” he repeats a second time, glancing down at where I’m fiddling with my wedding ring.  It’s a comforting circle around my finger.  It feels warm against my skin, as though Cash was actually touching me.

The stranger opens his mouth to say something else, but before he can, Gavin appears behind him and to the left.  He goes to clap his hand down on the guy’s shoulder, but never makes contact.  The stranger reaches back and grabs Gavin’s wrist, stopping him in midair. He’s on his feet and facing Gavin in one smooth movement. His reaction is so fast it’s almost blurry.  I watch the two face off for three tense seconds before Gavin’s lips twitch into a small smile.  “Thanks for coming, mate.”

The men shake hands and Gavin leans around to tell me, “Send Cash to the office when he gets in.”

“You got it, Principal Gibson,” I reply with a mock salute.  Gavin gives me a look that’s the expressive equivalent of flipping me the bird.

He turns to move off toward the back of the club, tipping his head for his friend to follow.  The dark stranger turns back to me before he walks off.  “I’m Jason by the way. Jason King.”

“Nice to meet you, Jason. I’m Olivia.  And this is Ginger.”

He nods to me then to Ginger, winking at her before he takes his club soda and follows Gavin.  When they disappear into the office, I hear Ginger’s loud exhalation.  It swishes through the air, even above the sounds of the crowd and the music.

“Good God!  He was…he was just…holy mother of reproductive organs, that man is just
made
for sex, isn’t he?”  She turns her surprised eyes back to me.   “I feel like I’ve been roofied!”

I laugh again, mostly because I can sort of see what she means. 
Even I
feel a little dazed.  Not as much, though.  Cash is the love of my life, my soulmate, my forever.  No other man will ever affect me the way he does.  But I have to give Jason King props for turning my head when so little can these days.  There is only one Cash Davenport, but if he didn’t have my heart, Jason King would be trouble. For me and for every other woman on the planet.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Cash

Something
slightly
different is vibrating in the air of Dual when I walk in. It’s like the buzz of electricity, humming just beneath the surface of the normal club atmosphere.  I look left and right. Nothing appears amiss, but something is just…off.

I dropped Isabella off at the garage entrance, not wanting to bring her in through the mob of clubbers.  I didn’t want to go in and have to talk to Sophie, so I waited until Isabella was safely inside before I drove around to park out front. 

That little girl…

I sigh.  She’s something else!  So smart and funny when she loosens up.  Cute as hell.  I’m really starting to see how she could be a fixture in my life. And how I could be a fixture in hers.  She even asked me questions about Olivia tonight, what she likes and how she feels about Isabella, which I thought was so sweet.  She was acting so grown up, trying not to let it show that she’s a little insecure about my wife.  But she doesn’t know Olivia well enough yet to realize that she’ll be the warmest, most welcoming female in her life, even above her own mother. It gives me a weird tightness in my chest just thinking about Olivia reading her bedtime stories or something maternal like that. Of course, Isabella is too old for bedtime stories, I’m sure, but I can also picture them laughing as Olivia paints her toenails or both of them in aprons as Olivia shows her how to cook macaroni.  We were meant to be a family, Olivia and I.  And now I’m seeing Isabella as a part of that, too.

My eyes go straight to the bar and I spot Olivia immediately.  Tension leaves me, like it always does when I see her or hear her voice or spend time with her.  To me, she’s like life’s Valium.  Or a cosmic shot of Jack.  She calms me.  Stills my soul.  Fills my heart.

As I make my way to her, she looks up and her eyes meet mine.  In them, I can plainly see that she feels the same way.  Before I can think twice about it, I stop in front of the bar and lean across to kiss her. 

“That’s very unprofessional of you,” Olivia reminds me when I release her ponytail, which I’d grabbed without realizing it.  Her eyes twinkle and her smile says she doesn’t really give a shit.  There was a time when she didn’t want the other Dual employees to know about us.  Favortism, sleeping with the boss, all that crap.  But now, she doesn’t care.  Everybody knows I’m head over heels for her and I’m damn glad they do!

“Hell if I care,” I say, taking her left hand and nipping her finger right above her wedding ring before I back off.  It wouldn’t do for me to have to get Ginger to fill in for an hour because I have to take my wife out to the parking lot for a good pounding.

Who am I kidding? I’d need more than an hour!

Olivia’s right brow arches suggestively, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, which turns me on even more. 

My dick twitches. 

As if she knows that, too, Olivia puts her head down and looks coyly up at me from beneath her lashes.  “Down boy,” she whispers in that throaty voice of hers.

For about ten long seconds, I seriously debate the wisdom of throwing her over my shoulder, consequences be damned, but I somehow manage to coral my wayward thoughts, bringing them back to the present situation and
away
from alone time with my wife.

I clear my throat.  “How’s everything going?” I ask, trying to be all boss when I’d much rather be all husband.

“Fine,” she replies with a grin.  Her grin dies and her brows lift as if she suddenly remembered something, which she must have.  “Oh, Gavin wants you to come back to the office.”

“What for?” I know I sound like a whiney asshole, but I don’t want to see Gavin. I want to see Olivia.

Her grin returns.  “His...friend is here.”

“Oh.”  I glance back around the club and wonder at the odd energy that seemed to be zinging through the room when I came in. 

“Cash,” she begins, reaching over to lay her hand on mine.  “Be careful.”

I frown at her warning.  “Why?  Has something happened?”

“No. I just…he just seems…just be careful.”

That managed to refocus my attention like nothing else can.  Is Olivia in danger?  Would Gavin bring someone into our midst that would hurt her?  Does she feel threatened?

As though, for the third time, she can read every dark thought running through my mind, she laces her fingers with mine, paying no attention to the people surrounding us, and says, “I trust Gavin, but…well, you’ll know when you meet him.”  She laughs lightly, relieving some of the tension that had tightened my fingers into clenched fists.

“I’ll be back,” I tell her, turning to walk straight back to the office. 

I open the door to find Gavin in deep, seemingly serious conversation.  Two sets of eyes turn immediately toward me and I know instantly why Olivia said what she said. The man sitting a few feet away, across from Gavin who is behind the desk, reeks of calm, cool, collected danger.

With his weird golden eyes on mine, he stands and offers me his hand.

“Jason King.  You must be Cash.”

I take his hand. His grip is firm and confident. Not that I expected anything less. I get the impression of bold confidence.  And something deadly.  Not “crazed killer” deadly.  No, his eyes don’t hold enough eerie hostility for that. I just get the feeling that if someone crossed this guy, he’d put ‘em down.  Plain and simple. No muss, no fuss, no questions asked. Black ops style and shit. 
That
kind of deadly. 
That
kind of dangerous.

I’d thought to myself once before that it would be doubtful for this man to use his own name, Jason King.  After meeting him, I’m almost certain of it. Guys like this probably
need
aliases.  Lots of them.

When Gavin said he was bringing in someone who could help us find out about Sophie, I expected someone with an edge, something like Gavin has only a little darker, but this guy…yeah, I’d say he has ways of getting information.  Some pleasant ways.  Some not-to-pleasant ways.

And yet, when his lips quirk into a small, dry “guy” smile, I get the feeling he’d rather not resort to violence if he doesn’t have to.  Even though he gives off danger vibes, I get the very clear indication that he’s no threat to us. To me, to Olivia.

“Cash Davenport,” I tell him, nodding and releasing his hand.

“How about we step outside?” Gavin suggests, tipping his head toward the door behind him, the one that leads to Sophie and Isabella.

“Good idea.”

The three of us leave the office and turn right, heading toward the emergency exit, the alarm on which Gavin disables with his front door key.  When the door is closed behind us, blotting out all but the heavy thump of the bass in the music, Jason turns to me.

“Tell me what you know about Sophie Lynn Marks.  The ex from hell,” he adds with another slight twist of his mouth.

I like this guy already.