Becoming Rain (17 page)

Dishes clatter into the sink. “Shielded and uninviting? Yeah.”

“Some of us aren't exhibitionists . . .”

A pause. “Are you admitting to watching me?”

“No.”

The floor creaks with his approach but I don't turn around. “So what have you seen?” There's no suspicion in his voice. Only playfulness.

I relax. “Besides a certain black-haired
friend
?”

He groans. “I knew that'd come up again. Yeah. Besides that?”

I hesitate, but then can't help myself. I've never been shy. I can't be in my job. “You should probably not shower after dark.” Flashes of the night I caught him bare-assed and heading into his shower hit me, and my cheeks flush. While I'll admit that I've seen that, there's no way I'll admit to camping out every night since, hoping to catch another glimpse.

“Why? I've got nothing to hide.”

“Yeah,
clearly.
”
But don't you, Luke?

Heat from his chest radiates off of him, warming my back as he leans in, his breath rolling over my ear. “I don't think you minded.”

My entire face burns up, not because we're talking about it, not because he's right, but because Franky and Bill are listening to this. I've had wires on me while I've flirted before. Heck, I had a case only eight months ago where I had to entice this sixty-year-old guy in the lobby lounge of the D.C. Ritz into selling me some cocaine. He was obese, sweating profusely, and reeked of cigars and beer, and for two hours my cover team listened to him tell me all the dirty things he wanted to do to my body up in his hotel room. I had to play along, encouraging it, getting him so worked up in his seat that he willingly pulled his stash out of his pocket and said all the magical words I needed to hear to nail him with a Class A felony. He was looking at twenty years in jail and at his age, that's a death sentence. It took all of twenty minutes to get him to plea bargain with the name of his supplier.

The guys teased me about some of the dirty shit I said for months after, taping newspaper clippings of sex phone operator jobs that I'd be great at to my Jeep's windshield. I never cared because I didn't mean a word of it.

But now with Luke pressing against me, I'd do anything not to have a wire on.

Luke settles his hands onto my shoulders, and his fingertips begin tracing the outline of my collarbone in a slow, seductive rhythm. “I remember this one night when your bedroom blinds were open . . .”

Shit.
Of course he's going to bring that up. “That must have been another condo.”

His chuckle tickles my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “No, it was definitely yours. I remem—”

Deny! Deny! Deny!
I spin around. My one hand covertly smothers my pendant, my other flies up to cover his mouth, stifling his words and the proof of what I had to do to capture my target's attention.

Even in the darkness, his eyes glisten with a mischievous glint, his breathing coming in quick, heavy pulls. Because he knows that I'm well aware of what he's referring to.

And, by the recognition flashing across his face, he's figured out that that was no accident.

Roping strong arms around my body until I can feel every contour, every ridge, every hard part of him, he leans down and settles his mouth on mine, my fingers the only thing separating our lips.

If I could think straight, I'd come up with an excuse to stop this. My thumb wouldn't be hovering over the tiny switch on the backside of my pendant.

But all I'm thinking about is how good Luke feels, and how much I'm starting to like him. And how much I want this to happen.

I switch the wire off and slip my fingers free.

Luke's large frame swallows me up as soft, full lips land on mine, with an odd mix of tenderness and need that wasn't there the first two times he kissed me now radiating off him. It's intoxicating enough to dissolve the last of my focus, as I let myself be consumed by all of him. Until I'm no longer a cop and Luke isn't who he is. I'm just a twenty-six-year-old girl with feelings and needs who's attracted to this beautiful man.

For the first time, I let my hands wander shamelessly over his body—over cut arms, and a solid chest, and strong shoulders. My fingers coil through the curls at the nape of his neck; his hair is even softer than I imagined, and I've imagined it a lot.

His arms tighten, pulling me in even closer against him, until his groin is digging into me. I can feel how much he wants me, and it only turns me on more. A smooth hand slips under the back of my shirt, grazing the small of my back, just the slight touch of his fingertips on my bare skin sending shivers through every sensitive spot on my body.

I know I don't have long. The little voice in the back of my head screams that I have to restrain myself. I can't let this go too far, too fast, or it'll up the stakes for the next time. But on the other hand, I want to make the most of these moments with him because I won't get them again. That's why I don't stop him when he shifts back toward the window, until I feel the cool glass against my skin. Shifting his feet in between mine, my legs naturally move to accommodate his body as it presses up against me.

It isn't until his hand slides up the length of my thigh, under my skirt, that reality sinks in.

I break away from his mouth to whisper, “Slow down.”

His mouth finds my neck, his body pressing up harder, his fingers curling around the side of my panties. This has gone too far. “Luke!”

A sudden bang sounds at the door. Stanley and Licks bolt up and run over to dance in front of it, howling at the top of their lungs in a horrendous choir.

It finally grabs Luke's attention, though, a wild, confused look clearing the heady haze from his eyes. “What the hell?” He checks the clock on the TV on his way to the door. He leans up to the peephole. “Seriously?” Luke throws open the door to find Franky standing there in a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket, a pizza box balanced in his hand.

“That'll be twenty-two forty,” he says, his eyes surveying the condo with lightning-quick speed, zeroing in on me.

“We didn't order pizza.”

“Yeah you did,” Franky argues, matter-of-factly.

“No.” Luke pauses. “Well,
I
didn't. Unless . . .” He glances back. “Was dinner really that bad?”

I smile and shake my head. “Don't get me started on shitty fast-food pizza.”

Franky holds up a piece of paper and scrunches his face up. Glancing at the door, and then back at the paper, he begins apologizing. “Aw, man. I'm so sorry. This dyslexia, you know? It makes me fuck numbers up sometimes. Between that and the sporadic hearing loss . . .” His eyes dart to me, and I hear the message loud and clear.

Feigning shock by opening my eyes wide, I quickly switch my wire back on, Luke's attention still on Franky.

“No worries,” Luke says.

“Sorry about that. Good evening, miss.” He salutes and leaves. I wonder which condo isn't getting their pizza tonight.

Luke throws his door shut and pauses to rub the back of his head, a look of bewilderment on his face. He shakes it off with a laugh. “Well, that was weird.”

Now that the haze has dispelled from around my head, I'm able to see more clearly. “Listen, I should probably get going.”

“Wait.” Luke levels me with a pleading look that I can't peel my eyes from. “I'm really sorry about that. I shouldn't have let it go that far. You're just so . . .
Shit.
” He hangs his head and closes his eyes, guilt radiating off him.

“It's okay. Really.” I close the distance and collect his hand in mine, lifting his knuckles to my lips in the lightest kiss, one that hopefully no one can hear.

“I won't let that happen again, I promise. Just stay. Watch a movie with me . . .” He begins leading me backward, away from the front door. He nods toward Stanley, sitting beside Licks on a giant denim dog bed again, now that the excitement is over. “Come on. Stanley really wants to stay, see?”

“Stanley's licking his own junk.”

“Well, you definitely don't want to interrupt him while he's doing that.”

“Fine. A movie
and nothing else
.
” I drop into the couch.

“Finish this off.” I quietly watch him empty the last of the wine into my glass, my gaze wandering as he turns his focus to the plasma on the wall. The surprise guest didn't completely kill it for him, based on the prominent bulge in his jeans. Is that why he wants me to stay? If so, he's persistent, I'll give him that much.

“What kind of movie do you want?” I look up to find him smirking, full well knowing where my attention just was.

My cheeks burn. “Whatever you want.”

Diving into the couch beside me, he hooks an arm around my shoulders and scrolls through a list of shows he's recorded on the DVR, finally landing on one.

“No.”

“What? Why not? Don't you think it's a brilliant concept?”

“Filming people while they wander around the jungle naked is not brilliant. It's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.”

“Fine.” He keeps scrolling until he reaches a string of
American Idol
episodes.

“Chef Boyardee and reality TV? Seriously, are you twelve? Give me that!” I yank the remote from his hand and begin scanning the movie channels, looking for something that's at least vaguely stimulating to my brain. Wondering how the hell anyone could be grooming this guy to run an international car theft ring.

He's nothing but amused, easily relinquishing control, seemingly happy to twirl the ends of my hair and let me choose some action adventure with robots and dinosaurs and a hot male actor.

Luke keeps his word, pulling me against his side and holding me through the movie. Trying for nothing more than an occasional kiss against my temple. Just like I'd expect from any decent, loving boyfriend.

■ ■ ■

“What the hell happened in there?”

I brace myself against Warner's harsh tone. “He pulled me in for a kiss and I guess the wire switched off when our chests rubbed together.”

“What was he doing, lying
on top
of you?”

“No! And stop yelling at me!”

“I'm going to call Sinclair and pull you off.”

“Go ahead and try!” I catch a reflection of my face in my bedroom mirror; I'm wearing a hideous sneer. “Because I can guarantee you Sinclair won't take issue with
anything
that happens, as long as he gets what he wants.”

There's a moment's pause, and when Warner speaks again, he's unnaturally calm. “Why do you say that? Did he tell you that?”

“Basically. He called me before I went over.”

Warner's heavy sigh swirls into my ear. “I almost walked out of another case tonight when Bill called me.”

“Look, I'm fine. The case is fine. We're all fine.”

“Are you sure? He didn't . . .”

“No. I didn't let it go too far.” I totally let it go too far. “You need to relax a bit. Go get some sleep. You sound exhausted.” The guy never stops working.

I hang up with Warner and head straight for my window, opening a section of the blinds. Just like I promised Luke I'd do. He wanted to walk me home but I made him stay, on the condition that I'd wave to him from my room so he'd know I was safe.

Sure enough, there he is, waiting. Lights on. Changed into a pair of track pants, I assume for his daily obsessive workout.

Shirtless.

My heart rate jumps. I simply stand there with my arms over my chest, admiring the view. Glad that there's a street and two flights of stairs between me and that right now.

What?
he mouths, corded arms stretched out to either side of him, a smirk curling his lips. Knowing exactly how attractive he is.

I can play this game.

It's a dangerous game.

The adrenaline junkie in me—it's in all undercovers—likes dangerous games.

My fingers move quickly as I unbutton my blouse and let it drop to my feet. A quick glance to the condo beside Luke—the only one that might have an awkwardly angled view into my bedroom to see what I'm doing right now—confirms that no one else is watching. Taking a deep breath, I reach one arm behind me to unclasp my bra while my other hand hits the button for the blinds. They revolve shut just as I let the lace fall.

I dare peek around the edge. And giggle. Luke's head is bowed and pressed up against the glass. Track pants don't hide much.

I switch off the lights and spend the next hour spying on Luke, as he attempts to get his usual crunches and push-ups in and ends up heading into the shower.

I probably shouldn't have done that.

Chapter 27

■ ■ ■

LUKE

“Fucking Russians!” Rust slams the office door behind him as he storms in. “Where's Miller?”

“Said he had to go on a parts run. Didn't want to wait for the delivery guy anymore. Why? What's up?” Rust sounds more agitated than he was when he called last night, trying to drag me out to The Cellar to talk.

Rust shakes his head. “Just got off the phone with Andrei about the Ferrari.”

Shit.
So they did figure it out. “I knew that was going to come back and bite us. What'd you say?”

“The truth. That they didn't want to do business with us so we were forced to go elsewhere.”

“And?”

“And now they're claiming
another
five percent upcharge for handling fees for the next shipment. Something about needing to bribe more officials. Plus he said the orders will be light for the next round.”

“You told them to go to hell, right?”

Miller's chair protests with a loud creak as Rust drops into it, his forehead in his hands. “Not yet. I've got to figure out the right way to handle them.”

“Fuck 'em! We're taking all the risk and they're undercutting us. We've already got another pipeline, remember?”

“And I've already told you, it's not that easy. If I just stop doing business with them, this could get ugly, Luke.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Rust sighs, his hard gaze locked on the gray-tiled floor. “I'm not sure yet, to be honest. They need us if they want this organization working for them, and it's a smooth-running operation. I just can't figure out why they're dicking me around so much.” He groans loudly, and then slaps the desk, which I know means he's switching gears to something else. That's Rust. He doesn't get too bogged down with one problem. He keeps his focus and things move at a fast pace. That's why he's so successful. “So you're going up to the Astoria warehouse this week?”

“Yeah. Rodriguez has a few chopped cars to unload.” The second part of my role—driving to the warehouse to accept an order and pay Rodriguez—makes the phone calls seem like a piece of cake. I've only had to do it once so far. My hands were cramped by the time I got home, from gripping the steering wheel so tight. I've never felt relief like I did after parking Rust's truck and getting back into my car. Done with it.

“Okay. I'll send you the code to the gate. Let me know what time you're going up.”

My phone begins ringing. Aref's name flashes across the screen. “Speak of the devil.” Aref's obviously not using a burner phone, so it must not be about the Ferrari. “Just give me the word, Rust.”

He hesitates and then nods. “Talk to him. See exactly what he's looking for. In person.” He holds a finger of warning up. “But don't commit to anything.”

I nod my understanding to Rust, the receiver to my ear already. “Hey, buddy. How's the pretentious scotch?”

“Still pretentious,” Aref's smooth English-laced accent answers with a laugh.

“Were your ears burning? Rust and I were just talking about you.” I give my uncle a salute as he leaves.

“Only good things, I hope.”

“Always. What can I do for you?”

“Elmira and I are hosting a few friends on our yacht this weekend. We were hoping you and your woman could attend.”

My woman.
I smile.
Is she mine? Does she want to be?

“It'll be an overnight sail along the Columbia River. We'll stay in the mouth, given the water's too choppy beyond that at this time of year. What do you say?”

“Sounds perfect.” For more than one reason.