Incendiary (23 page)

Did Detective Jackson resign? Was he fired? Maybe, he coerced Georgie as she insists. If that’s true, then it’s also possible the released audio was doctored. Manipulating the conversation to such an extent and getting it to news outlets takes both skill and contacts.

Legitimate news outlets usually authenticate facts, but the audio interview was provided by a well-known music magazine. Verification completed.

A fucking police interrogation is a far reach from a magazine interview.

Cigarette hanging from my mouth, dick swinging, I go to the chest of drawers and get my iPad to pull up Georgie’s interview. I’ve listened to it so many times, I can recite it word-for-word in my sleep. But I need to hear it again, and not recall it from memory. Before Georgie and I part ways, I have to be one hundred percent certain she’s innocent.

I press
play
.

“Where did you meet?”

“Mr. Mason met me at a party the night of his arrival in Houston.”

I
pause
it.

Georgie’s voice spoke. But those were not her words. She’s never once called me fucking
Mr. Mason
. She’s more likely to call me dickhead. Neither would she say,
the night of his arrival
.

That’s not her speech pattern. That isn’t her.

So who the fuck is it and what kind of fucking confirmation of facts was used?

Play.

“What did you and he talk about when you were together?”

She giggles. “How pretty my eyes are.”

It’s no secret her eyes fascinate me. But…

“You say you have the story behind the band’s time in Houston?”

“Yes, I do.” Her voice is softer, sadder. “I’ll always remember that special time.”

Georgie, but not Georgie.

“Would you share with our listeners something of your time together?”

“It’s too personal.”

“Did you attend any recording sessions?”

“No.”

Pause.

A fucking lie. She’ll remember the day her mother hit her at the studio, for the rest of her life. Besides, she was enraptured as she watched us record. With me, especially.

Why is this just dawning on me?

Furious from my arrest and exhausted, I blew the answer she’d given off as a lie by a girl desperate for revenge.

Play.

“Tell Sloane I’m having a little girl. His daughter.”

“Is there anything you’d like to add?”

“That says it all, ma’am.”

“It does.”

Stop.

I refuse to listen to this bullshit, anymore. The DNA tests have come in, so I have a hearing in a week, in another effort to get my case dismissed.

Fuck, I’m not thinking about the bogus results. For now, I’m going to spend my time doing something useful.

Bryn and I lock gazes as she nurses, and I curl up, giggling at her fussing noises. Her lids slip closed, then pop open again and she remembers to continue sucking.

“Sleep,” I tell her. “We can nap together.”

Wishful fucking thinking. She’s awake more than she’s asleep while I’m so fucking deprived I’ll never, in my lifetime, catch up.

If my mind was free of worry, I could sleep when the baby sleeps, both of us safe, secure and locked away.

Perfect just where I’m at, as long as Bryn is with me, I’m giving up trying to be more than an afterthought to anyone. When I’m
not
an afterthought, I’m being subjected to unpleasant experiences.

“Georgie?”

Sloane calls my name and I still at hearing his voice for the first time in a week, wishing my heart didn’t still race the moment he’s near me. My senses awaken with memories and wishes, hopes, and dreams. I ache for him to smile at me and indicate he believes me. Believes
in
me. Besides the night he held me, we’ve interacted once when he came in to speak to Abby.

“Are you awake?”

Bryn opens her eyes, then shuts them again. Gently, I pull my nipple out of her mouth and sit up.

“Shhhh,” I whisper to him, laying a finger against my lips, so he’ll keep quiet and not waken her again.

He nods and his gaze slides to my boob. Heat sweeps through me, but it isn’t desire. It’s shyness. Biting my lip, I adjust my nightgown. Once I’m on my feet, I squirm past him so I can lay Bryn in her bed.

His hand on my shoulder halts me. “May I?”

Irritation surges through me at the seemingly polite question, when we both know better. He’ll do whatever he wants, whether I like it or not. “I can’t fucking stop you.”

Narrowing his eyes, he stiffens and takes Bryn from me. She protests and he cradles her, whispering until she goes back to sleep. Gently, he lays her on her bed, so tender with our baby.

The cramps have mostly disappeared, for which I’m grateful, but I’m still sore where the stitches are, so I return to bed and lean against the headboard. He sits next to me and I pretend calmness as his spicy cologne invades my nostrils. His eyes are a pure blue, with no hint of gray or green. Majestic pools of azure, depthless like the sea. They miss nothing. Weakening, I touch one of his hoop earrings, and his smoldering look reminds me of how I got pregnant in the first place. I could never resist Sloane.

Even now, when I’m so exhausted I could sleep for days, he’s affecting me.

His finger traces my mouth. “Bryn’s beautiful.”

Nodding, I smile with pride. I think she’s gorgeous, too.

“But then, so’s her mother.” His words and tone are disarming, but he doesn’t give me a chance to wallow in nerves, pulling me into his arms instead. Together, we scoot down until our heads rest on the pillows. Wasting no time, he tugs my earlobe into his mouth, and goose bumps raise up on my skin.

My twinges of desire, days after giving birth, proves I’m a freak. I shouldn’t want to look at another dick for years, let alone yearn to feel Sloane’s in my hand, for my benefit and not his like it was when I jerked him off a few days ago.

“There’s been something I’ve dreamed of tasting,” he murmurs, running kisses along my throat. He needs to stop. I can’t take him inside of me and, as much as I’d love to suck him, I want to sleep more.

He lifts his head, and I release a low groan.

My entire body may burst into flames.

“I want to taste the milk, Georgie.”

He wants to fucking what?

“Um—”

Sliding my strap aside, he doesn’t give me a chance to tell him
fuck no
before his mouth covers my nipple, and he starts to suck.

“Ah!” I cry out at the hard draw, and the release of pressure Bryn’s little mouth can’t create.

He grunts and sucks more of the milk. Whimpering, I run my fingers through his hair. Pleasure bursts through me, but I resist it. My hands fall to my sides. I don’t want this to be erotic, nor do I want to find any pleasure in Sloane’s actions. Breastfeeding to me is sacred, for Bryn and I alone. He already has my heart and my soul. He can’t steal this one innocence left to me.

The other breast throbs and milk leaks from it. He moves the heat of his mouth to it while continuing to knead the first one.

He feels so good and smells divine. He’s everything familiar. Sex personified.

“I want pussy from you.”

“Because you’re an oversexed maniac,” I reply with laughter. “Bryn is ten days old, Sloane. Remember? I want you too, but I’m sore and…” I snap my mouth shut, embarrassment warming my entire body.

He lifts his head. I lose a little more of myself in the solid blue depths of his eyes.

“And?”

“Forget it.”

“No. And, what?”

I bury my face against his chest. “I’m not…you know. Down there isn’t…” My words trail off again and I feel like a moron. I don’t have a
‘down there.’
I have a pussy. I blow out a frustrated breath. “My pussy isn’t working right. You know what I mean! You’re reading the books, aren’t you?”

“I was but I haven’t gotten to that part.”

“I’m sore and it isn’t…I don’t feel…wet. I mean lubricated.”

I gaze everywhere but at him. The roots of my hair feel as if they’re burning up. I’m probably as red as a cherry.

He laughs, a rich, deep sound I love hearing.

We stare at each other and he brings his face closer, rubbing his nose against mine.

“You don’t want me to suck your tits, do you?”

Pulling the strap of my nursing bra up, I avert my eyes. “They’re Bryn’s.”

“I’m the reason your body is producing milk and is in the state it’s in now.”

Snorting, I roll my eyes. Though in a way, he’s right. “You’re so humble.”

Eyes twinkling, he moves away from me.

“Would you agree to Abby watching over Bryn while you come with me for an hour?”

There’s nothing I’d like more, but I still don’t trust anyone with Bryn. Abby’s been with me almost constantly, however, she’s still Sloane’s aunt and Sloane still intends to leave me and never look back, as soon as he’s free to go.

“If Bryn needs you before then, we’ll return immediately,” he continues, when I don’t answer him.

“No.”

Remorse settles into his eyes, and I know he understands why without me going into detail. “Georgie, sweetheart, she’ll be here when we get back.”

Sloane’s vulnerability is evident in his voice. How I wish I had the ability to ignore him, but his feelings matter to me so much.

“Would you agree to dress Bryn and we all go?”

Hesitantly, I glance at my sleeping baby.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “When she awakens,” he clarifies.

God, help me. Sloane Mason will destroy me. I convince myself I’ll agree because he’s amended the invitation.

Hesitantly, I nod, and a brilliant smile is my reward.

Tents continue to shield the curved driveway and entrance to Dad’s house. Eyes in the skies—news helicopters—fly by periodically, which makes the concealment necessary. Kiln glares at me but helps to hustle Georgie and Bryn into a Nissan.

We aren’t leaving the property, so we should go undetected. More importantly, Kiln’s accompaniment is unnecessary. Lucky us. His big mouth won’t inundate us with further disapproval because I’ve taken Georgie outside in broad daylight, risking discovery.

Georgie waiting for Bryn to wake up allowed me the chance to have breakfast sent to the little cottage that was once Jaeger’s lair, located on the backwoods of the property.

Abby is in the front passenger seat, while Georgie’s in the back next to Bryn who’s in a car seat hastily sent for, so she’d make this trip.

I suspect even without the threat of the Paps honing in on us, Georgie would sit in the back seat next to Bryn. In less than five minutes, we’re at the place. Abby hurries and opens the front door so we can get inside as quickly as possible.

This stretch, from the car and into the house, will be the most vulnerable. All a lucky motherfucker has to do is fly overhead at this exact time and snap our photo.