All Over You (All Falls Down #3) (8 page)

I swallow, not sure how to respond to that. I don't even know him. So why does that confession have me ready to jump around and squeal like a little girl?

You're insane. That's why.

We ride in silence for several moments, making our way around the edges of the Tenderloin district. The apartment complexes and motels we pass are all run down and falling apart. Sheets and towels cover the windows instead of curtains, with boarded up windows visible in several places. Broken down cars litter the street. Trash is discarded here and there, with homeless men and women drifting around in small groups. A prostitute works one corner, teetering on precariously high heels in a dress that barely covers her vagina. The bottoms of her ass cheeks are on full display.

I avert my eyes when we roll to a stop at the sign beside her.

"You're blushing," Cam murmurs.

"Her ass is hanging out of her dress," I whisper, feeling my cheeks heat even more.

He laughs, the sound hitting me right in the gut like usual. "You're so fucking cute," he says, stroking a fingertip down my cheek. "So innocent."

"I'm not innocent." I roll my eyes at him again.

He smiles indulgently and then rolls through the stop sign. "You never did answer my question last night."

"Funny how that works, isn't it?" I snark, leaning back in my seat and closing my eyes. "You don't answer any of mine, either."

"Kitten," he mumbles under his breath, laughing at me again.

I choose to ignore him.

"Are you submissive, kitten?"

My eyes pop open to find him glancing between me and the road ahead. "I told you I'm no―"

One of those brows flies upward, that dimple popping out.

I gulp at the cocky, sexy look on his face and snap my mouth closed.

"Admit it," he says as he stops the SUV at the next corner, pitching his voice low. "The thought of giving up complete control in the bedroom turns you on. You crave it."

"I―" I can't deny what he's saying. "How do you know?" I ask instead, sitting up so I can see him clearly.

"So innocent," he says again instead of answering me.

My eyes widen as realization dawns on me. An image of him naked with a riding crop slams into me. "I'm not into BDSM," I blurt, a panicky edge to my voice. "I don't like pain. It's not sexy."

"Relax," he murmurs with a laugh, reaching out to massage the back of my neck. "I'm not into BDSM either, kitten."

"Oh, okay." I exhale a breath. "That's good then." I think. Maybe? I'm not sure.

What the hell? Are we seriously talking about this right now?

"Doesn't mean I won't turn your ass red if you fuck with me," he says. "Or that I won't tie you up and fuck you until you can't take anymore."

My core clenches so hard, I think I have a mini-orgasm.

Holy shit. I just came a little from his words.

"You'll love every minute of it," he promises.

I think he's probably right.

Crap.

"Can we not talk about this right now? Please?" I practically beg him. I'm ready to climb over the console into his lap, and that is so not happening. I'm not sleeping with him after knowing him for all of five minutes!

"Yeah, kitten. We can talk about this later." He pauses. "But we will be talking about it."

I choose to ignore his warning. "You said you were going to help me. Why? I can't pay you."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat like he's pissed again. "Did I ask you to pay me? I don't want your money."

"No, you just want my body." I squeeze my eyes closed and take a deep breath when he goes rigid. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way."

"How did you mean it?"

"I don't know." I sigh. It's freaking me out a little how ready I am to throw myself at him, no questions asked. That's not me. Except, since the moment he smirked at me the first time, that
has
been me. It's disconcerting. Why am I so attracted to him? I mean, sure, he's hot, but I've seen plenty of other men equally as hot. It's
him
. Him and his cocky smirk and his gorgeous gray eyes and that filthy mouth. And it's the way he looks at me, like he sees
me
, not the former model, but the person I am underneath all of that. The one most guys don't care about getting to know. "I'm so confused."

"You keep saying that."

"And you keep ignoring me when I say it."

He sighs and pulls to the curb before putting the SUV in park and turning to face me. "Look, kitten, I'm not helping you because I expect you to sleep with me. I'm helping you because I don't think you did this, and I don't want to see you get thrown under the bus for a crime you didn't commit. Not all cops are assholes, and I prefer to see actual criminals go to prison, not innocent school teachers. Do I want you in my bed? Hell yes. The thought of you riding my cock makes me crazy. But I don't expect anything from you in exchange for helping keep you out of jail. When you decide to sleep with me, it won't have anything to do with this. Okay?"

I examine his face for a long, silent moment. His expression is open, honest. He's telling me the truth. He doesn't expect anything from me in exchange for his help. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay."

"Yeah?"

I nod.

He grins at me, his dimple flashing, and then he pulls back out onto the road, merging easily with the early morning traffic.

"You said when I sleep with you," I say a moment later.

"Hmm?"

"You said when I sleep with you, not
if
I sleep with you."

He turns those gray eyes on me. "Oh, kitten. It's only a matter of time until I get you naked. We both know it."

He's probably right, but I don't tell him that. Instead I sniff haughtily.

His quiet laughter warms me from the inside out.

"Where are we?" I ask several minutes later, glancing around. We're at a house somewhere in the middle of the Tenderloin district, but I have no idea who lives here or why we're here. The house is old, the brick crumbling in places. Paint peels from the shutters over the windows, and the wrought iron of the porch railing is rusted. The yard is neat and tidy though, the little bit of grass along the sidewalk neatly trimmed.

"You'll see," Cam says ominously, and strides toward the front door.

I mutter under my breath and hurry after him, reaching the bottom step just as he raps on the glass storm door.

"Come in," a high pitched male voice calls from somewhere inside.

Cam doesn't even hesitate before pulling open the door and stepping inside. I follow behind him, cautiously stepping over the threshold. The house is dark, very little light trickling in from outside. It smells like floor polish, coconut, and bacon grease.

"Yo, Dee! Where are you?"

"I'm in the kitchen, Cameron," that same voice calls back, making me jump.

Cam grabs my hand, giving it a squeeze, and then practically drags me down the hallway. We turn right and end up in the middle of a massive kitchen. Unlike the hallway, this room isn't dark at all. It's all kinds of colorful. Large bay windows overlook a ramshackle backyard, the panes thrown open to let in light. The walls are a bright white on bottom, with retro wallpaper depicting grapevines and fat purple grapes covering the top portion. Bright watercolors hang here and there, clashing garishly with the room. I don't think the paintings are the chosen décor though; they look wet, like someone just hung them to dry. Newspapers are stacked on one edge of the table, with flecks of paint all over them.

"Cameron, honey!"

I take a step into Cam's side when I notice the guy at the stove with a spatula in his hand. He's wearing a hot pink robe, with curlers in his hair and long lash extensions. He's about my height, and about twice my size. He's huge in a body-builder way, but he's very pretty with bright pink lipstick and dangling earrings.

"Hey, Dee," Cam says casually, looping an arm around my waist. "Kitten, this is Daphne. You can call her Dee."

My cheeks redden when I realize my mistake. Daphne is pre-op trans.

"Is this her?" she asks, eyeing me up and down.

Cam jerks his chin in a nod. "This is Ivy."

"Girl, you are smokin'," she says, giving me a big smile.

"Um, thanks?"

She throws her head back and laughs loudly before motioning for us to come in and sit down. "You hungry?" she asks, gathering up paint brushes and a can from the table and moving them out of the way. "I'm making my famous pancakes."

"You hungry, kitten?" Cam asks, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles.

"No, thank you," I murmur, too nervous to eat anything.

"We're good," he says to Daphne, holding out a chair for me to sit.

Once I'm settled, he slides in next to me, scooting so close his body presses against my side in one long line. I gladly lean into him, letting him steady me as butterflies erupt in my stomach. I have no clue what we're doing here.

My gaze drifts to the paintings hanging on the walls. They're really good. One in particular catches my eye. It's an abstract of a woman's curvy body. She's dancing through a field of blue and white, almost joyously. It's amazing.

Daphne bustles back to the stove, her and Cam chatting back and forth.

"Catfish?" she asks.

Cam nudges me like he's expecting me to answer.

"Um, no thanks. I'm not hungry."

Who eats catfish with pancakes?

They both laugh like I said something funny.

"What?" I ask, narrowing my eyes on Cam.

"She didn't ask if you want catfish," he says with an amused smirk, still chuckling. "She asked if you know what a catfish is, kitten."

"Yes, I know what a catfish is," I say, rolling my eyes. He spends far too much time laughing at me. "It's a ray-finned fish of the ostariophysi order, often with barbels that look like whiskers, which is where they get the name. Oh, and they taste best when fried and served with ketchup and hushpuppies."

Daphne laughs again when he glares at me.

"Girl, you're funny," she says, flipping her pancakes onto a plate and turning off the stove. "But I wasn't talking about the actual fish, honey. I was talking about the other kind of catfish."

There's another type of catfish? News to me.

"I don't understand," I admit.

"A catfish is someone who creates a fake identity to lure people in online," she explains, pouring syrup over her pancakes. "They find photos of someone they like, and use those to create an entirely new identity. More often than not, they do it to experience life as someone else."

"Fake Ivy," I mumble, my heart thumping hard.

"Mmhmm," Daphne says with a nod. "Seems you and Cameron have caught a big one, girlfriend."

"What…I mean, what do I do about it?"

"Usually, I'd say nothing. Most catfish are harmless. They don't set out to hurt anyone, but the lies pile up and before they know it, they're in over their heads. Yours though?" Daphne shakes her head, tsking. "Girl, yours is on a whole new level if what Cameron told me is any indication."

"She's destroying my life," I whisper, twisting my hands together in my lap. "A college kid is missing and the cops think I had something to do with it. She's using my name, my pictures, my everything."

Cam reaches over and gently pries my fingers apart before slipping his hand into mine and giving it a squeeze.

"If they don't find this kid, I'm going to be charged in connection to his death."

"That ain't even right," Daphne says, sliding into a seat across from us at the table.

I don't know what to say to that so I nod.

"Tell her your story, Dee," Cam requests quietly, still holding my hand.

Daphne chews her pancakes and then swallows before taking a long drink of her juice. She sits quietly for a moment and then sighs. "I grew up here," she says then. "Lived in this house my entire life. The people in this neighborhood change with the seasons, but the neighborhood never changes. You gotta be hard to survive life around here. And I've known since I could walk that I was meant to be female." She takes another bite of her food before continuing. "Even in San Francisco, in the hood, that's a bad way to be. People get shot around here for a hell of a lot less, so I hid it, and I did a damn good job of keeping my secret, honey."