Becoming Rain (20 page)

Chapter 32

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“Do you always answer the door in your underwear?” I can't help but marvel at the ridges in his stomach, a perfectly formed eight-pack of muscle. By the light sheen over his chest and the tension in his muscles, I know he was doing his nightly workout.

And I'm assuming the prominent erection is the same one from hours ago.

Luke's eyes are taking all of me in. I purposely wore this T-shirt. It may not be sexy black lace, but that would be too overt an attempt at seducing him. It just grazes the tops of my thighs. It's soft and paper thin and so worn that it's borderline see-through. And there's nothing underneath it to obscure his view of me, one he seems to be appreciating.

He must know why I'm here. I made a point of locking the door and all.

But am I doing the right thing? Too many thoughts are swirling inside my head right now. My worry for him after Elmira's subtle warning, her not-so-subtle push for intimacy as a way to get the information that I want, the pressure of the case and the need to get something valuable out of this trip. The fact that I
want
to get closer to Luke, for reasons other than the case.

When I snuck upstairs and overheard Aref suggest to Luke that he shouldn't be in a relationship right now, I panicked and committed to this plan. Above all else, I can't risk my connection with him.

Because maybe I can help him. Maybe he doesn't have to go down in this mess, once everything is exposed.

I spy his suit in a rumpled mess on the floor beside me. “You really shouldn't leave this lying here like this. You'll ruin it.” Leaning over to pick it up, I hear his sharp inhale as the back of my shirt rides up to far beyond inappropriate.

I take my time, draping his jacket and pants over the chair before turning back to find his piercing blue eyes blazing. And I know I've gone past the point where I could just turn around and walk out. So I close the distance, until I'm a mere foot away. I reach up and begin tracing the slick ripples in his stomach with my fingertips, something I've longed to do for weeks. “You're somewhat fanatical about your body, aren't you?”

The smile has fallen off, replaced with an almost pained expression, his fingers balled into fists at his sides.

He's waiting for me, just like he said he would.

Pressing my palm against his chest, I step in until I'm close enough that his breath tickles my cheek. I let my mouth graze his neck, my own breath skating across it until goose bumps erupt on him.

That must be his breaking point because his hands are on me in the next instant—one grasping the back of my neck and the other one roped around my back to pull me tight. My T-shirt bunched in his fist, the cool air cascading over my bare skin.

“Lights?” I catch a glimpse out through one of the two large oval windows to the sea beyond. Anyone out there can see in. And, by anyone, I mean my surveillance team. I'm not risking them watching me do this.

Luke obliges, pulling me backward with him to the bed, fumbling with the switch without ever leaving my lips. The cabin is thrown into darkness, save for the natural moonlight streaming in through the panoramic windows. Streaming in such a perfect way that I can still see him clearly beneath me as he sits down, pulling me on top to straddle his lap. He has my T-shirt up and over my head in seconds.

“Well, that was fast,” he smirks, breaking free long enough to let his gaze travel down over my breasts, my stomach, and farther down, to where nothing but a thin layer of his cotton separates us.

“I guess I should have made it a little more difficult,” I tease, reveling in the heat radiating off him.

“No, I think I prefer easy.” He chuckles at his own joke, leaning down and taking one of my nipples into his mouth, his large hands a warm expanse over my hips as he pulls me hard against him. It's impossible for me not to grind myself against him.

And tell myself over and over again that this is okay because it's for the job, even though my conscience isn't buying it anymore.

Luke flips me over and rests me on the bed as if I weigh nothing, his tall frame looming over me for several long moments, his gaze shifting from one body part to the next.

I'm fairly confident about my body—I work hard enough to maintain it—but being under such intense scrutiny by someone so beautiful, so sculpted, starts to make me feel self-conscious.

“No, don't,” he warns, his hands gently touching my knees, stopping them from closing completely. “You're perfect. Almost too perfect.” He pushes his boxer briefs down and climbs onto the bed to fit himself in between my legs, forcing my thighs apart. “Sometimes I wonder if you're even real.”

I close my eyes with his words, as his mouth finds my collarbone. I
am
real. At least, parts of who he's seen are. And
this
is real, what's happening between us right now.

I feel like the Velveteen Rabbit.

Right now, part of me wishes I had a fairy godmother to wave a wand and make Rain Martines come alive. But if she did, then I couldn't help Luke. And, more and more, I want to help him.

I feel the tip of him rubbing against my thigh, and my body instinctively lifts and moves toward it, beckoning him in. I'm standing on the edge of a cliff right now, and I have no choice. I have to jump, even though the landing is going to hurt.

But I know the fall will be pure ecstasy.

He groans and I expect him to fish out a condom. But his hands and mouth begin wandering instead. Strong hands that make me feel dainty and cherished, the way they squeeze my hips and caress my breasts and slide inside me. I remember wondering if he was a selfish guy, focused more on his own needs.

I couldn't have been more wrong, I realize, as he seems to worship every part of my body with his fingers and mouth, until my thighs are clenching around his head and my fingers are weaving through his hair, yanking on the soft strands.

Begging him.

I'm so riled up by the time I finally hear the condom wrapper tear open that he slides right into me with a moan and a muttered curse.

Guilt and happiness go to war inside of me as I fall.

I wonder which one will win.

■ ■ ■

With my head against his chest and his fingers drawing circles on my back and his heartbeat lulling me into sleep, my body jerks with his sudden words. “Hey Rain, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” That's about all I can manage, I'm so content right now.

His fingers continue their dance along my back in the silence of the cabin. “Have you ever done anything illegal?”

Hearing his tone switch to something more serious is like being thrown into a bath of ice water, my postcoital bliss effectively ruined, reminding me that I have a purpose here. I take a deep breath and relax my body. “You mean like smoke pot?”

His low chuckle tickles my eardrum. “Yeah, sure.”

I decide to be honest with him. “A few times. And when I was fourteen, I stole makeup from the local CVS, too.”

“Did you get caught?”

“Yup. Turns out I'm a shitty thief. I didn't even see the camera pointed on the makeup aisle as I stuffed my pockets.”

“What happened?”

“Well, thankfully my mom knew the owner well so he agreed not to press charges. But, man, did my dad ever make me remember not to do it again.” I groan, thinking back to the aftermath. “It was September and we were in the middle of a heat wave. I couldn't wear shorts for a week, because of the welts across the backs of my legs.”

There's a pause and then Luke's body tenses. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” I turn my head until my chin is resting on Luke's chest and I can see him staring down at me, his hair mussed but still sexy as hell. “I told you my dad was old-school Italian, right? Well, he grew up with the belt. So my brother and I grew up with the belt, too.”

Luke seems speechless for a moment. “And you still talk to him?”

“I've forgiven him, yeah. I mean, that's what his dad taught him and that's all he knew. For years, I didn't even realize how wrong it was.” I've never talked openly about this with anyone before. I can't believe I'm doing it now, with my target. Then again, maybe he understands, in a way. He was raised by people who obviously love him, but who also haven't grasped how wrong what they're doing is. They don't live their days flogging themselves with guilt. They've long since convinced themselves that it's okay.

It becomes ingrained in them, and in each new generation following. Somehow, Rust convinced his nephew that this life he's leading him into is something to strive for.

“Has
he
realized how wrong that is?”

“Yeah. We had our differences growing up. I moved out when I was seventeen, and lived with friends. I was still in high school. We didn't talk for a few years.”

Luke doesn't say anything for a long moment. I'm not surprised. Most people who don't deal with that sort of thing don't know how to reconcile the fact that I still talk to my dad, that I love him, that I'll do anything for him. That tells me that, for the other ways that Rust has corrupted his nephew, he never raised a hand to him, which is more than I can say about the criminals I've busted in the past. They usually have a handful of kids with different baby mamas.
If
they acknowledge them, it's usually with abusive words and backhands and general neglect. Stereotypical, yes. But also real. I remember this one drug dealer who had his scrawny thirteen-year-old son, whose voice hadn't even dropped yet, muling cocaine and pot around school. Of course the kid got roughed up and robbed. When he went home with a bloody lip and told his father what happened, his father beat the shit out of him for letting them take the drugs.

I'm guessing the Markov/Boone household was a semi-normal family home to any bystander—the smell of eggs and bacon wafting from the kitchen on Saturdays, church on Sundays, a perpetual pile of muddy kids' shoes at the doorstep every other day.

Finally, Luke sighs. “That's just . . . kinda crazy, Rain. But you're fine now? I mean, it seems like you're fine, with you living in his condo and everything.”

“Yeah, we're good. He finally realized how wrong it all was. We understand each other better now. I think he respects me.”

“What made the difference?”

“It was around the time I—” I rest my head against his chest again, fighting the shot of panic that rips through my body. I almost slipped. I was so close to admitting that it was around the time I became a cop.
Jesus.
I need to stop talking.

“Around the time . . .” Luke prompts.

“Around the time . . .” My mind spins, searching for a lie. “. . . that my grandfather died. My dad didn't have a good relationship with him and he regretted it. He didn't want the same to happen with me, so he apologized.”
Man,
I'm good at lying. I scare myself sometimes.

He pulls me into him, laying a kiss on my forehead. “I'm glad it all worked out.” Both of us sigh. I imagine for very different reasons.

“Why did you ask if I've done something illegal?” I prop my head up on my elbow to see his face.

His eyes are on the ceiling, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with his swallow. “What would you say if I told you that I've done some illegal stuff? That I'm involved with some illegal stuff now. With my uncle.” Finally, his eyes shift to meet mine. I see a hint of something like fear in them.

I'd say don't tell me, dammit! Don't admit it. Don't crush the tiny, stupid hope burning bright in my chest that everything is just one big misunderstanding.

This is it, though. This is what the Feds have been waiting for. This is what
I
have been waiting for.

I hope he can't read my inner turmoil in my face. “I'd ask if you were hurting people.”

“No! I mean . . .” He releases a deep breath, like he's been holding it, and then chuckles, “I'm sure there are people cursing us seven ways to Sunday, but . . . no one gets hurt.” Strands of my hair have fallen forward, covering part of my face. He tucks them back behind my ear to give me an unobstructed look at his eyes. I study them. So open, so honest, staring wide at me. Almost pleading with me to trust him.

Either he really believes that no one is getting hurt or I'm the biggest sucker undercover officer on earth. “What are you two doing?” My tongue feels leaden with the question.

“It's not just us. There's a whole network of people. It's all still new to me, though. Rust just pulled me in a few weeks ago. ” Luke's fingertip traces my bottom lip. “He wants me to run it with him one day.”

The Feds were right.

My stomach is churning and my heart feels heavy. I've never wanted to be wrong on a case before. “Is Aref a part of it, too?”

He nods.

“Were you guys discussing it tonight?”

He nods again. “And you.”

“What? Me?”

He chuckles. “Yeah . . . He warned me to be careful about what I say because the second you take your clothes off, I'll start spilling my guts like a sorry sucker. I think he's just watching his own back.”

That's exactly what he's doing. Both Aref and Elmira are up to something, I'm fairly certain. The question is what, exactly? Is it simply testing anyone new, protecting their empire? Is this cabin bugged as well?

I push that fear away. If it is, I need to use it to my advantage, feeding them what they want to hear. “Do you feel guilty about what you do?”

He hesitates, as if considering that. “Honestly? I'm not sure yet. I think part of me does, but then Rust throws me a pile of cash and a Porsche and I kind of forget.” He lets go of my face and focuses his gaze on the ceiling, his voice cracking with his admission. “That sounds shitty. I guess I'm greedy.”