Inside Out (12 page)

With her black locks hanging heavy around her shoulders, she looked so much like she did that day on the boat, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. Her soaked black tank top enhanced her sleek panther look, clinging to her fabulous breasts. But still, it was those eyes that freaked him out. He swallowed. Why had she been crying the other night? The question burned on his lips as she smiled coyly at him like she had no cares in this world. What could he do to take her pain away?

But instead he asked, “How did you find me?”

“You ask too many questions, stranger,” she whispered, her lips moist and promising, and then added, “I needed to see you too.”

The rain whipped sideways against the windshield, so thick the world outside had disappeared. Though his car was one of many in the parking lot, Shane knew it was too soon for patrons to have finished, and too late for any others to arrive. His eyes swung to her breasts and he swallowed hard, his mouth dry.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I wanted to surprise you. I must be a mess…”

He leaned forward and found himself playing with a stray tendril of black hair stuck to her cheek. He brought it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. “A damn sexy mess. You smell so good, Hunter,” he whispered as he leaned in and nuzzled her neck, her body responding already.

“I’ve never liked the name Hunter. Call me something else,” she murmured.

Shane thought about it in vain. Hunter was the perfect name for her. “Any suggestions?”

She flipped her hair to one shoulder and smiled at him like when she’d been flirting with him from the other boat. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always liked ‘Princess.’”

Princess—one of his nicknames for Olivia. There was no way he was taking that from his wife. It was their name, used during their private moments. No one would ever take that from him.

“Come here,” he murmured.

She turned his way, a wild look in her eyes promising she would go with him all the way again, if not be in the lead.

She kept her eyes open and her shoulders relaxed as his lips teased hers, gently tugging at her bottom lip with his, drinking in the scent of her body, and he enjoyed the vibrancy of her need through their clothes.

Hunter’s hands slid up his shoulders to cradle his head, and she returned his kiss with a vengeance, hungry and needy.

Shane reached down and pushed her seat back as far as it would go.

“Is this the place to fuck a lady?” She asked in a low, husky voice and he grinned.

“The best,” he answered, searching her face, but her eyes and body language told him to go ahead.

He eased himself over her, his arms on either side of her hips, but still not touching her. Instead, he ducked to the neckline of her tank top, his lips tracing the soft swell of her breasts, which began to rise and fall with excitement.

Hunter tangled her fingers in his hair and brought her thigh up to caress his leg, leaving herself completely exposed to him, pushing out her breasts. She threw back her head, and Shane lifted her top and threw it aside. Damn—everything about her blew his mind.

He peeled her bra off and gasped in awe at the sight of her pointy, dark-tipped breasts. He had forgotten how beautiful she was.

“You’re so amazing…” he murmured as he lowered his head to capture a tip in his mouth, making suckling noises that seemed to excite her even more.

She rolled her head luxuriously, licking her lips, then stilled. When she opened her eyes there was a fleeting flicker of fear. She gasped and sat up like an animal caught in the headlights.

“Someone might see us,” she protested as she moved to cover her beautiful breasts. He lifted his head to briefly scan the parking lot, but couldn’t see two feet out into the rain. Their naked bodies were the only patch of color in the desert of water where nothing else existed.

“Only I can see you, and I’m loving it,” Shane whispered as a grin spread across his mouth, which returned to the warmth of her body.

He hooked his arms around her thighs to pull her closer. She once again relaxed and giggled, and as he touched her pussy she arched her back to give him better access, her stiletto heels clicking against the inside of the windshield.

Shane hitched up her skirt, enjoying the feel of her creamy skin on his way up and the scrap of silk of her black thong. He slid a finger under it.

“Tear it off,” she growled, and Shane’s eyes swung to hers.

She was so daring, so passionate. Feral, almost, with a hunger that he had never seen in any woman.

He grinned and obliged. The delicate material snapped between his index fingers, and Hunter breathed a sigh as Shane slid it out from between her legs, the friction against her nub causing her to shudder.

“Oh,” she said as he ducked to lick her. “Oh.”

“Enjoying it, are you?”

“Oh…” she answered, rising her pelvis further into his mouth, and his tongue darted in and out of her as his thumb began to circle her right…
there
.

“Oh, my
God
…” she breathed, bracing her hands between the armrest and the window. “Oh, no, no don’t,” she uttered as she began to climax.

Shane stopped and grinned down at her. Wearing only her thigh-high, black leather stiletto boots, she was so beautiful, her eyes wild, her moist mouth hanging open, her breasts heaving as her breath sawed in and out of her, the thick black triangle between her legs rising in offer to him. He stroked it with the back of his hand, revealing the glistening folds of her pussy.

“Don’t what?” he murmured, mocking her.

“Don’t…don’t stop…” she begged, and moved to unbutton his trousers, wrapping her fingers around his rock-hard cock. She smiled her lazy smile as she reached down to caress him at length, drawing a groan from him.

“Ah, sweetheart,” he hissed as she stroked the purple, strained head.

Shane watched with hooded eyes as she took him and directed him to her moist cleft. He responded immediately, jutting up against her, and she spread herself for him, pushing up. They both gasped at the feeling and Shane’s hands slid around to her ass as he pulled her closer, and she met his first thrust, her eyes challenging him. Shane’s breath quickened as Hunter continued to move rhythmically, back and forth under him, her beautiful breasts heaving with each breath. He squeezed her nipples and he ducked to lick her.

She trembled and suddenly grabbed his biceps to move quicker and quicker, her eyes never leaving his. This woman was pure fire.

Enchanted, he watched through half-open eyes as the muscles in her face twitched, her brow shot up, and her jaw dropped in a deep moan.

Only then did he allow himself to join her, flinging his own head back and letting out a low, guttural cry of release. They were a perfect fit, two halves of a whole, no matter what anybody said.

Chapter Fourteen

Shane dropped her off with a luscious kiss. Daydreaming, Olivia climbed all the way up to the seventh floor, put down her bag at the door, and went straight for the fridge. It was empty save for a pot of rancid yogurt, a slab of hard cheese turning green at the corners, and two bottles of beer. She went through Hunter’s kitchen cabinets, which practically echoed. Next came Hunter’s purse, then her drawers. Nothing. Not one quid. Now what? She’d die before asking anybody for help, especially Shane.

She pulled out Hunter’s credit card, wondering if she could get cash back. She flipped the card around and studied the signature. Incomprehensible. Excellent.

Olivia went out and tried her luck. At Hollywood Soundz in the High Street she found an excellent value for money secondhand cello. She had no way of knowing Hunter’s PIN number, nor how much Hunter had in her bank account. This would have to do. As she paid she shook her head to the salesman who offered to wrap it up for her.

She hoped she could still play it. If she had inherited Hunter’s prowess, she hoped she hadn’t lost her own talent.

We’ll soon find out,
she thought grimly as she grabbed an empty crate from the outdoor market—a handful of stalls selling furniture and colorful Caribbean baubles and beads inside a hollow shell of a shed. Olivia squinted up at the pigeons perched on the P and B of the sign that read Public Market and thought that right now she resembled them, depending on human generosity for a crust of bread.

Olivia pulled off her belt, created a loop, and put her foot and the tail spike of her cello inside the circle so it wouldn’t slide on the pavement. Next she sat on the crate with her new purchase between her knees and caressed the smooth warm wood. It had been ages. A lifetime, in fact. Could she still play it, even if Hunter’s fingers pulled the chords?

She tuned it properly, then touched a few notes of “The Swan,” tentatively at first, almost expecting the cello to scream at her that she had it all wrong. She dipped her head and soon lost herself in the sweetness of the deep, sad sound, and Olivia resurfaced, lawful wife of Shane Hart, and not a biker chick on the street hustling for food.

As she played, people passing through the market place slowed down to a stop. Olivia smiled at them gracefully, acknowledging their presence as her head dipped once again, suppressing a snicker. Some people didn’t give a shit about music but pretended they could feel it and that it touched them deeply. Did this snobbish thought stem from Olivia’s or Hunter’s mind? Or were they simply both a bit haughty? Had she finally found common ground between the two of them?

The first coin dropped into the cello case and again Hunter acknowledged the generous donor with a smile, and soon others followed. As she drew to an end she bowed and the crowd that had formed around her applauded fiercely.

Next she threw herself into a series of pieces composed by Bartok, her favorite, and the money kept pinging against the hard bottom of the cello case.

After three hours, she packed up with a hundred quid in coins and stopped for coffee, which surprised her because she only drank tea, but the rich flavor of the brew filled her with vigor and warmth. Not to mention the three jelly doughnuts she wolfed down in two minutes flat. What a shitty life, not knowing where your next meal would come from, not knowing who your enemies were. Nor what you did to earn them. Just Olivia’s luck that Hunter had deserted her body when the going got rough.

Shane had told her she’d been navigating a speedboat up the Thames when someone took a shot at her. Alone. What had Hunter been doing?

Hunter’s mobile phone rang, and she cleared her mouth of the last of the jelly doughnut. What the hell did Randy want again? He called her practically every other hour. She sighed and clicked the phone open.

“Hello?”

“Seems you have a thing with cello cases and coins.”

Olivia’s blood froze at the sound of the familiar voice. Where had she heard it before?

“What? Who is this?”

“Don’t play dumb, Orlando. I want my money. Your time’s up.”

And with a click he rang off.

Cello cases and coins? Shane had her cello case with him that night. It must have contained the ransom money. Who had it now? Randy? Was this his idea of a joke? He seemed to mistrust her although he had a soft spot for her.

Randy must have known about Jimmy kidnapping her behind his back—the signs were there—the resentment, the mistrust. But would he actually go so far as topping his own girlfriend off? With gangs you never knew. Not that Olivia had ever had any experience with any, but the news was full of horrific episodes of gang violence, if the infamous south-London Richardsons were anything to go by. They used to drive six-inch nails into their enemies. Olivia shuddered.

Whatever the scenario, Hunter had called the shots in that relationship until her kidnapping. With her betrayal, she had fallen from grace. Thanks to bloody Jimmy Port. The unfathomable entity of Randy’s entourage had probably seen her with Shane and reported back. She needed to get Randy under her thumb again. Without using Hunter’s strongest weapon—sex.

At closing time, Olivia went back to Hunter’s flat and less than two minutes later a key scraped in the lock. She’d taken hers out of the hole in the wall and jealously kept it in her purse. Randy obviously had his own duplicate.

“You in, babe?” Randy called. As if he didn’t know. He always had someone loitering in the area, waiting for her return to inform him. She wasn’t being paranoid. She had seen them a million times.

Olivia watched Randy as he came in, arms wide. His hands were nowhere near Shane’s size. Randy could only dream of being like Shane. Randy was nothing but scum. For someone like him, money was way more important than a woman. Her skin crawled with goose bumps—not the nice kind that Shane gave her, but a shudder of fear. How the hell did Hunter manage to sleep with such a criminal?

“Hunter, babe, I heard you held a concert in the market this morning.”

Olivia bristled. “I didn’t have a choice. You keep me in poverty, Randy. That’s no way to treat a lady.”

Randy laughed. “When did you learn to play the cello?”

“Oh, a friend taught me.” She was getting very good at this game of everything-but-the-truth. Better change the subject and fast, though. She didn’t know how long she’d be able to hold out.

“So, Randy, what’ve we got in mind tonight?”

His lips curled up as he sidled in next to her. “You don’t remember? It was your idea.”

You mean it was Hunter’s bloody idea. I haven’t the foggiest.
“Right.”

Randy laughed as he pulled her hair, bringing her close to his face. His breath heavy with beer, she made an effort not to turn her head away. How the hell could Hunter stand him? And then Olivia understood.

Hunter was keeping the dangerous animal at bay. Which suited her perfectly because she had no intention of sleeping with a delinquent.

Olivia sensed something was definitely off, judging by the sentinels parked in front of her building and the way he stopped talking or cast her sidelong glances whenever she stepped into The Hanged Highwayman.

* * *

The next morning Olivia surfed the net in the privacy of her own shop, unable to forget the steamy scenes she’d had with Shane in the parking lot. She’d never done it in a car before, let alone during the day where anyone could see her. And she’d never done it with anybody else besides Shane. He’d been her first. Olivia hoped he’d be her last. And that she would be his last. But she knew him well. Or at least she was getting to know him well. He couldn’t exist without a woman in his bed.