Secrets and Ink (12 page)

“Ow, that feels good,” Nick said on the heels of another low, guttural sound.

I swallowed down my cravings and kept my voice even. “I learned it from Charly. She told me the way to a man’s heart is through his feet.”

“I thought it was through the stomach.”

“I’ve already cooked for you. I’m working on the second line of defense.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. I searched Nick’s face for signs of spotting the truth behind the joke, but his eyes had slipped closed and his head slumped into the cushions. I went on in silence, switching from one foot to the other.

While my fingers worked, my mind romped around, and I pictured Nick lying there naked and me rubbing his whole body inch by inch. With oil. No, wait, it would get on the furniture, and he wouldn’t like that. We could be on a beach. A very private beach. Water would trickle down Nick’s face from the wet hair pasted to his skull, and his skin would taste salty like the ocean.

Sensing an electric charge in the air, I looked up and caught Nick watching me through half-lidded eyes. For three heartbeats, time stood still between us, but then Nick pulled his feet from my lap and sat up straight. “We need to talk,” he said.

My stomach clenched. “What did I do now?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. But there’s something you should know.” He had such a serious air about him it made my sexy buzz turn tail and flee. He pulled a folded sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “Remember the broken glass from your trash? I took it to a lab. These are the results.”

“Police crime lab?” All I knew about those places was from TV shows, and I doubted the real ones were as shiny and worked as fast.

“No. A private one.”

I couldn’t fathom why he’d do such thing. “Doesn’t that cost money?”

He made an impatient flick with his hand. “Yes. Stop interrupting and listen.”

All I could think of was how expensive it must’ve been. “But, how much—”

“Shut up already, for goodness sake. This is important. We can talk about money later,” he snapped.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back. “Fine. Go on.”

He unfolded the paper but barely glimpsed at it. It seemed like he knew its contents by heart. “In the liquid, they found massive traces of barbiturates, the same kind as in your sleeping pill. And something else—antiemetics.”

“Antiwhatics?”

“It’s a drug that prevents vomiting, like in motion-sickness pills. People who are serious about killing themselves usually take them along with the main drug.”

“You don’t still think I—”

“No. I don’t think you tried kill yourself.”

“You did in the hospital,” I reminded him.

“I made a rash assumption based on the evidence I had at the time. I’ve had a chance to think it over since. You’re…umm…quirky, frequently frustrating and have a temper, but you’re too damn stubborn to off yourself so suddenly.”

I had to play the devil’s advocate. “I could’ve faked it so you’d come to my rescue.”

He shook his head. “That would be too convoluted, and your crazy is more of the straightforward, charge-into-the-burning-house variety.”

I frowned. “Thank you. I think. But then what the fuck happened? Somebody put drugs in my juice. Why? Not to mention, how?” I suddenly had the surreal sense of being a character in an Agatha Christie novel. It made me feel oddly detached.

“I’d like to know that too, but I bet it has to do with the photos, Riley, and possibly Clay Carson. Somebody entered your apartment at least twice. Once to place the drugs, and second time to remove the evidence. Fortunately, they didn’t look in the trash. There could’ve been other times too. It wouldn’t be hard. Anyone who can climb a jungle gym could get up on your balcony, and since it looks out to a dark alley, they could easily do it unobserved. You were lucky to have spilled most of your drink, and even luckier I showed up when I did. Even if you didn’t die, you could’ve ended up with serious kidney damage.”

My brain refused to accept the fact that somebody had tried to kill me. “This is nuts. I didn’t do anything. I don’t even have a clue what the fuck is going on. Do you?”

“I’ve told you, it’s not my case, but Gary’s a thorough man. I leveled with him about the attempt on your life and everything else I know.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing. He knows you and I have a personal relationship. So obviously he won’t share details of the investigation with me. I’m already walking a fine line. I’d take an administrative leave if we weren’t short-staffed already.”

“I don’t think Detective Lipkin likes me.”

“He doesn’t have to. He knows about the Clay Carson angle but has to move gingerly around Hollywood types, especially without any kind of hard evidence. There’s also the possibility of Riley having an accomplice in his scheme to blackmail Carson.”

I clutched my head. “There’s the redheaded twink, and Riley mentioned someone… I don’t remember the name.” I groaned. “How do you cops deal with this crap? I’m getting a headache already.”

“We look at evidence, follow the clues, talk to people. Most murders are committed by somebody close to the victim. Not always, of course.”

“And some cases never get solved,” I added morosely.

“True.” Sugarcoating wasn’t Nick’s style.

I had a hard time wrapping my head around the situation. “I can’t picture Clay Carson, TV star, future action hero, climbing up to my balcony. Although… Hm.” A recent event I’d forgotten in all the commotion came back into focus.

“What?” Nick suddenly got a sharp look about him.

“Well, after leaving Carson’s house that one time, I thought somebody might have followed me in a black SUV on Mulholland.”

“Might?”

“I dunno. The driver was tailgating me aggressively, and I freaked out. That big-ass car could’ve run my little Honda off the road, and the drops are pretty steep around there. I don’t know if it had anything to do with anything—it could’ve been a random asshole. I pulled over, and he sped away.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“Next time we met, you were yelling at me, and then stuff happened, and I forgot.”

He scratched his chin. “Fair enough, and it might be nothing. Did you write down the license plate?”

“I didn’t think of it.”

“Make, model?”

“Big.” I wasn’t any better with cars than faces. Worse, if possible.

Nick groaned. I could tell I was testing his calm again. I remembered something else. “My downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Gallagher, said someone was asking about me.”

Nick cleared his throat. “That was me.”

I stared at him. “Why?”

“Background check. Don’t worry, she only had nice things to say.”

“I think I should be pissed at you right now.” In truth, I didn’t know how to feel.

Nick sighed. “Look, I liked you from the beginning. A whole lot. I recently broke up with someone—dating a cop’s not easy; not everyone can take it. So I didn’t rush, but I couldn’t stay away either. Eventually, I figured, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? But that revelation made everything extremely complicated and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t just let you go, though.”

“And here we are.”

“I haven’t told you this before, but you were on my mind for a while after the arrest, and that wasn’t normal. I’ve clicked the cuffs on hundreds of people, and very few stick with me. I thought of checking up on you, seeing how you were doing.”

“But you didn’t?”

“I didn’t trust my motives. However, after you popped up again like a bad penny, well, I had to know what you’d been up to.”

“And?” The short word resonated with all my warring emotions—annoyance, hope, uncertainty.

He looked back at me with an open face, like a man without a pang of guilt. “You’re clean as a whistle. Even pay your parking tickets on time.”

“I’ve learned my lesson. Don’t mess with the Department of Transportation,” I grumbled.

“I don’t know how you manage to get so many on your own street.”

“It’s the street-cleaning days. I can’t keep them straight. One time I was parked on the correct side but then went and moved my car to the other side because I thought the wrong side was the right one.”

Creases appeared around his eyes. “You need adult supervision.”

“Well, I got it now, don’t I? But I’m not a kid anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.” I felt that zing in the air again. It was now or never. I closed the short distance between us and straddled his thighs. He didn’t resist or say a word but kept his eyes locked on mine. Putting my hands behind his head, I dug my fingers into his hair. It was too short for a good grip, but I did what I could. “Do you still see me as that kid? Will Sasha stand between us forever?”

He slowly moved his head side to side. “You’ve changed.”

“I’ve put on two and a half inches and fifteen pounds.”

“Not just that. You talk different, walk different. I see you as you are, right now, not a memory.” I felt firm hands on my hips.

“Good. Because I can’t be just friends with you.” I pulled his head back by the hair and kissed him hard. He slid his hands upward, under my shirt.

I love necking, and now that I had my paws on Nick again, I wanted to savor every last bit of him. And just maybe I enjoyed turning him on and letting him simmer.

When I pulled back, his eyes were dark as ink. “You know, I have a theory that everyone has at least one secret, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m wrong. You’re too square for them,” I said.

“Hah. You underestimate me.”

“Okay, tell me your deepest, darkest secret.”

He blinked, and I saw a trace of a blush. “You already know it.”

I was getting better at reading him, at least at close range. “What? That you got a brief physical reaction to my admittedly fine teenage ass? I’m not impressed. Tell me something else.”

Our eyes locked while Nick kept raking fingers across my ribs and down along my spine. “All right. You asked for it,” he said, then dumped me on my still-fine twenty-six-year-old ass and left the room.

On his return, I registered with curiosity and a sense of alarm the bundle of purple ropes in his hands. It’s a curious color, purple—halfway between red and blue, danger and safety.

“I won’t tie you up,” he said as if reading my mind.

“No?” Strange how I felt relieved and disappointed at the same time.

“Well, I’ll tie these on you, but your movement won’t be at all restricted. How does that sound?”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

His gaze—equal parts of lustful and caring—sent my heart to pitter-pattering. I knew then for certain that Nick wasn’t like any man I’d in my life before. He told me to strip naked and kneel on the carpet. When I didn’t comply fast enough, he gave me a stare that probably had delinquents trembling. It sure made my pulse quicken. He pushed the furniture aside to make room. “Have you heard of Kinbaku? Shibari?”

“Sounds like sushi.”

“Not quite. Japanese rope bondage. As with everything Japanese, steeped in ritual.” He dropped a CD into the player, and the rhythmic thrum of drums filled the room. “Tell me if you go numb or want me to stop for any reason.”

He knelt next to me, picked a piece of rope and wound it around my bicep. I sat back on my heels, shut my eyes and sank into the sensations. The rope bit into my skin but not too hard. Nick kept looping it around, tied knots and sometimes untied them. When I stole a glimpse, I saw utter concentration on his face. It was so him—meticulous, in control, but with an unexpected touch of beauty. That was his true secret, I realized, his hidden passion. What really got to me was the fact that he shared it with me—not something he’d do with casual fuck buddy.

Having ropes wrapped around my arms was an unexpectedly erotic experience—the firm caress of my bindings and Nick’s fingers brushing my skin. My heartbeat sped along with the drums. Finishing both arms, he moved behind me. He took my wrists, moved them to the small of my back and held them there, but only with his hands.

“How do you feel?” His breath brushed my ear as he whispered.

“Good,” I rasped.

He let me go and moved away, but I stayed as I’d been. It must’ve pleased him. “You’re so beautiful. Keep your eyes closed.”

I held my pose and sharpened my ears. I heard shuffling around, the swish of clothes, and other sounds I couldn’t identify. However, I could both hear and feel when Nick’s knees hit the carpet behind me. I instinctively leaned back and was rewarded with the scratch of his chest hair against my skin. A moment later, his slippery hand closed around my cock. I moaned and arched into his grip.

He wound his other arm around my chest, teasing fingers landing on a nipple. I stretched my hands toward his cock—I could feel its heat. He let me curl my fingers around his shaft and work him blindly only for a few strokes.

“Stop. Put your hand on the floor.” He let go of me again. “Lean forward.” I did. It thrilled me to be in his power. “More,” he added, and I slid forward till my head and elbows touched the carpet and my ass was up in the air.

“Good,” he said, just as he slid his slippery fingers into the crevice between my buttocks.

I moaned encouragements as his fingers invaded my hole one by one and worked me with expert ease.

“I want to fuck you.” The rumble of his words gave me goose bumps.

“Yesss…please.”

I heard foil rip and widened my stance in anticipation. He slid into me with one smooth motion. And out. The stereo started a new number, drums beating slowly, gaining momentum and settling into a light gallop, picking up speed again. Nick pulled me up the moment the drum with the deepest timbre took charge. I felt the sound reverberate through me the same as I felt Nick’s cock in my ass and his hand around my cock. My orgasm erupted in a sticky mess just as the drums began to pick up a frantic tempo. As if he’d been waiting for this, Nick grasped me tightly and came inside me. We finished while the music staggered to a stop. For a few seconds we stayed still, except for breathing heavy.

“Fuck,” I said, easing myself off on trembling limbs. “That was…unusual. In a mind-blowing way.”

“Here.” He handed me a towel. Well, of course. Typical of him to be mindful of such details. There would definitely not be any oiling him up on the furniture.