The Set Up (26 page)

Tucking the pencil behind his ear, the detective tosses his pad of paper on the table next to the picture of Jasper and his father. Then, in a swift movement, he sits on one of the two chairs. Hands on his knees, he cocks his head to one side. “Listen, son, if some kind of kinky sex game went wrong, you’d be better off admitting it now.”

I try not to gasp but find myself trembling.

Jasper’s entire body goes taut and he turns red. “That is not what happened.”

“Okay, okay, got it,” the detective says.

The buzzer rings. Jake jumps up. He practically runs over to it and hits the button fast to allow whoever it is access.

The two uniformed officers have moved into the kitchen now and are opening and closing cupboards.

Jasper’s gaze follows them. “I didn’t kill Eve Hepburn.”

Crushed by the tone of Jasper’s voice, I decide to reach and take his hand.

The detective watches us with almost morbid curiosity before turning his attention back to Jasper. “I’m not accusing you of that, Mr. Storm, I’m just trying to collect information because you were the last person to see her.”

“No, that’s not true. My boss told me he saw Eve after the party in the lobby,” I blurt out.

Now he’s giving me his full attention. “Cole Reynolds?”

“Yes.”

Taken aback, he stares at me as if searching for a lie. “I’ll be sure to check into that. Thank you, Miss Lane.”

I stay absolutely still.

He looks between Jasper and me once again. “I wasn’t aware you and Mr. Storm were acquainted. How do you know each other?”

Just then there’s more pounding on the door.

Jake is standing beside it and quickly opens it.

Will, Drew, and a petite woman come rushing in.

The men both look at Jasper and then the detective with concern registering on their faces. The woman pushes her glasses up and is the first to speak. “Jasper Storm’s attorney has asked that all questions be asked in his presence. He’d hate for police procedure to be questioned.”

Slowly, deliberately, the detective gets to his feet. “Whitney, always nice to see you again.”

The smile she gives him tells me the feeling isn’t mutual and that she knows him fairly well.

The detective looks toward Jasper. “Is Todd Carrington your attorney?”

“Yes, he is.”

The detective nods and says to Whitney, “You can tell your brother this is just an informal Q&A, nothing to get his feathers in a ruffle about.”

They absolutely know each other.

“I’ll make sure he gets the message, but just so everyone is on the same page, Mr. Storm will not be answering any more of your questions, informal or not, without the presence of his attorney.”

Lips pursed, he gives her another nod. “Of course. Tell him I’ll be in touch.”

“I will,” she says with a smile.

The detective turns back toward Jasper. “I’m going to allow the officers to finish their search without me. If there’s anything you decide you want to discuss, call me,” he says, handing Jasper his card.

My heart starts to slow but races again when his gaze settles on me. “And I’ll be in touch with you soon, Miss Lane.”

Although I have nothing to be worried about, his tone terrifies me. It could be because my nerves are already frayed. It could be because I’m worried about Jasper. It could be because I feel like targets are being set up and someone is going to take the fall, whether guilty or not.

“For what?” Jasper asks harshly.

The detective looks at him and without answering says, “Have a nice night.”

Everyone watches as he walks slowly toward the door. Jake is still beside it and hurriedly opens it for him.

Once the door is closed, Jasper’s gaze darts to mine. “I’m taking you home now.”

This time I don’t argue.

STRESS KICKERS

Jasper

HERE’S THE SCENE:
Me, barreling straight down a double black-diamond ski run at 40 miles per hour. Or me on the racetrack taking curves I shouldn’t be cutting so close at 100 miles per hour. You might say it’s stupid. Or crazy. I call it genius.

The danger and unpredictability that threaten my life are the same things that have saved me so many times from doing some stupid-crazy shit that might have gotten me into real trouble.

Adrenaline has always been my thing. Living for that high I get from it. It’s who I am. Moving fast is how I have always lived my life. I talk fast. Walk fast. Drive fast. Shit, I even fuck fast.

With Charlotte though, I don’t feel like I want to parachute out of a plane. With her, I’m different.

Then again, everything between us is different than I’m used to when I’m with a girl.

Good different?

Bad different?

I’m not entirely certain which.

But I can feel it in my bones—the urge to want to slow down.

Who knows, maybe it’s the shit situation I’m in. Or maybe, just maybe—it’s her.

It seems like light-years ago that I was on my way to pick her up wondering if she was going to come with me, wondering if what we had as kids would be tarnished or ruined by delving into the past. How fucked up is it that it turns out it might be my own actions that do just that and not those of her father?

Silence fills the air, but I don’t mind it. I push the gas and let the speed overtake me, for no other reason than just because. Windows open, the warm summer air fills my lungs. The speedometer easily surpasses the threshold of 70. The threshold I’d been afraid to cross for three years and no longer am. Because of her. For her. All thanks to her.

Still, I don’t go that fast. I have Charlotte in the car and I don’t want to scare her. The adrenaline I crave comes from just being beside her, and oddly enough, it helps ease my troubled thoughts.

Back at her apartment door again, she twists the lock, but before she opens the door she turns toward me. “Jasper, I just want you to know that I believe you. I know you didn’t kill Eve.”

My eyes greedily take her in. Her stunning face, pink from the sun, her freckles more prominent because of it, her hair a beautiful mess, half back and half forward, windblown from biking and the ride in the car, her eyes so much like the color of the sky. I press my palms on the door, caging her in but not getting too close. “I know you do. But I hate that you had to hear that just now. I meant what I said earlier: I don’t want you to hear the details of that night. Promise me when they come out, you won’t read about them, you won’t listen to them on the news, and you won’t ask me about them.”

She shudders and straightens her shoulders. Bucking up. Putting on a brave face that I feel she has perfected over the years. “Jasper, you were with two women. Situations like that probably happen more times than I can imagine. Stop worrying about me and what I think. I’m not a prude. I can handle talk about kinky sex.”

Hearing her say what is only the truth makes my gut twist.

I hate that she knows about that night.

Hate it.

Absolutely hate this situation.

Against my better judgment, I dare to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear.

She stares at me.

Standing here in silence, I could break it and explain the events that led to that fucked up threesome. But why bother. It’s not like what happened is going to make me look like Prince Charming. “I don’t want you to think of me like that.”

Her hand meets mine just as my fingers brush through her hair.

That touch, every time . . . every time I feel something course through my body that lands right in my heart. It’s that same raging storm, and whatever it means I’m not sure I want to know.

“Like what, Jasper? Like a man who indulges his needs?” she whispers.

I quickly pull myself upright and take a step back feeling a little stung by her words, even though I know they weren’t meant to sting. “I should go. Everyone is waiting for me to get back.”

She looks directly into my eyes. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just meant you’re a man with needs. I get that. I already told you, I’m not one to judge.”

I don’t say anything but I also can’t look away. I swim for a minute in her gaze and find myself struggling with what to say and what not to say. What to do and what not to do. Being with her is something I want and no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince myself not to want her.

Realizing that I need to leave before I do something stupid, I take another step back and practically trip on the untied laces of my scuffed up boots. This isn’t the right time for us with what might be taking place over the weeks to come. God only fucking knows how long it will take for the police to find the killer. Until then, I might just be put through the wringer. “Listen, I’ll call you.”

“Don’t say what you don’t mean.”

“I never say things I don’t mean, Charlotte. I will call you. I want to hear what it is that makes you so certain the explosion wasn’t an accident.”

With her eyes closed, softly she whispers, “I’ll be waiting.”

A sense of being needed hammers hard against the walls I’ve built, but the reality that the call won’t be made any time soon, and I know it will hurt her, is what stops me from shoving her away.

Instead, it breaks me.

There’s this need inside me that I can’t fight—the need to stay close to her. It’s as if somehow she snuck over that wall I’ve spent my whole life building so high and is getting inside of me.

It’s foolish to think closing the distance between us and pushing her up against that door is the right way to handle the indecision battling within me. But it’s more foolish to think it isn’t. So I stride toward her as fast as I can. Once I reach her, I yank her to me and then I press my lips to hers.

Sweet.

Delicious.

The craving I can no longer deny.

This, our second kiss, is a little harder, a little rougher, and a lot sloppier than the first. No longer worried about crossing the line from friends to more, I devour her. The truth is we crossed that line the minute we laid eyes on each other again.

My hands grip her face.

Hers grip my wrists as if to pull me closer.

I’m not sure it’s possible to get any closer, but I’m willing to try.

With virtually no space between us, a rapid fire of sensation licks through my body and I can’t suppress the groan that erupts from somewhere deep. The storm that was raging fiercely within me seems to continually settle the longer my lips stay pressed to hers, but something else begins to replace it.

Heat.

Heat like I’ve never felt before in my life.

Blasting like an inferno through me. I’m a volcano that is about to erupt. And I feed from her, wanting more, taking every ounce of warmth she has to give.

That small, delicate body shudders beneath my touch and my entire body hardens with need, so much so that a rumble of pleasure vibrates from my chest.

I want to be gentle.

I try to be gentle with her.

But all of my willpower is gone and I just can’t.

I can’t get enough. Fast enough. Hard enough. I want more. I want it all.

Pressing my body against hers, my tongue sweeps along the rim of her bottom lip, teasing at the corner.

She smiles and I nip her once before I thrust my tongue in her mouth.

Sweetness.

That’s all I can taste.

A Molotov cocktail.

One I’d gladly let kill me.

My hands thread through her hair. That hair I’ve been dying to touch. Then they move to her ass, greedy, wanting to take what I can, while I can.

Not nearly finished, I push my thigh between her legs, her shorts so thin and skimpy I can easily run my hands down them.

“Oh, God,” she whimpers.

My cock is hard, thick, demanding more of her. I press it against her body, rubbing myself right where I want to be plunging.

She moans a sound so sweet, I swear I might come right here in the hall.

What, am I sixteen again?

The smile on my face can’t be denied.

I don’t care how old I seem—I want this girl unlike I’ve ever wanted anyone in my life.

Gliding a hand up her body, still greedy to feel as much of it as I can, I palm her small breast. Through the fabric of her thin shirt, I can feel another layer beneath. Not a bra, but another shirt perhaps. Fucking sexy as hell. I dig my thumb into the fabric, flicking at her nipple. Feeling it pebble under my touch.