Chapter 25 #2
Her skin flushes, her smile sheepish as she shifts in my arms. I take it as a sign that she wants to be released, but before I do, I slant forward and capture her lips again, branding her mouth with my own.
She returns the kiss, and I want to ask if she feels this too, the tightness in her chest, but I don’t.
Reluctantly, I set her on her feet, our bodies untangling.
The loss of her soft lips feels like a punch to my gut, and I stuff my hands in my pockets to give myself something to do so I’m less tempted to drag her back into my hold.
Gen steps around me, absently smoothing her skirt with one hand as long, slender fingers touch her lips gingerly.
Turning, I reach for the stiletto she lost and bend to retrieve it, slipping it back onto her delicately arched foot. Her lips are swollen and puffy, her cheeks pink as I gaze up at her from my position on my knee.
“I, um…I should be going,” she utters as I straighten, a gentle curl to her mouth informing me that she’s not upset about what happened here tonight, which is good, considering upset is the last word I’d use to describe how I feel.
“I’ll walk you out.” As soon as she turns, I reach for my crotch, adjusting myself. It does nothing to alleviate the pressure, though, and I know that the moment she leaves, I’m going to be coming in my hand.
When we get back downstairs, she collects her purse from where she left it on the bar, and I walk her to the front door.
A dozen questions spiral through my mind as I curl my fingers around the door handle and haul it open, but I keep my mouth shut. We step out into the early summer evening to find James waiting by the door to the backseat, his body angled away from us to give us a sense of privacy.
“I had a nice time tonight.” I reach out and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Could I see you again?” Maybe I’m a switch after all, because if getting on my knees in front of this woman is what it takes to keep me in her vortex, I’ll damn well do it. I’d do whatever she asked of me.
I’m so fucking fucked. I can’t lose this op. I can’t lose her.
“We’ll see.” She tosses my own words from earlier back at me. Her full lips furling into a mysterious smile that’s teeming with her usual seduction.
Well, that’s something.
She presses onto her toes, brushing her lips over mine, but it’s over too quickly. “Goodbye, Superman.”
And she disappears into the blackness of the SUV, leaving only the scent of cherry blossoms behind.
“Did you get it done?” I ask Drake, who’s already opened a bottle of beer, having made himself at home at the dartboard, only a few feet from the spot that resurrected my heart.
He didn’t have to stick around, and I’m a little frustrated he chose to. I would’ve appreciated solitude until I could do something about the throbbing ache that Genevieve left me with.
He smirks. “Of course.”
I’m not even sure why I asked. No one moves quieter than he does, which made him an obvious choice for the FBI, especially after he told the CIA to go fuck themselves.
He passes me the tablet, and I glance down at the screen to find a mirror of Genevieve’s phone, complete with tracking. “You’ll be able to read all of her texts, listen to her calls, track her every move…hear her client sessions, everything she does, so long as she has her phone.”
Since there was nothing in her financial record and our lessons are over, this was my next move. People are reckless with their technology, so I’m praying I can catch her exchanging money for sex or discussing her client list. Something, anything.
My next step would have to be even more invasive.
I scrub a hand over my face, going straight for another scotch.
I knew this had to be done, but fucking hell, why didn’t I consider that I might be able to hear her client sessions.
I would quit this op—and the FBI—today if I thought it would solve my problems, but Genevieve Watts has made herself my problem.
I don’t trust her with anyone else. I have to be the one to take her down, even if that means torturing myself in the process.
Is this some kind of Dom thing? I should look into that.
Her pain should belong solely to me. Her pleasure should come only from me. Her smiles and tears are mine, and I’m growing less inclined to share them by the day.
I lift my once abandoned scotch to my lips as Drake comments, “You’re in too deep.”
“No fucking shit,” I mutter, turning to face him, leaning against the table.
How else do you explain that I used FBI resources to access her credit card statement to learn that she buys baked goods and pastries on a bi-weekly basis from that spot on M Street so I could surprise her with her favorite foods tonight?
That had nothing to do with gaining information from her either, even if that’s how I explained the bakery expense to Jackson.
He’s relaxed, bringing the bottle to his lips with two fingers scissored around the neck. “You’re compromised. You need out before you aren’t able to complete this job.”
“No.” That’s not fucking happening.
He sighs, shaking his head. “She’s a criminal, Ford.”
I snort and glance away. “Yeah, well, so am I.”
I didn’t mean to divulge that, but it hangs between us like a dead body from the rafters, heavy and rancid.
Silence swirls for a minute, before he states calmly, “Killing on government orders does not make you a criminal. You know that.”
I don’t know that. Shifting my attention back to him, I take a steadying breath and shrug noncommittally.
I’m punished most nights for my actions, seeing the blood on my hands in my dreams, soaking my body in sweat as I relive each murder.
If I’m honest, I envy the way Drake handles the weight of his actions, seeing this as simply a job without repercussions.
Generally, he’s always coped better than I have, though, so this is nothing new.
Rubbing at the back of my neck, I move to take a seat in the chair while he continues to fling arrows at the board. “I fucking kissed her.”
He scoffs. “I know.”
I frown. “How?”
“You’ve got that I just ate someone’s face look. Plus, you’ve got a little lipstick on your jaw, and on your mouth, and your—”
Rolling my eyes, I hold up a hand. “I got it.”
Wiping a hand over my mouth, I find my fingertips stained faintly red. Smearing the lipstick across the pads of my fingers, I smile.
Drake shakes his head, looking at me like a lost cause as he takes a sip of beer. “Man, everyone knows you don’t kiss the sex workers.”
Who is everyone, exactly? “How the hell would you know that?”
He lifts his beer to his lips again. “I’ve seen Pretty Woman. I have a sister.”
None of that shit makes sense to me, but he seems confident. Could he be right? But Genevieve didn’t stop me. Why not?
As I try to put these pieces together, he circles back to our original topic. “Kiss her all you want, but don’t forget that you’re going to arrest her at some point, Ford. You need to sort your shit. Don’t fuck this up.”
Meeting his eye, I state confidently, “I won’t.”