13. Jaime
Chapter 13
Jaime
A t one a.m. I get a text from Callum, letting me know he won’t be home until tomorrow. I’m guessing he sent Maeve the same text. I don’t know why he bothers. He does this all the time.
Tomorrow’s now today, and there hasn’t been any movement at the main house so he’s probably not back yet. I’m sure Maeve’s up, though. We usually leave for her class in five minutes, and she doesn’t like to miss it. Yesterday was an anomaly. She was tired, hungover. Impulsive.
Morning sunlight glints off the pool’s placid turquoise surface. Last night around dusk it’d looked almost purple, Maeve floating in the middle of it, her eyes closed, her black hair drifting around her face. She’d looked like a dream, peaceful but erotic, and my body stirs at the memory. Her gentle curves, long, toned legs, and perky tits. All that slick skin.
You were watching me swim just now.
I turn away from the window, ignoring the inconvenient flutter of arousal. I need to get it together in the next—I check my watch—two minutes. How am I going to handle the day-to-day with Maeve when all I can think about is the way she came onto me last night? Materializing at my door like my dirty thoughts had summoned her, flushed and dripping wet, the hunger in her eyes blatant and demanding. I shouldn’t have let her get so close, shouldn’t have listened to anything she had to say, not when she looked like that. And I never should’ve kissed her back. Losing control was not—is not—an option.
But I wanted to lose control, so badly. I was barely holding on when she teased me about watching her in the pool, but then she kissed me and my mind went blank. I wanted to rip off that little black bikini, spread her open, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk.
Instead, I told her what she needed to hear. I knew my harsh words had her second-guessing every interaction we’ve ever had, but I had to shut things down. I can’t afford for feelings to fuck up everything I’ve worked for, and frankly, neither can she. Giving in to feelings could be a death sentence for her. For both of us. Fuck feelings.
It’s what I’ve been telling myself since the moment she grabbed her towel and ran back to her house. I know she cried.
I rub my hands over my face. Get your shit together.
Maeve is in the kitchen, twisting the lid onto her water bottle, when I come in through the French doors. She glances up briefly at my approach, her expression blank. “Hey.”
“Morning.” Her ballet bag is on the floor, so I pick it up. “You ready?”
“Yup.” Eyes on her phone, she holds out her hand for the bag. She’s looking extra fresh today in spotless sneakers, sweats, and a cropped hoodie that would show her belly if she didn’t have on a leotard underneath. “I’ll carry it.”
“I got it.” Moving past her, I open the front door. “Let’s go.”
She breezes past me, her ponytail swinging as she jogs down the steps. The day is crisp and bright, a lot colder than it looks from inside. We get into the car, where Maeve turns on the radio and proceeds to ignore me all the way to Berkeley. At least, she pretends to, just like I’m pretending to ignore her. It isn’t easy. Not when she looks like that, not when she smells subtly of vanilla, and not when I know what it’s like to have my tongue in her mouth.
“Did you want to go hiking after this?” I ask, pulling up to her ballet class.
“I have an appointment at the salon. I’m getting a haircut,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt .
I look at her ponytail, hanging over her shoulder. “Don’t cut it,” I blurt.
What the hell was that?
Her cheeks darken. Reaching between her feet for her bag, she opens the door and steps onto the sidewalk. Right when I think she’s going to slam the door in my face, she raises her eyes to mine. “Why not?”
Because I love your hair. Because I can’t stop thinking about yesterday, when I finally touched it. Because I want to wrap it around my hand while I ? —
“Fuck you,” she says softly, shutting the door.
“I think I’m gonna stop and get something to eat. I’m hungry,” I announce when Maeve gets back into the car after her haircut.
“Okay,” she says to the window.
“How about subs? We can eat them at the park.”
She shrugs.
“Unless you want something else?”
“Subs are fine.”
I eye her hair, hanging in a silky sheet down her back. The curls are gone, but the length is about the same. Maybe she just trimmed it. “Your hair’s straight.”
She still won’t look at me. “She blow-dried it.”
“I like it curly,” I say, even though it’s sexy like this. Too sexy. I roll down the windows, needing fresh air.
“I don’t care what you like,” she snaps, tossing an irritated glance my way. “And can you please roll that up? It’s too windy, and it’s messing up my hair which I like even if you don’t.”
Maeve’s over-the-top bitchiness is kind of a turn-on. This isn’t the sullen, depressed shit she gave me for those first few months. No, she’s angry -angry at me, and I’m still kind of annoyed at her, too, for the stunt she pulled last night. Annoyed and a little hard. It’s probably good we’re in a public place.
Biting my tongue so I don’t say something mean that’ll really make her cry, I roll the window back up and drive to the deli. Once we’ve got our subs, I head for Reinhardt Redwood Regional Park. It’s not that far from Tilden, but it’s good to switch things up every now and then. Not be too predictable.
We sit at a picnic area just inside the park, eating in silence. I don’t mind. I’ve never needed conversation, so if Maeve wants to give me the cold shoulder, she can go ahead. I check my phone, scrolling mindlessly through the fake social media accounts I set up years ago to reflect Jaime Reyes’ life. It’s been a while since I updated any of them. What would I even say at this point?
After tossing our trash, we head over to one of the park’s trailheads. Maeve takes the lead, charging down the trail like she’s on a mission. I let her do her thing, keeping pace a few steps behind.
“You know where you’re going?” I call after about ten minutes.
“No.” She holds up her phone. “That’s why I have this.”
But it’s an easy trail, and well-traveled, as evidenced by the other hikers we pass every few minutes. We walk for nearly an hour, leaving the main trail for smaller ones, heading deeper and deeper into a forest of lush undergrowth and endless redwoods. The farther we go, the quieter it gets until there’s nothing but the occasional bird and our sneakers crunching over the damp, rocky soil. When yet another, narrower path appears, forking off to the left, Maeve takes it without hesitation.
“Your sneakers are getting muddy,” I caution, catching up to her as the trail grows steeper.
“They’re shoes,” she says, stepping carefully over a fallen log. “That’s what they’re for.”
We round a corner and stop short as two black-tailed deer explode from the trees, as startled by us as we are by them. I pause beside Maeve, noting the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her heart must be racing as fast as mine.
She looks up at me, her eyes clear and bright in the sunlight spilling through the trees. The same thread of energy I felt last night pulls taut between us again. Before I can act on it, she steps away and continues down the trail. I reach for her hand and give her a small tug, holding fast when she tries to shake me off. She glances back with a warning, but I reel her in, making her face me.
“What?” she asks, staring at my hoodie .
“You know what.” Before she can tell me off or go charging into the woods to ignore me for another few hours, I lift her face and kiss her.
Our lips have barely touched when Maeve gives me a hard shove and slaps me. “Really, Jaime? After what you said to me yesterday?” Her face is flushed with anger, but there’s something else, too. She’s hurt.
My cheek is on fire as I crowd her, forcing her back against the massive trunk of a redwood. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”
“You must think I’m a real slut then, coming over for a sneaky fuck while my man was gone.” She shoves me again, growling when I don’t budge.
I laugh softly, which is the wrong thing to do because she wields a glare so sharp it nearly cuts my heart out. “Weren’t you, though?” I taunt, my pulse quickening at the blaze in her eyes. “You’re always looking at me like you want me to bend you over.”
“And what about the way you look at me? What about last night, when I was swimming? Who was staring then?” she hisses. “Fuck you, Jaime.”
“You keep saying that.” My dick hardens between us as I rub my thumb over her quivering bottom lip. “Is that what you want? For me to fuck you?”
She smacks my hand away, her furious eyes burning. “Stop acting like this is one-sided when you know it’s not.”
“It’s never been one-sided,” I agree, gazing down at her. She stills when I take her face in my hands, a different kind of fire in her eyes now. “But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
I kiss her slowly, gently fitting her mouth to mine. When she doesn’t resist, I move closer, pinning her with my hips. With a small sound, she strokes her hands up my chest and over my shoulders, sinking her fingers into my hair. I take it deeper still, exploring her mouth with my tongue until she pulls away with a gasp. “Wait,” she breathes, but I’m on her again, taking her mouth the way I want to take the rest of her.
Deeply, relentlessly.
I’ve kissed a lot of women. Usually, it’s a means to an end, a pitstop on the way to the bedroom. But I’ve never kissed someone quite like this. Maybe it’s because she’s off-limits, or because it’s been months and months of wanting something I can’t have, but I feel it everywhere. I’m turned on, but I feel it in my chest too .
I pull back just enough to look at her. Her lips are wet and red, and her eyes are glazed as she gazes up at me. “You were horrible to me last night,” she says in a small voice. “But this was all I wanted.”
“Was it?” I glide my hand down her hair and back up to the swell of her breast. She arches into my touch, her breath quickening as she clings to me. “Feels like you want a lot more.”
“I do,” she admits on a whisper. “Don’t you?”
I nod slowly, trailing my fingertips over the curve of her hips. Now that I’m touching her, I don’t know how to stop.
She looks at my lips. “So, then?—”
“It wouldn’t have stopped at kissing,” I say, squeezing her hip. “What if he’d come home?”
Her hands slip to the nape of my neck, and she tugs gently, trying to bring me back down. “But he didn’t.”
“But he could have.” I let my gaze travel over her face, taking advantage of the fragile privacy of this stolen moment. This close, I can see the faint freckles dusting the bridge of her nose and the gray ring surrounding the green of her eyes.
“Yeah,” she says finally, shuttering her eyes. “He would have killed us.”
Cal calls her on the way back to the car and I walk ahead, not wanting to hear their conversation. There are plenty of reasons why messing with Maeve is a bad idea, but here’s another one: the sense of ownership I feel after just a few kisses. Hot kisses, but still.
Maeve has hinted at trouble and discontent, suggesting she might be on her way out—but what if she isn’t? She wouldn’t be the first woman to stay in a similar situation.
If she stays, there’s a good chance we’ll continue this. Having a taste just makes me want more, no matter how risky and dumb it is. And in the meantime, I’ll continue spying on Cal until Cedro and Leo make their move.
If she leaves, I’m no longer necessary to Cal. I’ll probably be let go, and with the exception of the camera feeds, losing access to the details of Cal’s world. But I would be free, and so would she .
Free to do what, though? I have work here and she wants to go back to Boston.
I shade my eyes from the sun as we emerge from the woods. Why am I even thinking about this right now? I need to focus on my case, not how I can continue sneaking around with Maeve. Which is, by the way, dicey as fuck. If the Oliveras family has eyes on me, and Lewis’ team has eyes on me, it’s possible Cal might have eyes on me, too. I can’t get too comfortable.
Maeve catches up in the parking lot, climbing into the car beside me. “Callum’s bringing people over for dinner, and he wants me to cook.”
I glance at her, catching the displeasure on her face. I wonder, once again, what’s stopping her from leaving this guy. “You need to stop at the store or something?”
“Yeah,” she says with a heavy sigh. “The parties are bad enough, now he has me cooking for these buffoons.”
Chuckling, I buckle my seat belt. “Am I a buffoon too?”
“I don’t know, are you?” She smirks as she pulls a tube of Chapstick from her bag.
“Careful now,” I tease.
“You know you’re nothing like them.”
I smile, because she’s more right than she knows. “You sure?”
“Yeah. You’re just different,” she says. “You actually see me. None of them do … not even Cal.”
The giddy feelings evaporate, leaving a residue of guilt. I do see Maeve, but she hasn’t seen all of me, not really. And when she does, she might not like what she sees.
“I’m sorry for slapping you,” she says suddenly, touching my cheek. “You didn’t deserve that.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“Still, Jaime.” She takes back her hand and tucks it between her thighs. “I don’t want to be that person. I’m really sorry.”
I pull her hand back and hold it on the console between us. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”
We’re at the store when I get a text from Leo on my burner. Letting Maeve know I need to take a call, I slip outside and call him back.
“You know that safe?” he greets me. “In Cal’s office?”
My stomach tightens in nervous anticipation. About a month ago, while reviewing spycam footage, I saw Cal open the ottoman beside the couch in the office. It was actually a diversion safe. Smart.
But not smart enough.
“Yeah, what about it?” I reply, watching a man struggle to contain an exuberant toddler as they cross the parking lot.
“Can you get to it?”
“Get to it or into it?” I joke.
“Yes or no, J,” Leo says impatiently.
“Maybe—”
“Yes or no.”
I lean against the side of the building, mentally shuffling through what I know about Cal and his schedule. He’s all over the place, but then I remember something Maeve mentioned recently. “Actually, yeah, I think I can. He’s supposed to be leaving for a couple days, to spend Thanksgiving with his family. She’s going with him, so the house will be empty. No one’s supposed to be there, not even me.”
“Perfect,” says Leo. “I need you to get in and inventory what’s inside. Don’t take anything.”
“All right.” I chew my lip, frowning. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re still ironing out the details,” he says. “I’ll call you back in a couple days, let you know what’s up.”
He disconnects and I pocket my phone, unsettled. This is what I wanted—for Leo and Cedro to make their move so I could move on from this assignment at Cal’s. But now that it’s happening, I feel off. This situation is more complicated than it was in the beginning. There are factors I didn’t anticipate. Like Maeve.
I’m torn, caught between two worlds, two versions of myself. The cold, calculating exterior that guarantees my survival and the real me beneath, risking it all for a connection with someone I can’t have.
Back inside, I find Maeve waiting in line with her basket. Plucking a box of salted caramel chocolates from a display, I join her in line.