Chapter 9
-Dylan Drake-
Things get blurry after the bomb goes off.
I recall the ambulance crew cleaning the kid’s knees and being checked over for injuries myself, but other than dust in my hair I’m fine except for a few scratches.
The blast did knock me off my feet, and I’m warned there might be deep bruises that will appear on my skin in a couple of days.
The police ask a hundred thousand questions, or rather the same few a hundred different ways.
My answers remain the same. I can’t tell them anything new the final time that I didn’t already share on the first.
It’s late when they finish grilling me and agree to let me go.
I’m so damned weary it’s an effort to plod along the corridor to the exit.
Words and events buzz in my head. My balance is shot to hell, despite having had nothing alcoholic to drink, and I can’t seem to concentrate on a fixed point, until I see her.
Kira’s waiting for me in the station foyer, minus the cute kid.
She’s propping up a wall beside a board of leaflets advertising various addiction and mental health services and places that provide legal advice.
She’s all lean, mean, and stylish in black, despite the scrape across her left shoulder that’s only partially hidden by a dressing.
A jacket, a different one to earlier swings from the tip of her finger, and sunglasses are perched across her nose.
She reminds me of a young Debbie Harry—yes, I know who that is.
Old music and film are what got me through my teens—perfectly blonde on the outside, but with a backbone far tougher than mine.
When she sees me, Kira allows the glasses to slide down her nose so that she can peer over the top of them. Her eyes are the same ice-blue that I encountered the night we met, but I’ve seen how they melt now, how they burn with a lilac flame in the heat of passion.
“All Stars have made arrangements for you to stay elsewhere tonight.” Her right eye is blackened around the socket, and she has a slender cut right below the ring of bruising.
I don’t know why, but I find it weirdly sexy.
Leastways, a giddy sort of jolt zaps through my body, and I start genuinely breathing again in a way I haven’t over the last few hours.
“It’s not safe for you to go back to your usual hotel. Not until the team have thoroughly checked it over to ensure there are no other nasty surprises lurking. And even if it’s clear, it’s still a bad idea. For your own protection—”
“I get it.” I don’t need anyone to spell out the fact that I’m in danger. I’ve been shot at, and nearly blown up in the space of a week.
“Come on.” Her hand presses against the small of my back. I’m taller than she is, but that touch infuses me with a sense of security, like I actually believe she’ll keep me safe, as she’s my guardian angel or something. “I’ll get you where you need to be, and see you get settled.”
Settled—I’d like to settle myself in her arms, rest my head on her chest and drift off surrounded by the scent of her skin.
I catch a glance at her, and notice where the neckline of her vest scoops across the line of her breasts revealing a hint of cleavage.
That’s not something that’s ever got me going before, but I’ve touched that softness.
I’ve wrapped my lips around those stiff peaks pushing against the ribbed fabric.
Despite all rationale, I’ve made love to this woman.
What’s more, I can’t even pretend it was just sex.
I don’t think about the guys I get off with for fun. Once the time is past, I move on.
Moving on from Kira doesn’t seem to be quite so simple.
Johns is waiting for us outside, with the engine idling. Kira and I get into the rear of the vehicle.
“Do you still think the threats are all a ruse concocted by the studios?” she asks during the journey.
I shake my head. “Even they wouldn’t escalate things this far.
” Sending notes and the like, sure, that sort of manipulation is only an extension of the mind-games Hollywood likes to play with its stars, but blowing stuff up…
I could have been right next to the car.
I could have been seriously injured, maimed or worse, and that would cost them time and money.
No one likes to sacrifice either. The reminder that I could have been splattered across a street in itty-bitty pieces leaves me chilled inside and out.
I zip my jacket right up to the chin. Too bad it doesn’t have a hood in which I could hide.
It’s sheer fortune that there were only a handful of people around when I hit that unlock button, or the outcome might have been a lot worse than a trashed car and a few contusions.
A radio traffic alert informs us that the street remains closed to both traffic and pedestrians.
“It’ll stay closed until the bomb unit and SOCOs are satisfied,” Kira says trying, I think, to break the monotony of the silence. I don’t have anything to say, so there’s only the drone of the engine to listen to as we leave the bustle of the city behind.
The hotel Falchard has booked is way out into the sticks.
It’s some rambling country hotel attached to a golf course, and with chintz on the walls.
Kira dons a cream-coloured jacket before we enter.
She heads straight over to the registration desk.
“Reservation for Mr. and Mrs. Pink,” she says adding a chuckle and giving the receptionist a beaming smile.
Mr. and Mrs.? What the hell is Falchard playing at? I find out when we hit the lifts and Kira hammers the button for the bridal suite.
“Seriously?”
“It’s not my doing. My boss made the booking.”
I give her qualifier the sniffy sigh it deserves. “I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t actually attempt to marry us.”
“Dylan, he didn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t know.” She stops abruptly as Johns comes in to hand us a new burner phone.
“Call if you need a ride anywhere. Howard doesn’t want you getting into any vehicle he hasn’t personally checked over. And don’t talk to anyone, not even your nearest and dearest until we’ve a clearer picture of who’s behind this.”
“It makes sense,” Kira continues once he’s left, and we’re in the elevator. “Whoever is after you will be looking for a single man, not a pair of newlyweds.”
True enough. I can’t argue with the logic.
I’m just not sure I want to be alone in a room with Kira right now.
Nothing good will come of it. Nothing good came of it last time, which isn’t saying it wasn’t fantastic, only that a repeat is something best avoided.
One time you can write off. Shit happens.
We all have crazy moments. Going back for seconds—that implies there’s more to it than simply curiosity.
I know how it all works between a man and a woman now, so I don’t need to dip my wick in that pot again.
What I mean is that I know myself. I know what turns me on, and it isn’t an hourglass figure, boobs and…
I lose my train of thought as I watch her kick off her shoes and curl her toes into the deep pile of the carpet.
The bridal suite is everything you’d expect: massive four-poster bed, sunken whirlpool bath tub, veranda overlooking acres of manicured gardens.
There’s champagne waiting for us in an ice bucket, a bouquet of roses and a box of gold wrapped Belgian pralines.
I make a beeline toward the drink and pop the cork while Kira makes a sweep of the place to ensure there are none of those nasty surprises waiting for us.
By the time she’s finished, I’ve downed three glasses of fizz and my belly’s full of bubbles. “Are we staying?”
“It’s all clear, yes.”
I try not to look at her, and concentrate my gaze on her lower half when she addresses me, but her bare toes and long, willowy legs inspire images of her wrapping them around my waist as I slide into her.
Jeezus, I’m one holy mess.
“Are you okay?”
I slump onto the sofa and cover my face with one hand. Nope, definitely not okay. My life has been spiralling out of control since the moment she broke down my door.
“Shit! Fucking, shitty fuck!” Swearing doesn’t make me feel better. It sure as hell gets Kira’s attention though.
“Dylan.”
Hell no, I don’t need her to come any closer, but she crouches before me and rests a hand upon my knee. “Tell me—”
“My car blew up. I liked that car.”
She takes the champagne flute from my hand and puts it to one side. “The good thing is that you weren’t in it.”
“Yeah,” I drawl. “It’s such a good thing that someone tried to blow me to smithereens, but only totalled my car instead.”
“You know, I’m not entirely sure that was the intention. I think it was intended as a warning. If whoever did this intended to kill you, they’d have linked the detonation to the ignition, not the door release.”
It’s an interesting theory. It doesn’t alleviate the shakes I’m trying desperately to control.
“You might feel better if you got cleaned up. The team’s made sure we have everything we’re likely to need.”
Sure enough, there’s a full set of designer luggage stacked neatly by the side of the bed. “I don’t suppose that includes a machine gun,” I remark.
Kira shakes her head. “Do you even know how to use one?”
No, but she probably does.
“Go shower, or soak, or something.”
I don’t feel much like doing either, but maybe some distance from her will make this situation easier.
Except, I miss her as soon as I’m in the bathroom and there’s a door between us.
Maybe part of the attraction, or a lot of it, is down to the fact that she’s a distraction from the reality that someone out there genuinely wants to hurt me.
That’s one hell of a load to take on-board.
It’s something I ponder as I stand under the shower with my forehead pressed to the tiles.
Who the hell have I offended so much? Is it even someone I’m acquainted with?
There are a lot of strange people in the world, many with fanciful notions that have no basis in truth, and there are others who are downright vicious for the fun of it.
Also, there’s a whole section of the population who hate me because I happen to fancy other men.
And I do. I still absolutely do. I just get hard thinking about Kira too.
That’s all it takes. One stray thought. One image of her sighing beneath me and I’m hard enough to hammer nails, and glancing in the direction of the bathroom door almost willing her to fling it open and climb under the spray with me still fully clothed.
I want to peel all that wet cloth from her skin.
Trace the line of her collarbone down to her breasts.
I want to stroke, and touch, and taste, and rub against her until we’re both hot and breathless.
I want to squeeze the cheeks of her arse in my hands and lift her against me.
I want her heat and her hunger, sighs and orgasmic squeals.
I want all the comforts she offers. The escape she provides from this nightmare.
Someone tried to kill me today.
It’s not like I’m a stranger to looking death in the face. I spent most of my youth in constant fear, but it’s different now. I have friends. I have support. Assuming I can trust anybody I know. I can trust Kira, can’t I?
What if I can’t?
What if she’s the biggest threat to me right now, and I’m alone with her in a country hotel under an assumed name with no way of contacting the outside world?
No one is watching us.
No one knows who we really are.
Fuck!
That’s a truly bad thing there.
It means there are possibilities—there’s wriggle room—enough in which to deceive myself.
I want another taste of the forbidden. It’s the last taste I’ll take. I cross my heart and swear it. One night with her and then I’ll walk away. We won’t see one another again. We won’t touch, or kiss, or fuck. I won’t dream of her as I hump my hand in the shower.
Why am I doing that? Since when was I a stickler for rules, and in any case where is it written that I can’t sleep with a woman if the notion takes me?
I can do whatever I like. Fuck whoever I choose, and no one else gets to dictate that to me. How I choose to spend my life is no bugger’s business but my own.