Nine #3
Aaron’s eyes swept over Duncan Stiel in that appraising way he had where he missed nothing.
He took in the wide shoulders and broad chest that tapered to a narrow waist. He saw the long, muscular legs straining against denim.
All of the detective was mapped and categorized—the gray eyes, light-blond hair, and big, capable hands.
I saw Aaron take a breath and go still like he never was.
He liked smaller men, like me, it was true, but I had always suspected that he could do with some manhandling himself.
I also had an inkling that Duncan Stiel had a bit of the submissive in him.
It was fun to watch Sam’s friend take a quick breath and to see mine lick his lips when their eyes locked.
“Oh God,” Sam groaned under his breath.
“Duncan, did you reserve us a table?” I asked cheerfully.
“I did,” he assured me and pointed toward the back of the restaurant. It was nice when his hand went immediately to Aaron’s back to direct him.
I knew right then that Duncan had no clue who Aaron was, and Aaron, on the rare occasions when that happened, was absolutely thrilled.
At dinner, I watched Duncan order, saw him drape an arm over the back of Aaron’s chair, and noticed the man who I had never seen flustered smile nervously and fiddle with his drink napkin.
Sam was surprised.
Hannah regaled everyone with tales of the waterslide at the resort in Phoenix, and Kola showed off his cast and told the story of what had happened.
Aaron asked if I had a lawyer. Duncan asked Sam if he wanted him to go with him to “talk” to Mr. Parker.
What was nice was that they both offered so quickly.
When the appetizers came—cheesy bread for the kids, stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta for the adults—Duncan leaned close to Aaron and told him that he was in for a treat because it was so good.
Sam opened his mouth to explain to Duncan who Aaron was and that he probably would not be impressed, but Aaron beat him to the punch.
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
Duncan asked if he wanted another drink, and when Aaron thanked him, I saw him shift in his chair and knew what that meant. I dropped my napkin to confirm.
Under the table, there were thighs touching, knees pressing, and … oh, yes, Houston, we had liftoff.
I would always be the love god.
It was fun, later, to turn and watch them—my clueless blind daters—standing together in front of the restaurant, under the awning, as we walked away.
Aaron had offered to give Duncan a lift home, and the detective had agreed.
I hoped that Sam’s buddy would ask mine in when they reached his place or that Aaron would just have his driver take them home.
It didn’t matter where they went; I just wanted them together.
But I was done—I had put the ball in play; it was in their court now.
The hand on the back of my neck made me smile.
“Bad Jory. Naughty.”
“Awww, but they were so cute.”
“Can we eat dinner now?” Kola whined. “That meat was gross, the potatoes were disgusting, and I have never seen broccoli that big.”
“It was humungalous,” Hannah agreed, holding my hand. Kola was on Sam’s back now. “They were like trees, Pa.”
“Fine,” I relented. “I’ll make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when we get home.”
“Can I have one too?” Sam wanted to know.
Apparently, froufrou food was lost on my people.
Back at the loft, we found that Chilly had completely eviscerated a throw pillow. He was still pouncing on the poor thing and did his frozen-statue impression when Sam yelled.
“He can still see you.” Hannah wrinkled her little nose at her cat. “Chilly and Pa are both naughty.”
“Why am I naughty?” I asked her.
“I don’t know. Daddy said so.”
I glanced over at Sam.
“You know what you did.”
I went to make sandwiches while Sam had a talk with the cat. After everyone ate, except me—I had actually enjoyed my meal—we all sat down to watch a Pixar movie. The bug one was Hannah’s favorite, and it was her turn to pick.
Sam suggested they go get the pillows off their beds and we could all lie on the floor. As they flew off, he stretched out and patted the space beside him.
“Oh, hell no.”
“Why not?”
“My ass is still throbbing from the pounding you gave me earlier. I’ll lie on the couch.”
“Like I’m gonna attack you in front of my kids.”
“Your kids?”
“Our kids. Whatever. You knew what the fuck I meant.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Fuck.”
“Sam.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbled. “Two days hanging out with other cops, it just comes right back.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Our kids.”
“Good,” I said, chuckling. “And, no, I don’t think you will attack me in front of them.”
“Then c’mere.”
But I still didn’t trust him.
“And throbbing is good,” he informed me. “Throbbing isn’t pain; throbbing just reminds your ass who it belongs to.”
“Is that right?”
The grunt was a yes.
He looked good, all languid and sexy on the thick rug, his eyes heavy-lidded as he stared up at me.
“I want to talk about the gunman in our hotel room.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I took a nap; I can stay up late and hear it.”
He patted the rug again.
I stepped over him, standing, gazing down at the man who had been it for me from the moment he walked into my life.
His hands slid up the back of my calves. “Sit down.”
I sank over him, straddling his abdomen, and he immediately pushed me back so my ass settled over his groin.
The rumble of happiness, coupled with his hands sliding under my thighs, first gently and then with more pressure, made me squirm.
“Don’t do that,” he said sharply.
“Don’t do what?” I asked, swiveling my hips, showing off how loose they were, how flexible my body was.
“Stop.”
I dragged my crease over his hardening length and squeaked when he grabbed me tight.
“All I can think about right now are those dimples in your ass,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “So, stop teasing me before I eat you.”
“Oh, please eat me,” I begged.
His eyes were molten as the kids charged back into the room. I bent over him, a hand flat on the floor on each side of his head, and kissed him. He opened beneath me, and I felt his erection straining against his zipper as my tongue checked his tonsils.
“Ewww.” Kola sounded grossed out.
The heat of the man was searing through my clothes, my skin, and I bucked against him involuntarily.
“Oh, you’re gonna pay.” Sam’s breathless growl made me smile as I broke the kiss.
He caught my bottom lip in his teeth, the nibbling gentle but firm, and I sighed because the man’s dominance was something I never tired of.
“I want to talk to you,” I told him when I was allowed to sit up.
“I’ll make you a deal.” He smiled wickedly.
I was in so much trouble.
I couldn’t sleep, and I had no idea how Sam could, so I kept poking him when he nodded off.
“I’m awake,” he said defensively, and I worked hard not to smile.
Whenever I caught the man doing something he considered weak—like falling asleep when he was tired because regular humans might need rest, but never him—he got snarly. Like how dare I accuse him of closing his eyes when he so obviously didn’t need to?
“So, the gunman, he works for this guy we now know kidnapped the witness?” I was trying to keep it all straight in my head. It had been a lot of information at once.
“No, basically, the dead gunman, Tishman, he worked for Christian Salcedo, who is the one being blackmailed by our witness, Andrew Turner.”
“So, you were right.”
He nodded. “I was right; Turner has something big on Salcedo, so Salcedo took him from WITSEC to keep him from testifying.”
“But don’t the bad guys usually just shoot the good guys to keep them from talking?”
“Normally, yes, but in this case, as I told you last week, Turner’s not actually a good guy, and he has Salcedo running scared.”
“So, then what?”
“Well, now we’re kind of at a standstill. We can’t reach out to Salcedo because what Turner knows about his operation will put him in jail, but whatever Turner has as his ace is keeping Salcedo on a tight leash.”
“So, this Salcedo, he’s sort of screwed either way. He helps you, he goes to jail. He keeps hiding Turner, he goes to jail.”
“Yep.”
“But he’s running the risk of going to prison forever because he took Turner.”
“That’s correct.”
“Do you think Turner is with Salcedo now, wherever that is?”
“Yeah, I think Salcedo moved Turner after we almost caught up with him in Phoenix.”
“But how did Salcedo know that you were going to Phoenix?”
He made a face, but only for a second. Anyone but me would have missed it, but I knew every expression the man made.
“Sam?”
He looked at the ceiling.
“Oh my God, what?”
His eyes were back on me. “My boss has a theory, and it’s a pretty good one actually.”
I waited.
“Just to catch you up, Salcedo was the guy who got away back when I was running down that drug cartel in Colombia.”
“You never said anyone got away.”
“Didn’t I?”
“Sam!”
“Fuck,” he growled, throwing off the sheet covering him and charging across the room to the window.
I gasped, and he spun around to face me.
“Salcedo was a member of the cartel you busted?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And because he was the last man standing and because we never caught him, he moved up in the organization.”
“And? C’mon. This is like pulling teeth. Is your informant in Phoenix the one who ID’d Turner?”
“Yeah, or was.”
“Was?”
“He’s dead.”
“Oh. So, someone knew he had gotten the information to you that Turner was alive and well.”
“You’re very good at this,” he said irritably.
“I’ve had years of practice.” I was snide as I rolled off the bed.
“Jory—”
“And now, all of a sudden, out of the blue, Dr. Kevin Dwyer shows up.”
His shoulders slumped.
“Isn’t that strange?” I stared holes in him.
“Okay,” he began, moving toward me. “My boss thinks I—”
“You’re gonna use Kevin to catch Salcedo and Turner,” I said, putting up my hand.
He stopped. “Yeah.”
“So, Kevin is connected to Salcedo.”