Lover Undercover (15 page)

He slid his hand from her abdomen to the curve of her hip, then let her go to deal with the condom. Unsupported, she sighed and melted to the mattress. Her stomach rumbled.

“Oh my God,” she exclaimed, clearly embarrassed.

Laughing, he swept her hair aside and kissed the warm, soft skin at the base of her neck, then collapsed beside her and hauled up his jeans, which had never made it completely off. “Chinese okay?”

She giggled and turned to face him. “That is, by far, the best offer I’ve had all night.”

“But not the only, I take it?”

Propping her chin in her hand, she aimed an oddly conspiratorial look his way. “Stacy cooked. Lasagna, garlic bread, salad…the works.”

“Wow. I’m flattered you gave up home-cooked lasagna with your sister for Chinese delivery and me.”

Apparently the thought of food invigorated her. She flipped over, sat up, and started righting her clothes. “It wasn’t intended for me, actually. I accidentally walked into something unprecedented. Stacy, surrounded by roses and candlelight, preparing a romantic dinner. For Ian,” she added with a glance toward him. “I didn’t think they’d appreciate a chaperone.”

“Ah.” He swallowed his disappointment and silently called himself every kind of idiot. What had he been hoping for, a heartfelt confession that she just couldn’t stay away? That she’d fallen for him as hard and fast as he for her? Both statements might be true, but iron-willed Kylie would never admit as much to herself, much less him. She’d share her body with him seven ways from Sunday, but was determined to keep her heart to herself. “I guess I’m honored to be your second choice tonight.”

He’d meant to sound flippant, but he could tell by her guilty expression he’d missed his mark.
Shit
. This was a new experience for him, being the one who wanted a relationship, while the other person adamantly didn’t. As if that wasn’t painful enough, he had to go and advertise his wounds with acerbic comments. She’d never second-guess her decision if he whined and picked at her, and he’d lose all respect for himself in the process. Reaching deep for patience and dignity, he got up, swept her sweats from the floor, and tossed them to her. “Come on. I’ve got an extra pair of chopsticks with your name on them.”

She relaxed and smiled, as he’d intended, and shimmied into her pants—which he’d also intended, but nonetheless regretted a little. Taking her hand, he led her out of the bedroom.

Dinner ended up a comfy, cozy picnic on his living room sofa. Tucked snugly into one corner with her knees drawn up, Kylie peered at him from over the cardboard container of sweet-and-sour veggies she held.

“What?” he asked, and offered her the wanton clasped in his chopsticks.

She lifted her chin and took the crispy dumpling into her mouth. His gut tightened as her lips closed around the morsel. His eyes zoomed in on her throat as she swallowed, and all kinds of erotic visions filled his mind. Hoping to distract himself long enough to let her finish dinner, he cleared his own, suddenly dry throat. “What’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering about your family. You know a lot about my background because of the investigation, but all I know about you is that you’re the oldest of three boys. Are you from here? Does the rest of the McCade clan live nearby?”

Her curiosity struck him as telling. She might claim no interest in a relationship, but yet she wanted to know more about him—who he was, where he came from. He was happy enough to oblige.

“Born and raised in Studio City. My parents still live in the house I grew up in, and I see them every other week or so. My brother Michael currently lives wherever Uncle Sam sees fit to send him. He’s a major with the USMC. My youngest brother, Logan, attends grad school in Connecticut. I guess you’d say we’re a close but far-flung family. Thanks to e-mail and Skype, we stay in touch pretty well. I figure I feel about them the way you feel about Stacy. When they need something, I want to be there for them…and vice versa.”

“Sounds nice. Secure.”

“It is. We get along.” He didn’t miss the wistfulness in her expression. Obviously she and Stacy remained close, but everything he’d learned about her past led him to believe her own upbringing had been a bit bumpier. He wanted to know about her formative years—hell, he wanted to know everything about her—but didn’t want to dampen the moment with difficult memories. Instead, he chose what he assumed would be a less thorny topic.

“Why yoga?”

She stared into her dinner box, smiled, and shrugged. “During high school I worked in the local library and stumbled across some old DVDs they had in the stacks. I checked them out and”—her expression changed to one of wonder—“it was like discovering another world. A world populated with calm, centered people who were focused and kind. Definitely a more evolved place than the judgmental, narrow-minded town Stacy and I grew up in. With yoga, nobody judges. The reward is in the sincerity of the effort, not the proficiency of the result. You do what you can, as you can. Even from those scratched, out-of-date DVDs, I knew I had to learn more.”

“That led you to LA?”

She nodded. “Stacy wanted to dance professionally, and from there, maybe move into acting. I wanted to study yoga, become an instructor. Hopefully own my own studio someday. We both wanted out of Two Trout just as fast and as far as my ancient Honda and seven hundred and fifty bucks could carry us. LA seemed like the place to turn all those wants into reality.”

“And how’s reality shaping up?”

She laughed. “Slowly. Much more slowly than either of us imagined. Stacy used to talk about how, as soon as we got to LA, she’d land a gig with an LA production of a Broadway show, or maybe get a part on a television show.”

“Didn’t quite happen that way, huh?” He kept his voice gentle.

Setting the box down, she shifted to face him, a strangely excited light dancing in her eyes. “Not quite. But she stuck it out and now she’s got a shot at something that could launch her career in a big way.”

At his inquiring glance, she went on. “She’s landed a role on a pilot for a TV series. They start filming in a couple months.”

“Hey, that’s great. Give her a big attagirl from me.” Though genuinely happy for Stacy, he had to admit the prospect of Kylie ending her stint as a stripper pleased him even more. Wrong attitude, considering without at least one Roberts twin dancing at Deuces their chances of catching the killer dwindled significantly, but so be it. “What does it mean for you? Can you retire from Deuces now?”

“Yes, though I’m not sure exactly when. She only got the news today, and we haven’t had a chance to figure out the finances yet.”

While he watched, her eyes clouded and awareness dimmed her happy glow. “Oh, but…the case. You guys still need me to dance—”

“No. We don’t. I want you gone from Deuces. We’ll find another way to track him down. Besides, now that Stacy’s career is looking up, I’m sure you’d like to get back to concentrating on yours. You’ve got all those big dreams.”

She aimed a self-deprecating smile at her knees and shrugged. “I do, but unlike Stacy, I always knew mine would take some time. First I had to get certified as a yoga instructor. Then I had to find an opening at a studio, refine my teaching style, and build a clientele. Eventually, when I have enough of a following and enough collateral to qualify for a small business loan, I hope to open my own studio.”

Small businesses opened every day in LA. Most of them ultimately failed. But she had all the right ingredients to beat the odds, as far as he was concerned—guts, determination, an unstoppable work ethic, a willingness to do what needed to be done. “I have no doubt you’ll succeed.”

“Ha. You’ve never seen me teach a single class. For all you know, I might be a terrible instructor.”

“Even if I watched you teach, I wouldn’t be able to judge your competency as an instructor,” he admitted with a grin. “I’d have nothing to compare it to.”

Her eyes widened. “You’ve
never
tried yoga?”

“I’m a yoga virgin.”

She jumped to her feet and tugged his hand. “I can’t let you continue through life so unenlightened. Get up. We have to fix this.”

He slowly stood. “Hey, now…there’s a very good reason I hit the gym instead of rolling my rubber mat and heading off to class. You need brute strength, I’m your guy, but I’m not one of those double-jointed human pretzels.”

That earned him a finger in the chest. “Yoga requires lots of strength, you weight-training snob. The practice benefits all skill levels, all capabilities. It’s not about becoming a human pretzel. The practice helps you discover and respect the connection between your mind, body, and spirit.”

“And turning me into a human pretzel facilitates this how?”

She rolled her eyes and led him to the open space between the coffee table and the wall. “Come on. I gave up my actual virginity to you. The least you can do is surrender your yoga virginity to me.”

Interesting argument. One he really couldn’t counter. With a sigh of defeat, he pointed to his temple. “Just remember, I’m injured. Go easy on me.”

“Stop worrying. This will be good for you. Get your chi flowing. Stand straight, with your feet hips distance apart like this, and then, on an inhale, bring hands together over your head, arms extended, keeping your elbows tight.”

He watched as she demonstrated, and then followed her lead. “Piece of cake.”

From there, she led him into sort of a lunge position she called “warrior one,” and then, deepening the lunge, she brought her arms down to shoulder level and extended them straight in front and behind her. “Welcome to warrior two.”

Mimicking the pose, he felt the beginning of a burn in the thigh of his bent leg and the calf of his extended leg. She circled him and inspected his effort. Something about the feel of her eyes on him got his chi flowing—straight between his legs.

With a gentle hand to his bent knee, she instructed, “Try to get this angle to ninety degrees.” While he complied—and the burn intensified—she ran her hands over his shoulders and along his arms, lengthening the extension of the limbs. “How’s that feel?”

“It’s getting a little hard,” he admitted, meaning every bit of the double entendre.

“Good,” she responded, sounding suspiciously breathless. Running her hand down his spine, she silently reminded him to keep his posture straight. “Effort generates reward. But you want to stop short of pain. Think you can hold this pose for a minute, Mr. Brute Strength?”

Testing his legs, he decided the burn was manageable. No worse than a heavy leg circuit at the gym. “Bet I can.”

“Really?” Blond eyebrows arched challengingly. “What do you bet?”

“If I win, you spend the night.”

She looked uncertain, so he allowed his legs to tremble with the “strain” of holding the position. It worked.

“And if I win?”

He shrugged. “Name your prize.”

Chapter Sixteen

She blinked.
Name her prize?
With desire swirling in her stomach at the sight of him, taut and toned and shirtless, thinking strategically posed a challenge. Moving to face him, she couldn’t help but notice the way his rippling abs disappeared into the low, loose waistband of his Levi’s. Drawn to the play of muscles, she let her palm slide over the chiseled terrain. He groaned a low warning, but she didn’t heed it. Instead, she moved her hand along the front of his jeans and cupped him through the denim.

“This is my prize.”

The breath burst from his lungs like a small explosion. His balance faltered, but then he tightened his obliques and steadied while her mouth watered at the display.

“That’s cheating.”

She met his half-amused, half-tortured gaze, and gently squeezed his erection, then hummed with pleasure as he swelled to new dimensions, as if straining to reach her. Her nipples tightened in response, and she felt an answering throb between her legs. “Do you feel cheated?”

His eyes glazed. “Christ, no.”

The next thing she knew, two strong arms banded around her and she found herself pressed into a big, warm, naked chest. “I forfeit,” he growled and then slammed his mouth down on hers.

God, how did he do this to her, with nothing but a kiss? When his tongue dove into her mouth to mate with hers, she gripped his shoulders in a useless attempt to steady her world while her body melted into his.

Her head spun as he swept her up and carried her to the bedroom. When he deposited her on the bed, grabbed the hem of her tank top, and broke the kiss in preparation for yanking it over her head, she decided it was time to remind him who lost their little bet. Rising to her knees, she blocked his hands. “Not so fast, mister, I believe you forfeited our challenge, which means I won. Therefore, I’m entitled to claim my prize.” Victory smile firmly in place, she patted the spot beside her on the bed.

His eyes narrowed, but he sat.

She slid off the bed and insinuated herself between his knees. Looking up at him, she slipped her fingers under the waistband of his jeans and pulled the first button open.

“Just so we’re clear, you cheated,” he said gruffly.

She popped the next button and saw the head of his erection peeking from the band of his white knit boxers. “Don’t be a sore loser.” Leaning in, she kissed the eager tip.

He groaned. The low sound grew ragged and raw as she yanked his fly open, dragged the band of his shorts down, and took his jutting penis all the way into her mouth.

“Ah, Jesus, go easy on me,” he begged. His head dipped forward, and his eyes drifted closed.

Never
, she thought smugly, letting her lips slide over him, using her tongue to trace the underside of his shaft. The maneuver provoked a rough curse, and his hand tangled in her hair, fingers circling restlessly against her scalp. Taking it as a sign, she swirled her tongue over him—top, shaft, base—everywhere she could reach. She figured she must have done something right because he actually whimpered. Fueled by the desire to see just how far she could go, she closed her lips around him snugly and slid her mouth slowly back up his length.

Low groans punctuated his shallow breaths. In a move she found incredibly erotic, he traced the seal of her lips with the tip of his index finger.

“I love being inside you like this,” he confessed in a harsh whisper. “It feels good, so fucking good…”

Within a few seconds his whispers turned to an inarticulate mix of prayers and curses. Within a few more, she was flat on her back on the bed, sweats dangling from one ankle while he rolled on another condom. Their eyes met for a single suspended beat of pure, hot anticipation. Then he drove into her with the devastating intensity of a lightning strike.

Contrary to what she’d heard, lightning could strike twice in the same place, three times, innumerable times. He proved this with every earth-shattering lunge of his body into hers. Soon her cries competed with his.

Though she couldn’t hear anything over the roar of her rushing pulse, she knew she was babbling, begging. He must have heard her, because he reared back, shoved her legs up until her knees practically brushed her earlobes, and drove into her again with a long, hard thrust. This time lightning didn’t simply strike, it electrified every atom in her body and sent her spinning, twirling, falling. Emotions too intense to name surged through her. She twined herself around him—her only anchor in this spiraling universe of pleasure—and held on for dear life.

…

Trevor pried his eyes open and watched Kylie raise her hips toward the ceiling and tug her sweats up. A minute ago, he’d come so hard he still couldn’t feel his extremities, yet somehow she’d gathered the energy to squirm out from under his dead weight and start pulling on clothes.

Luckily, there was nothing wrong with his hearing, so he had a fairly good idea what fueled her sudden need to escape. In the throes of her orgasm, she’d definitely called out, “I love you. I love you. Oh, God, Trevor. I love you.” Whether she realized what she’d said remained to be seen, but the emotional epiphany alone clearly tripped her panic switch.

He rolled to his side and grabbed some tissue from the box on the nightstand, did some housekeeping below deck, and pitched the tissue-wrapped condom into the trash. Then he turned to watch Kylie. “What’s your hurry?”

She shrugged, still not looking at him, and repaired her ponytail. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome. I know I showed up unannounced and hijacked your evening. I should leave now and get out of your way.”

“Stay.” He didn’t dare add another word, or next thing he knew, he’d be begging. This already sounded too much like a repeat of last night. Asking her to stay with him and having her toss the invitation back in his face was not a habit he intended to develop.

She shook her head, sending the ponytail back to square one, and gave a frustrated little sound. “I’ve got to go. I have things to accomplish. I can’t just…languish here indefinitely.”

Several replies sprang to mind, all of which would likely kick off a conversation that hastened a final break.
You really want to push this?

Apparently he did. Sleeping with her whenever she showed up on his doorstep, silently hoping for more than she might ever willingly offer, struck him as a pathetic way to spend time with the woman he loved. With a hand to her shoulder, he turned her until she faced him.

“Is that what you’re afraid would happen if you let yourself acknowledge what you feel for me? You’d lose sight of the things you want to accomplish?”

“Look, Trevor,” she began slowly, carefully, like someone stepping into a minefield. “We’re attracted to each other. We enjoy each other physically. End of story. Why can’t we leave it at that?” She threw the question out in a calm, rational tone, but he saw the terror in her eyes.

“A minute ago you screamed you loved me at damn near the top of your lungs. Call me sensitive, but I find that pretty hard to brush aside.”

That spooked her. She couldn’t have jumped off the bed faster if he’d touched her with a live wire. “I’m not ignoring my emotions.” She swatted that contention away with an impatient hand. “But I’m also not a slave to them. They’re transitory…unreliable. I’m not my mother, for God’s sake.” Now she started to pace. “She gets hopelessly lost in every fleeting passion, and you know what? Those roads always lead her back to exactly where she started—absolutely nowhere.”

“Why does the road always have to lead nowhere?” He kept his voice quiet, though
his
emotions were anything but. “Maybe sometimes it leads to happiness, and fulfillment?”

She shook her head and continued to pace. “It never does. Not for my mom. Not for anyone I know. Believe me, I’ve watched.”

“That’s one thing I noticed about you right from the start. You’re observant. But Kylie, you can’t always rely on your limited, firsthand observations to define the realm of possibilities. How do you explain my parents, happily married for thirty-two years come October?”

“They’re the exception that proves the rule.”

God, she was stubborn. For some crazy reason, it had him fighting a smile.

“What rule?”

“Excuse me?”

“If people like my folks are the exception, what’s the rule? I’d like to know.”

“Fine. I’ll call it Stacy’s rule. Enjoy the moment, have some mind-blowing sex, and leave the candlelight and roses for fairy tales.”

“That’s Stacy’s rule?”

“In a nutshell.”

“Seems to me even Stacy’s not playing by her own rule anymore, considering she prepared a special dinner for Ian tonight—involving candlelight and roses, I believe you said. Tell me, did she seem happy?”

“Well, sure, she—”

“Why didn’t you talk some sense into her?”

Flashing blue eyes narrowed. “I don’t begrudge Stacy happiness.”

“Of course not,” he quickly agreed, “which is why I figure you’d want to remind her about the rule, and warn her she’s walking a road that
always
leads nowhere. Especially for those two, right? I mean, she’s a stripper.” He shook his head. “What’s Ian thinking?”

“Maybe he’s thinking she’s fun, talented, and interesting,” she challenged, unwittingly rising to his bait by leaping to the defense of her twin.

“I’m sure she’s all those things. But Ian’s a cop. Probably too straight-arrow for a woman like Stacy.”

“That’s what makes him good for her,” she insisted, sounding so uncharacteristically argumentative he had to force back another smile. She was proving his point for him. “They balance each other out. You’re the trained observer. I can’t believe you don’t see something so obvious.”

“But, Kylie, if they’re good for each other, right for each other, then that would make them”—he paused for effect—“an exception to the rule?”

“Yes…no!” She scrubbed a hand across her face and then looked up at him. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I hope yes.”

Reaching out, he grabbed her hand and tugged her closer. When she didn’t resist, he pulled her down on the bed beside him. “Let me get this straight. Stacy and Ian could be an exception to this ironclad rule, but not you and me? Because I’m thinking you and I might qualify for one of these exceptions you’ve mentioned. Maybe instead of getting in the way of your dreams, I’d be the guy who’s helping you, and looking out for you—the guy who’s got your back.”

The wide blue eyes staring up at him swirled with confusion and sorrow. Finally, she looked down at their joined hands. “Trevor, you don’t really know me…”

“Ah, Christ, we’re back to that again?” Now he sprang up from the bed. With no better outlet for his impatience, he paced to the window and stared at the treetops silhouetted against the night sky. “I knew plenty about you the minute I set eyes on you. Even when you’re surrounded by people, you hold yourself apart. You don’t find lying easy, and you’re not good at it. You’re instinctively friendly, but stingier with trust. How’m I doing so far?”

He turned to look at her, but she didn’t answer, so he kept going. “You worry about everyone—Stacy, the other dancers at Deuces, a couple of dead customers, even me—but find it difficult to believe someone could genuinely care about
you
. You’re a tough, fragile, brave, cowardly woman. If you’re looking for a way to tell me you don’t want to take this thing between us any further, try another excuse, because ‘You don’t really know me’ won’t cut it. There may be a few people on this planet who know more about your past than me, but I’ll wager there’s nobody who knows
you
better than I do—body and soul.”

“Can’t you just be satisfied with the body?” she pleaded, her voice little more than a whisper.

Heart heavy, he dropped back down beside her on the bed and took her hand.
Yes
, his dick insisted.
Hell, yes.
A huge part of his mind wanted to cast the same vote, the part thinking maybe she just needed some more time. But his heart, or his balls, or a combination of both, wouldn’t let him compromise on something so critical.

“No chance. I’m falling in love with you, Kylie.”

He watched her expression shift from confused to flat-out scared. “You’re not, Trevor. Don’t say—”

“And you’re falling in love with me, too.” Normally he wouldn’t toss what a woman said in the heat of passion back at her, but he wasn’t feeling particularly fair at the moment. “Deny it to yourself if you have to, but I know the truth. So, no, I won’t let you use me—use
us
—for sex and pretend that’s all there is. If sex is all you’re willing to ante up, then I fold.”

Those deep blue eyes looked so lost and wounded, he fought the urge to pull her into his arms and tell her she could have him on whatever terms she wanted.

“Are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore?”

He stood and pulled her to her feet. If she dissolved into tears on his bed, he’d cave for sure and would never be able to face himself in the mirror again. “No. I’m saying I want to spend time with you somewhere besides
there
.” He gestured to the bed. “I want to send you roses. I want to see the way your skin glows in candlelight. I want to call you in the middle of the day, just to talk. I want all of that, and a hell of a lot more. But, if you don’t, if that’s too disruptive to your precious plans, then…” Drawing a deep breath while parts of his anatomy vehemently protested the ultimatum, he gathered his strength and finished. “No. Your body, amazing as it is, isn’t enough for me.”

She lowered her head, but not before he saw her chin tremble. “Kylie…” Cupping his hand around her neck, he nudged his thumb along her jaw, lifting her face to his. Her chin had firmed, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I should go.”

Not the answer he’d been hoping for. Forcing a smile, he said, “Yeah, I had a feeling—”

Her lips cut him off—fast, hard, a little bit rough, and then gone. Only the lingering scent of tropical paradise hinted she’d been there at all.