The Pretender Page 11

  “Bedside table.” She pressed a line of kisses up his neck as he hung there above her.

  “Okay.” Not that he could move. Her legs were locked around the back of his. Their bodies rubbed together, skin against skin. Energy pulsed inside him until his hands shook.

  “Yes.” Her head dropped back on the mattress. “Now, Harris.”

  That got his attention.

  With a knee balanced on the bed, he maneuvered around her. Stealing a quick glance at her was a mistake. It broke what little concentration he had. On her back with her arms palms up by her head. She was waiting, and he needed to move his ass.

  The drawer rattled as he pulled it out. A quick check and he had the condom. He fumbled, trying to get it open. Somehow he managed it. He rolled it over his length as he moved back between her thighs. Her knees were in the air now with her feet flat against the mattress.

  So damn inviting.

  Slipping his hands under her thighs, he pushed her knees closer to her chest. He took his erection in his hand and brushed the tip over her, opening her. Back and forth as the muscles in her legs visibly shook.

  Watching her run her hands over her stomach nearly killed him. She understood her body and what she needed. She didn’t shy away from this feeling, and he loved that. Loved how good she felt as her inner muscles closed around him.

  He pushed into her nice and slow, celebrating every inch. When she reached out and grabbed his hips and pulled him in tight, he didn’t fight it. He sank inside her in one deep, long stroke. Sensations rippled through her and he felt every one. Her shoulders lifted and her hips bucked.

  His body took over then. He pumped inside her. In and out in a natural rhythm that didn’t require a signal from his brain. This was about feeling, about watching her body move.

  One of her arms dropped over her head and her mouth opened on a soft sigh. He didn’t stop. A clenching sensation took over his body. He felt his release rushing through him and wanted to get her there first.

  He slipped his hand down and touched her. Pressed his finger against the spot he knew would drive her wild as his body moved inside her. She gasped and her eyes opened. Her hands slid over his ass and up his back. Traveled over his shoulders then her fingernails dug in. She held him in a tight grip as she brought his body closer.

  The friction of skin over skin drowned out every other thought. He moved, she moved. Their breathing mixed. Their legs tangled.

  Those long legs encircled him. Her ankles locked behind him. Her body stiffened right before she came. Those tiny inner muscles clamped down on him and he saw white.

  It was his turn then. His body moved and his mind went blank. Wave after wave of excited need ran through him. The energy built up until it exploded. He emptied as his hips continued to buck.

  After, he just lay there on top of her, enjoying the way her body fit against his. The softness to his hardness. The smell of him on her skin. The dampness between her breasts and on his back.

  The sex was so damn good.

  He liked looking at her, arguing with her, matching wits against her. But this . . . this was fucking amazing. So much for thinking they could do this once and be over. If anything, his need for her slammed into him even harder. He waited for a fresh smack of guilt and regret for lying to her, for not coming clean. It hadn’t hit him yet, but he knew it lingered inside him somewhere.

  He pulled out of her, but he didn’t want to. He could stay there, rocking his body against hers all night. She hadn’t complained. Her fingers still brushed over his shoulders and her tight hold didn’t ease. But he outweighed her and they needed a second. A breath before they rushed into round two, or worse, broke apart with her deciding once was enough.

  He forced his body to move. He didn’t go far, just pushed up on his elbows and balanced his chest over hers.

  He smiled down at her. “Hey.”

  Her gaze toured his face as her finger slipped over his scruff of a beard. “Hey, yourself.”

  He remembered her warning back at the fire pit. “You’ll note I didn’t say anything.”

  She frowned at him. “Huh?”

  “You told me not to be annoying during sex.”

  She laughed then. At first it was a small bit of happiness but then she let go. She laughed until she bent her head and rested her forehead against his chest.

  “You okay?” But he loved it. He’d seen her smile, but not nearly enough. A loss of control seemed so out of character that he hoped it was a good sign. Maybe she’d crossed some invisible barrier.

  She lifted her head and kissed him then. A hot, sexy kiss that said she’d loved the sex as much as he did. “I’m pretty great.”

  “I hope that means I can stay the night.” That might be pushing it, but she made him feel powerful. He was pretty sure he could swim to DC no problem right now.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Just try to leave.”

  Two hours later, after a second round and a shower, they lay entwined on the bed. She was on her side with him spooning her from behind. The position both drove her wild and made her feel safe.

  Heat radiated off him and soaked into her bones. She was relaxed but rode the edge of being anything but. If she had any energy or could move a muscle she might turn over and slide over him. It was so tempting.

  She shifted a bit and his arm tightened around her waist. They were naked, because why bother to put on clothes now. He mumbled something against the back of her neck before placing a kiss there. The touch was enough to send a new tremor spinning through her.

  He warned her that he didn’t do feelings. That he was not the guy a woman should risk anything on. Sex was about sex. She got the message, appreciated the warning. Hell, she felt the same, so they seemed like the perfect match. But tonight was not about the touch of a man without feelings. He didn’t keep his body and mind separate. There was nothing selfish about how he acted in bed.

  Thinking about him and back to the story he told about his mom . . . she tried to make sense of it all. She understood that he didn’t share easily. She could tell that about him from the start. But he’d opened up, run the risk of her not believing him.

  She knew he expected they’d both share their secrets, but he only got a one-sided deal. Not that she’d promised, because she really hadn’t. She’d gone out of her way not to utter the words. But now, lying there in the dark, the need to say something pummeled her. She’d held in her secrets for so long. This one nearly destroyed her family. She didn’t know how to tell all of it, but her brain begged for her to share at least a part.

  His weight grew heavier against her and she knew he was drifting off to sleep. If she waited just a few more minutes the moment would pass. He’d be asleep and then she could try to rest. If only she could turn her mind off.

  “I didn’t plan my own kidnapping.” There it was. She’d made the statement over and over during the years. She’d told police and private investigators. Two lawyers and her family. She’d screamed it at her parents until they just stopped listening.

  Harris didn’t say anything. Didn’t pepper her with questions. His legs shifted and his body felt more alive. Yeah, she’d woken him up. Now the question was if she could go through with it. Baby steps. God, she wanted to tell him all of it because she needed him to know she wouldn’t intentionally hurt her parents that way.

  “I joked with friends about this movie I’d seen and how I could fake a kidnapping to get my trust and break free of my parents’ control. It was stupid teen crap, kind of a my-parents-are-worse game. Big talk, but not real talk. Not to me.”

  Harris made a humming sound. “But to someone.”

  “Friends of friends heard. They were the ones who planned it.” She’d never guessed the stupid ramblings of bored kids could change everything in her life, but that was exactly what happened.

  She’d been dependent on the money and all the benefits it brought. She never debated how privileged she was because that was obvious, but her pare
nts weren’t the must-make-more types. Her father was uncomfortable with the money and her mother didn’t really want any of it. She would have been happy to keep designing houses, which was exactly how she met Gabby’s dad.

  “These other kids knew my schedule and when I was home from college and the general blueprints of the house because they’d been there for a party I had when my parents were away.” The party they forbade her to have, not caring that she was in college now and it was sort of expected.

  Thinking back now, if she’d only listened . . . wasn’t that always the way?

  Harris made a humming sound that vibrated against her skin. “That’s the evidence that was used against you.”

  “I drank a lot back then and would talk big.” She’d started at sixteen because she thought it was cool. That was one downside of being her mother’s child. Her mother liked to drink and Gabby learned that skill by watching. “I started young and didn’t stop. Well, I did after the kidnapping. Consider it a scared-sober thing.”

  Harris dropped a kiss on her bare shoulder. “Did you know in advance they were going to take you?”

  “No.” She didn’t sense any doubt in his voice, so she continued. “I think they started it as a joke but then more people got involved and it spun out of control.”

  His thumb rubbed up and down on her stomach. “Did they hurt you?”

  Getting beaten up didn’t matter. The ones who went through with the kidnapping weren’t actually her friends. She barely knew that group and they insisted the injuries were necessary to make the ruse more believable. She begged them to stop all of it, but there was that one guy who seemed to be in charge. The one who called her “spoiled rich girl” and made it clear he thought she deserved being hit. Later, he insisted she ordered them to hit her to be realistic.

  “They destroyed my parents’ trust in me. That was the worst part. I didn’t do it, never would have, but there was a piece of my mom and dad that always doubted.” It was the one time in her life where the darkness nearly overwhelmed her. She’d searched for reasons to stay alive and couldn’t really find any. That scared her right back into therapy.

  Harris’s hand spanned her waist in a reassuring touch. “You were gone for days.”

  “Being taken turned out to be the easiest part to recover from.”

  He turned her over until her back rested against the mattress and he balanced over her. “And all this has something to do with the shovel.”

  “Yes.”

  He didn’t ask anything else. Didn’t push.

  He was letting her tell the story her way, in her time. This was all she could do now. There was so much more. The pain and the betrayal. The begging and the map. But that could wait. Truth was, the spark of attraction she felt for him ignited into a full-fledged flame, and she didn’t want to lose that.

  “I’m going to kiss you again.” He started to lower his head.

  She put a hand on his shoulder because she needed to see his face when she asked the next question. “You’re not going to insist on knowing everything about me and what happened and every fact?”

  “No.”

  “Really?” He acted like he didn’t care but she got the sense something else was going on. Like, he was giving her time and space, two things she needed but never expected.

  His eyebrow lifted. “Do you need that from me in order for us to sleep together? Because I really want to keep doing this.”

  “In other words, I can keep some of my secrets but then so can you?” She already knew the answer to that. He put on a good show but underneath something else bubbled and churned.

  “Yes.”

  His matter-of-fact response was oddly reassuring. Other men would deny or out-and-out lie. Not Harris. He wasn’t like other men. He was so much better.

  “Then get to it. The kiss, I mean.” This time she pulled him down to her. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

  Chapter 11

  Harris managed to push away the lingering need to know more about Gabby and focused on how good touching her the night before had felt. He was actually in a good mood as he walked across the freshly mowed grass.

  The second he saw Damon standing on the main house’s front porch everything changed. Harris had seen that expression before, the mix of smart-ass and you’re-toast look on Damon’s face, and it never ended well.

  “About time you woke up,” Damon said as he stared at Harris over the top of his coffee mug.

  At least today Damon looked a bit more like an investigator and a bit less like a guy with an impressive T-shirt collection but little else to his name. The dark pants matched the dark mood circling around him.

  “It’s not even eight.” Harris knew because he’d forced his body out of bed exactly a half hour ago.

  Staying there, going another round with Gabby, had been a huge temptation. It didn’t help that she’d been sprawled across the bed naked. When he got up to shower she grumbled about too much moving in the morning and smashed her face into the pillow. He took that as a sign that she might not be a morning person.

  He needed a bit more sleep, but there was a lot of work to do. Damon had pushed off the alarm and security people Stephen hired. He didn’t want any of them messing with the equipment Wren already installed on the island. Worse, Damon had already texted to say they needed to talk. It was either wake up or run the risk of Damon knocking on the guesthouse door.

  “It’s exhausting, right?” Damon asked as he leaned against the porch post.

  Harris did not want to ask. Even thought about pivoting around Damon and going into the house or, better yet, heading to the opposite end of the island. But Damon would never let it drop, so . . . “Just say it.”

  “This game of musical beds. Are you going to keep changing every night?” Damon made a “huh” sound. “If so, I thought Wren and I could start a betting pool.”

  “First of all, kiss my ass.”

  Damon nodded. “That’s a fair response.”

  “Second, I’d like to point out that when I did try to sleep here, in the same house as you, you threatened to shoot me.” Damon had scared the crap out of Harris the other night. Started yelling, hit the lights.

  “You tried to sneak in and knocked over the coat rack. I should have shot you just on principle.” Damon made a tsk-tsking sound. “I mean, what self-respecting thief makes that kind of racket?”

  “Keep your voice down.” Harris did a quick look around, half expecting Kramer or his son to pop up out of nowhere. It wasn’t until he saw the two of them over by the pool, walking around it and nodding while they inspected it, that Harris felt comfortable talking outside about this topic. “And it’s former thief.”

  “It’s weird how I keep forgetting the former thing.” Sarcasm dripped from Damon’s voice.

  “I’ve gone legitimate.” Harris thought maybe if he said it often enough others would believe him. He didn’t consider what he did now stealing, after all. It was a matter of balancing the scales. If some Nazi stole art in the forties, he could try to fix that now. If a rich asshole used his influence or took a painting to settle a debt, Harris could make that right.

  Truth was, stopping cold never worked for him. He’d tried. Almost getting caught on this island and arrested hadn’t scared him straight. Neither had the other time Wren had to step in and bail him out.

  He’d been on this road a long time, at first intrigued by his mother’s obsession and then compelled by the adrenaline rush and his own driving need to fill a void inside him by taking risks. His current job provided cover, which made it easier to do his behind-the-scenes work. He’d established himself as the go-to person to track lost art. It was the part where he sometimes stole it back that his friends seemed to question.

  “I am standing here instead of sitting on a beach in Hawaii because you can’t go fully legitimate,” Damon said.

  Harris couldn’t exactly deny that. “Blame Wren.”

  “I have been. He calls every day for a check.�
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  “Controlling bastard.”

  Damon nodded. “Right?”

  “What was your text about?” The sooner Harris got an answer, the sooner he could track down a cup of coffee. He had a feeling this was going to be a multi-cup day.

  “So . . . we have a problem.”

  Harris knew those words would come out of his friend’s mouth. “I’m barely awake and I can name three.”

  “Well, some of us didn’t get much sleep but I’m betting your night was more fun.”

  Harris wasn’t the type to kiss and tell, but come on. “I can a hundred percent guarantee that.”

  “Wren sent the security video. I now have a hookup and I’ve been going through the days since Gabby arrived on the island.”

  It was the way Damon said it, all slow and calculating. As if he was trying to test Harris. If so, Harris was pretty sure he’d fail because he was too tired to school his reactions. “Okay.”

  “Her late-night activities . . .” Damon hesitated. “Do you really not know where I’m going with this?”

  The dramatic pause thing seemed extra annoying without coffee. “Spell it out.”

  “She got up one night and dug a stone out of a wall. Acted pretty upset that there wasn’t something hidden there.” Damon set his mug down on the porch banister. “But I think you know all of that. See, the Harris I know wouldn’t miss a woman sliding out of bed. He’d hear it and follow her.”

  Well, fuck. “You seemed to suggest a second ago I was slipping.”

  “Look, I’m here to help you, asshole. I know you’ve got this new outlook where you cut me out and—”

  “No.” Harris needed to shut this down right now. Needed to step up and own this part of the mess he created. He hadn’t hurt Tabitha. The way he mangled the crime scene had been half accident and half an attempt to cover his own ass. The latter would always haunt him. That guilt plagued him and he shut down. He ended up pushing away one of the people he’d always counted on and trusted.