Private Investigation Page 8

  a) Gather conclusive evidence that Eva Cage is a prostitute. Yes, I already have it, but I need physical proof. I just have to figure out how to get it past big man Carlos.

  b) This is an illegal operation. I have the opportunity to expose these people, who very much rob men blind. I’m sure the police would be happy for all the intel. Perhaps even the FBI if this business has crossed state lines.

  c) Lena. I’ll never have the chance to see her—even if this isn’t an exact portrait—living again after this. And finally,

  d) The real reason I need to stay, which is also the reason I shouldn’t. Her. She’s drawing me in, pulling me to her like a fucking moth to a fucking flame. Literally. I’m desperate for the fire she’s unleashed, even though I know it can only end badly.

  More than that, I want to gaze into her eyes, see her soul again the way I did yesterday when the vulnerability of sleep exposed her. I want to find out what she’s hiding behind those gray orbs. What makes them so troubled. What they see when she closes her lids.

  I want inside her in more ways than one.

  At seven, the black Town Car parks in the same parking spot it did yesterday. Carlos steps out and looks up at my window.

  I go outside, letting him pat me down when I get to the car. The drive is much the same as before—quiet but for the turbulent thoughts that stem from my excitement at the idea of seeing her again. When we arrive, my man opens the door for me, and I follow him to the apartment.

  Carlos goes to stand by the front door, legs spread, his face unreadable. Without looking at me, he extends his hand. I don’t need to ask what he wants. He accepts my phone and places it in his coat pocket, sweat already beading on his forehead.

  I wear a suit jacket on a daily basis, but I have the luxury of taking it off and rolling my sleeves up when I’m outdoors. Poor guy; I certainly don’t envy him.

  “Better keep it out of your pants,” I tell him. “Don’t want it back sweaty.” He doesn’t react.

  “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” greets me as I open the door, and Ol’ Blue Eyes’ classic voice sounds from an unseen speaker. More perfect words couldn’t have been sung for this occasion, I think to myself as I search for Mrs. Cage. She’s under my skin. Whether it’s a good thing… No, I know better. This is definitely not a good thing.

  “Lena?” I force the name out.

  She’s not in the kitchen, but I do find she’s ordered a Greek pizza and cut it up in little squares to make it look fancier. I drop my jacket on one of the chairs, unbuttoning the top button of my blue shirt and rolling up the sleeves.

  From the other room, I hear the shower door shut. I trace the path I remember from yesterday, through the living room, to the single bedroom. At the doorway, I stop, barely able to breathe. Through the steam fogging the bathroom mirror, I see her image. I take a step closer, then another.

  She doesn’t see me, though I’m sure she’s aware I’m here. Her movements are precise, exaggeratedly sexy. Inside the seamless glass shower with ribbed white and blue tiles, she stands naked under the rainfall. She turns slightly, and I watch as the water washes over her hair, bringing it down to a point near the base of her spine.

  My eyes follow her hands gliding over the peaks and valleys as she washes her smooth skin, perfect and unmarked but for a henna-like cuff tattooed around the inside of her wrist. I long to run my own hands down her wet body, feeling those curves as I go.

  Soapy froth slides down her breasts, splitting as it travels over the light brown nipples. When her hands get to the small patch of hair between her legs, my breath hitches in my throat, and I cough.

  She turns to me with a smile so bright that it spears right through me.

  “You’re home!”

  I approach the shower and avert my eyes, feeling guilty because I want to see the forbidden, even if for now, in this moment, she belongs to me.

  She quickly rinses off and steps out. Without bothering to dry off or cover herself, she hugs me. Wetness seeps through my button-up shirt as her body molds to mine, and without thinking, I bring my hands up to hold her closer.

  Her gray eyes lock on me just as our mouths touch. When she pulls away, she’s no longer smiling. I register the heat of her skin as it rises, warming me in the process. Pink fills her cheeks, her lips plumping.

  “Will you wash my back?” The signature smokiness of her voice lowers, becoming breathier. Richer.

  “You’re already out of the shower.”

  “Then maybe you can just take me to the bed and fuck me.”

  The request makes me swallow hard. It’s not something Lena would’ve ever said. I never needed her to say it. Everything about her fulfilled me. But when I hear Mrs. Cage say it, it makes me beyond crazed. Blood rushes to every part of my body—my fucking dick, my lips, my hands. Everything that wants to meld with her.

  It hasn’t been a long time since I’ve had sex. Holding back shouldn’t be a problem. Only, in this case, it is.

  Through the fog in the mirror, I see our reflection. The sight of her perfect body pressed against me, wet and willing, nearly undoes me. Fighting my desire, I try to remove my hands from her. But as my fingers run over the silkiness of her back and down to her hip, something inside overtakes me.

  White hot desire fills my veins, flowing through my body, enhancing all of my senses. She becomes more pliant. Her scent, clean and feminine, makes my head spin. And the taste of her as she kisses me, urging me to open for her, undoes me.

  With my hands on her ass, I lift her small frame easily. Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms hug my neck, our lips never parting. The heat at the apex of her thighs presses against my cock, throwing me further into a frenzy. I deepen the kiss, dig my fingers in her flesh, desperate to be inside her in some way.

  Carrying her to the bed, I drop us onto it, careful not to break our kiss. Because if I did, I’d probably be able to think more clearly. Maybe I’d stop this if I could remind myself that she’s a case and I’m here to collect evidence.

  But as long as her tongue slides against mine, as long as I’m drunk off her essence, I can’t stop. I need her.

  I take her lower lip into my mouth, feeling the fullness of it. Her hips rise, pumping against me.

  Somewhere in the distance, I hear my belt hit the floor, then my shirt follows as she practically tears it off. I pull away only long enough to remove my pants, all the while watching her. She’s breathing erratically, practically panting. Her long hair is fanned around her head like a dark halo, and her glazed eyes say she’s high on this drug of our own making. Her arms reach out for me, and between her legs, I see the moist invitation, the thing I crave the most right now.

  There are many ways a woman can fake desire. I’m aware of that. But this… This isn’t fake. It can’t be. She’s too flushed, too wet.

  Her eyes catch the bounce of my dick as I tug my boxer shorts off. There’s no mistaking that look of surprise that, were she really my wife, wouldn’t be there. She’d know that, in spite of my size, I’d be gentle. I’d go slow.

  “You’re taking too long,” she complains. “I’m getting cold.”

  With a smirk, I climb over her. Her hands roam my chest and around to my back and ass.

  Our lips meet again, hard, desperate. The “cold” is quickly dispelled as intense heat overpowers us. Taking control, she guides me down. I trail kisses over her chin and throat as I go, nipping her clavicle, the top of her breast. When I reach one of her nipples, her back arches, trying to get me to kiss her there too.

  I chuckle, moving my mouth to the side, kissing the skin around it instead. She groans in disappointment but is soon panting, digging her fingers into my scalp every time I make a light pass over her nipple.

  “Matt, you’re driving me crazy.”

  “That’s the point.”

  Her hips come off the bed when my lips finally latch onto it. I suckle her, softly at first, then a little harder. My right hand follows the path down her belly to her swee
t wetness. I run a finger over her slit, teasing her, then I add pressure. Finding her clit, I play with the nub, drawing small circles, spreading the moisture. When I dip my finger inside her, she cries out, clenching around me.

  I can’t hold back anymore. I need her.

  Positioning my dick at her entrance, I push. Where I would have loved to slam into her, her tightness slows me down, forcing me to pull out a bit and try again and then again, each time gaining an inch.

  I stare into her eyes as she finally takes me in all the way. Fuck, she’s like a glove around my shaft. I’m trembling, trying my best to restrain myself from what I really want to do.

  Her hands come to my waist, sharp nails clawing against the skin there. She looks as crazed as I feel.

  “Matt. More. I need more.” The way she’s moving, the way she draws her legs back farther, tells me all I need to know.

  I let go. That beast inside me takes over, doing what it wants. To mate with this woman. To make her mine.

  With wild abandon, I fuck her, no longer caring about gentleness or making love or right and wrong. I pump into her with fury, each thrust harder than the last. Nails dig into the skin of my back, but the pain only drives me deeper into insanity.

  I kiss her because I need to be connected to her in every way. I want her embedded in every pore, in every cell.

  I. Am. Out. Of. My. Mind.

  I tell myself that I’ve wanted this for too long, that my total loss of control has more to do with the fact that she looks so much like Lena. But the truth is that in this moment, the way she clings to me and the way she writhes beneath me like some wild thing, there’s no mistaking her for Lena. This woman is someone else entirely. And it frightens me to know just how much I want her.

  Just as I’m about to come, I reach down and touch her clit, rubbing it between the folds. It’s hard to hold out, but by some miracle, I do. Her orgasm hits, and I can feel her shatter and pulse around me.

  I pull out, spilling on her belly, almost seeing stars in the process. When it’s all done, I fall over to the side, depleted. Possibly near death.

  She scoots over to me, putting a hand on my chest. “You’re going to clean me off, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, just need to catch my breath.”

  “Good. And, Matt?”

  “Hmm?” I mumble, nearly asleep.

  “I want more. A lot more.”

  My eyes open suddenly, and I realize I fell asleep. The first thing I do is look at my watch. Shit, at least thirty minutes have gone by. I don’t know whether I should be upset that I wasted the time completely unconscious or happy because, for the first time in a long while, there were no dreams. Just deep, beautiful sleep.

  Beside me, Eva has also fallen asleep.

  I don’t say anything, keeping my eyes stuck to the ceiling. There are so many details Ember got right. Except this one thing… Lena enjoyed sex. But with her, it was sweet. Loving. She needed it to be romantic.

  This woman beside me, she’s a whole different animal all together. She’s explosive. Demanding. She makes me ache for her in a way I didn’t know I could. And yes, I too want more. So much more.

  I turn to her, watching as her mouth opens a bit and she mumbles in her sleep, and I have to wonder—even if she could pretend to be someone else in bed, would I want her to?

  “What are you thinking?” Mrs. Cage asks, setting down the book she’s reading.

  We’ve been sitting on the lanai, drinking a red wine spritzer concoction she made, watching the bugs crawling over the screening. The fan overhead does a good job of keeping us cool, though I’ve had to strip down to my boxer briefs to keep from baking.

  We look very much the married couple, just hanging out on this wicker loveseat with her legs on my lap, not a care in the world, basking in the afterglow of our second round of lovemaking.

  My fingers trail over her calf and around to her knee. She has small feet, even for a woman. No nail polish covers her toenails, and I think of how Lena would have hated the natural look.

  Eva notices me staring and tries to pull her foot away, but I catch it, wrapping my fingers around her slim ankle.

  “I’m thinking about how hot it is,” I say.

  “No, I mean, what are you really thinking? You seem so serious.” She scrunches her nose at me, her eyes dancing with the light. But even then, even when she’s being playful, the heaviness in them, the shadow of something, makes them so gray that it’s impossible not to be mesmerized.

  I don’t want to be mesmerized. Not by her.

  It’s not Her. It’s not Her eyes. It’s not Her face. It’s just who she looks like.

  “You don’t want to know what I’m thinking,” I tell her.

  Her smile falters. “You want to go inside?”

  Nodding, I say, “I should shower.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  There’s a lot to be said for an overhead rain shower. The power it has to hypnotize, making you forget there’s anything beyond your inner thoughts.

  I linger there with my forehead against the cool tile, feeling the large water droplets drumming against my neck and back.

  What am I doing here? I’m not delusional. I know she isn’t my wife. Telling myself I’m here because of Lena is a lie. Saying that I’m here because she’s a job is an even bigger one.

  I want to talk to her. To find out what she’s thinking. Does she regret being what she is? Is that what I see in her eyes, that torture that sucks me in? Or is there something else?

  What she’s doing is wrong. I know that too. There’s enough evidence for her husband to divorce her and worse. He could send her and everyone at Ember to jail. Take her children away.

  In that deep state of thought, I step out of the shower, wrapping the towel around me. Mrs. Cage has laid my clothes neatly on the bed. Dressing as quickly as I can, I peek out from the bedroom yet don’t see her. Without a sound, I go into the living room.

  I catch her reflection clearly in the television that hangs over the electric fireplace. Quietly, I watch, because I know this is the real Eva I’m seeing. She’s standing at the kitchen counter, staring out the window. There’s no smile on her face, no trace of happiness. Her blinking is slow, almost painfully so. A slight frown mars the space between her dark brows, her breathing deep, like she’s sighing with each and every breath. Wherever she is, it’s far away.

  Even in this mere reflection, the clarity of her eyes remains, as does the darkness. It hurts to see.

  Why would someone involve herself in this business, risking it all? Everything inside tells me there’s more to her story. I can’t just hand her over. She’d forever haunt me if I did, and lord knows I don’t need any more ghosts.

  As if she senses me, her eyes snap to the television and she sees me. For a moment, barely any time at all, she does nothing. She lets me see her. And for that moment, I see a desperate plea for help. Then it’s gone. She smiles and walks into the living room.

  “Did you have a good shower?” she asks.

  “It was nice.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yeah, I could eat.”

  “Good, come.” She takes my hand, pulling me to the kitchen.

  We eat in silence, though she makes sure to keep her smile at all times. But I can’t stop myself from wondering, and I need to know.

  “Are you happy?” I ask her.

  “Of course I am, silly. I’m with you.”

  “No. Not Lena. You. Are you here because you want to be?”

  “Matthew—”

  “Wait, Eva,” I cut her off before she has a chance to tell me whatever it is she thinks I want to hear. “I need to know you’re here because you want to be. Don’t tell me what I want to hear. Tell me the truth. Don’t answer for Lena. Do you want to be here, number twelve?”

  She finishes chewing her bite of pizza, sets it down, and looks me in the eye. I can see her debating inside about whether to drop the act or stick to her contract.

  Fin
ally, she makes her decision. “Matt, my contract requires me to fulfill your fantasy. If it would make you happy to hear the truth, no matter what, then here it is. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here with you. You understand?” The way she says it, with conviction and leaving no room for misunderstanding, makes me want to believe her.

  But I made myself believe the same thing with Lena. And it cost her her life.

  The clock strikes one. Our time is over.

  Her features soften and I know she’s back in her role. She walks to me, wedges herself between me and the table, and straddles my lap. Putting her arms around me, she presses her mouth to mine. I close my eyes, breathing her in.

  “I’m going to miss you, Matthew,” she whispers as she pulls away. “Will you do something for me tonight?”

  “What?”

  She takes my hands, placing them on her breasts and then moving them down to her waist as she presses herself against me. “Dream of me.”

  My blood starts to flow, quick and fast, heating my skin, making me hard for her all over again. “And you? Will you dream of me?”

  “I have been for a long time.”

  Carlos opens the door. “Mr. Grayson.”

  “The warden’s come for me. I’ll see you tomorrow, Le—” I can’t bring myself to call her that. But I don’t know what to call her if not Lena. “Tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Chapter 16

  Red wine and lemon-lime soda don’t taste as good as they did earlier today when I had a beautiful woman’s legs draped over me, even if it was uncomfortably hot.

  “Dream of me,” she’d said.

  If I could sleep, perhaps I would. But as is my curse, all I can do is pace the room like a damned spirit, going from wall to wall, remembering. Living in my past, desperate to move away from it. But it’s got too strong a hold on me.

  Justin called me earlier.

  “We’ll give it till Friday,” he said when I told him there was nothing yet. If he knew the truth, he’d kill me. Then he’d throttle me.