- CHAPTER SIX -
COSTELLO
There was nothing between this rarity of a woman and me but a towel and some thin fabric. How I was acting with Scotch was entirely foreign to me.
I was aching to fuck her.
And I wanted to do anything but.
Shivering, I studied how the shadow I cast on her played over the freckles on her nose. Scotch was beautiful . . . clearly not easy to forget, considering several people remembered her from the club tonight. I knew almost nothing about her, but I did know one very important fact: I’d told her everything would be okay.
Sleeping with her would be the opposite of okay. Creating any more of a connection between Scotch and myself would put her in even worse danger.
But fuck it . . . I almost don’t care. Her collarbones rose when she sucked in air; I saw the slightly uneven row of her bottom teeth, the indent in her bottom lip. Would she be a rough kisser or a soft one?
“Costello,” she whispered, and my name from her tempting mouth was as good as her palm stroking my painfully hard cock. She was more of a turn-on wearing my jacket than if she’d been straight-up naked. It reminded me that she could be mine. I could take her here, now, making her scream for me through the drywall so every person in the motel would hear.
My hands slid down her arms, the leather that should have been familiar to me feeling like it belonged in another world. “I need you to listen to me very closely,” I began.
Scotch swallowed air; it made her neck dip, her breasts rise, and my stomach knot. “Yeah?”
I sat up. “Keep the jacket.”
“What?” I moved into the bathroom and clicked off the light. The room was doused in navy black. If I can’t see her, I can hold back. But my senses were strong—I could smell her as I got close to the bed again, my ears ringing with her quick breaths. “We’ll get new clothes before we leave for Vermont,” I said.
The bedsprings squeaked. “Oh.”
Oh oh oh. It was too easy to picture her moaning that in a loop. Intentionally hard—in the hope the pain would knock sense into me—I dropped onto the floor between the bed and the door. “Toss me a pillow.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Sleeping on the floor. You take the bed, it’s not big enough for us both.”
Scotch said nothing. I wished I could read her mind. Something soft flopped onto the ground and slid against my knee—the pillow. She’d thrown it harder than she needed to. “Fine,” she mumbled, and I think . . . she sounded upset.
The idea of her pouting because I hadn’t bent her over and buried myself deep between her thighs made my insides clench. Hadn’t she told me she knew who I was? If so, she should know better than to go so far with someone from my family.
Maybe we weren’t all bad news . . .
But I sure was.
Lying flat on my back in nothing but a towel, I stared at the ceiling I couldn’t see. Tonight had been mistake after mistake. I was going to end that trend right here, right now.
In the long run . . .
She would thank me for holding back.
Something warm was touching me. It smelled oddly sweet . . . that familiar scent I couldn’t place. Disoriented, I thought for a minute it was Scotch. I wasn’t expecting the disappointment that filled me when I sat up in the morning light and found out it was a blanket instead.
Blinking, I lifted the cloth and looked over at the bed. Scotch was buried under the single sheet. She covered me with this? Amazed, I ran my palm over the blanket again. What a kind gesture. It left me lost.
Quietly I rose to my feet. “Morning,” she said, peeking at me from under the sheet she had wrapped around her body and head.
I nodded at the blanket on the ground. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Huh, that’s the weirdest way of saying thanks I’ve ever heard.” I headed into the bathroom and dressed in my clothes from the night before. They smelled like tangy sweat, but they’d have to do for now. “We don’t have much time, we need to get going.”
She threw aside the sheet. Her hair was a tangled mess, framing her face and making her look naturally sexy. I had to look away. “You said the plan was getting new clothes?” Yawning, she stretched. “Then I guess we’re off to this wedding to play boyfriend and girlfriend.”
She’d said it so plainly, and even so I burned with excitement. Scotch was outlined by the pale blue of the curtained windows. I didn’t think anyone had ever, or would ever, look so gorgeous in a room that probably had to be sprayed for bedbugs once a month.
Her nose piercing twinkled.
“You’re going to need to remove that,” I said, pointing.
She touched the small clear jewel. “You don’t like it?”
Her grin said she was teasing me. We didn’t have the luxury of being so relaxed. “The men who saw you know what you look like. They know your name. But if you take out your piercing and call yourself something else . . . you become just another blonde girl.”
The way her grin slid away made my heart freeze. “Just another blonde, huh?”
She’s not “just” anything. She’s oddly addictive and I want to stay by her side. But I needed her to be forgettable. “It’s for the best. Trust me.”
“I do,” she said softly. It should have been a relief when she plucked out the stud and stuck it in her pocket. So why did it give me such grief?
Shaking off my bleak mood, I finished sticking my feet in my shoes. My gun was jammed into the back of my pants. “What do you want me to call you?” I asked. “You can’t go by Scotch.”
She hopped off the bed, and I noticed she’d slept in her sneakers, prepared in case we had to run at any point during the night. Smart girl. “Call me Heather.”
“All right. Heather it is.” Damn, that felt strange. “Let’s get you into something more appropriate for a wedding.”
“Are you sure this is safe?”
Glancing over at Scotch—Heather—whatever I was supposed to call her, I nodded. “It’ll be fine.”
“You say that, but I feel like there’s nowhere we can go shopping that won’t risk us being seen by someone looking for me.”
Steering my car down the long dirt road, I resisted a chuckle. “This isn’t exactly shopping.”
Scotch stared blankly at me. “Go on.”
As we turned along a chain-link fence and entered a wide stretch free of trees, I motioned out the windshield. “See for yourself.”
The airfield was small; just big enough to house the private jet my family owned. It sat on the runway, glossy as a ladybug and just as red and black.
She pointed. “Is that a jet? That’s a jet. Why are we . . .”
“My family is using it to fly to Vermont today.” I watched as the color drained from her features. “You look pale. Are you scared of flying?”
“Ah, no, more like I’m scared of sitting within several feet of your whole family.” She ran her hands down her cheeks. “Holy hell, I’ll be right next to your mom and dad!”
“Actually, he left already. Kain’s bachelor party was last night, so—”
“Kain?” She grabbed my arm so violently the car swerved. I pulled up short and parked it before she made us crash. “You never said this was your brother’s wedding!”
“I didn’t think it was important.”
“How was it not—jeez!” She cupped the back of her neck and bent in two. “Ugh. Ugh. This is really bad.”
My hand came up, itching to soothe her. I hesitated too long; when she lifted her head, my hand was back in my lap. “It’s going to be fine. Only Thorne knows about the meeting last night, my mother and sister aren’t involved, no one will find it weird for you to come along to this.” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But I felt sure we could make this work.
We had to.
She was watching me with blatant disbelief. “Besides all of that, let’s go back to the whole clothes thing. That’s a jet, not a shopping center.”
I nodded slowly. “My family keeps lots of things on there. Always good to be prepared.”
Scotch shut her eyes, thick lashes reminding me of coal-colored eaves. “You knew I’d be upset if you told me this was a family affair. That’s why you omitted all these details.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Was I wrong?” That was a death glare if I’d ever seen one. “Come on, we need to hurry and change before the others arrive.”
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she grumbled, following me from the car. “Going to a wedding for some random friend of yours, that I could swallow. Is Thorne in on this?”
“He is. Scotch, just breathe.” I reached for her hands; she dodged me. “Is it so hard to pretend we’re a couple if it keeps you alive?”
She hesitated, looking from me to the jet. “It’s not about that. I just . . . I don’t like being tricked, and this feels like you were trying to trick me.”
I wanted to say I was sorry, but deep down I wasn’t. I was more concerned about keeping my word and keeping her safe than I was about lying to her.
That time, when I reached for her hand, she let me take it. Her fingers were like the fragile ends of soft ferns. “Sometimes you tell small lies.” Sometimes you have to be a martyr and take the blame. Sometimes it’s your responsibility.
Abruptly she pulled away from me. “Let’s just get this over with.” Scotch took brisk steps, heading up the steps into the jet.
My fingers traced the ghost of her hand that I’d been clutching a second ago.
Get this over with?
Scotch had no idea how much I wanted the opposite of that.