No, Cain. It’s not okay. I’m hanging from a pendulum as it swings back and forth between a nightmare and a dream. Only the nightmare is real! When I’m with Cain, nothing else matters. And when I’m not with him, I’m acutely aware of how stupid I am for being here. How I’m so close to being free of Sam and the drugs forever, if I’d just let go.
“Yeah, I’m fine, Cain.” The painful lump forms in my throat again. I duck my head because I’m afraid he’ll see the lie in my eyes. I’m finding it harder to pretend around Cain. Taking a few deep breaths, I struggle to pull on a mask of calm. Or of playfulness. I settle on a mask of emptiness. I doubt it’s a convincing one at that.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, evidently not buying my words.
I absently trace over the design decorating his shoulder, as a “no” flees from my tongue in a whisper. There’s not much I can say without raising Cain’s suspicion, and so I need to remain quiet.
Like the quiet little mouse that Sam taught me to be.
I’m surprised he hasn’t asked about Bob. He hasn’t even mentioned the other night, though my gut tells me it’s on his mind. It’s as if he’s biding his time before bringing it up.
With a heavy sigh, Cain’s head and arms falls back once again. This time his eyes remain open and I see the frustration in them. “Why do I feel like you don’t really want to be here, Charlie?” I can sense rather than feel the tension suddenly channeling through his body.
“I do. Believe me.”
There’s a long pause. “You do realize that the things I told you last night I don’t admit to just anyone, right?” He lifts his head again, his eyes pleading with me.
I can manage only shallow, ragged breaths. I want to be thrilled by Cain’s words right now. So very happy that Cain is being so open with me, so honest. But I can’t, and it’s constricting my lungs painfully. I don’t know how to answer, so I settle on, “Yes. I’m glad I’m here, too,” because there’s nothing more true than that.
That naturally furrowed brow creases further. “Did what happened last night bother you? Look . . .” I see the muscles in his jaw tense as he breaks eye contact, his gaze searching the water in front of us. “I know I can be really intense sometimes. And impatient. And maybe letting that happen out on a pier was less than ideal for you.” Dark eyes flash to me. “Sometimes I’m less inhibited, when I’m not thinking straight.” A hand lifts to play with a strand of my hair. “Maybe we should dial things back.”
What? I feel the scowl form on my face. No! Slow things down? When that damn clock keeps ticking away? No! No! No!
He goes on, seemingly unaware of my internal panic. “I warned you that I don’t know how to do this. Still—”
Cain’s words die with a hiss the second I peel down the front of his trunks and grasp him tightly. He was already hard. “I have no desire to slow things down,” I say evenly, holding his gaze as I begin stroking him.
He locks a steely gaze on me and I start to think I might have gone too far. But I don’t stop. “Thank f**king God,” he finally mutters, reaching down to pull my hand away from him with a chuckle. “But I don’t think Storm will appreciate that in here.” After a pause, he adds with mock seriousness, “Besides, I thought you preferred privacy.”
“And I thought you didn’t like wasting time,” I throw back and then shrug. “Maybe that was payback for the spectacle you made of me on the pier.”
A raised brow is the only warning I get before my body is being moved, sliding off Cain’s lap to land on the built-in seat, my back to the others and Cain’s body between my legs, his knees bent and propping my thighs up, a wicked grin on his face. “You want a spectacle?” His eyes drift down over my vulnerable frame, easily visible beneath the water now that the jets have shut off. Heated eyes come back to weigh down on me, ideas circulating within them that I can’t decipher but that make my body open up to him with anticipation. “You think I deserve payback? How about payback for the last three weeks?”
I snort. “What, are you going to pole dance on your stage for me tonight?” A visual slams into my mind and, despite how unbelievably masculine and striking Cain is, I can’t help but burst out laughing.
Water starts splashing my face. “Stop!” I hold my hands up in defense, trying to protect myself through my continued fit of laughter. “All my makeup will streak!”
“Good,” he throws back, his smile turning tender, his voice turning unbearably soft. “Then I’d get to see the real Charlie.”
My laughter cuts off abruptly as I break from his eye contact. Oh, Cain . . . the deception is so much deeper than eyeliner and tinted contacts.
“Charlie?”
I struggle for a deep breath as I look up at him, risking a whispered question. “What if you don’t like what you see?”
There’s a long pause, where his serious eyes explore mine and I know he’s searching for some truth, some reason for my fear, and then his hand slides behind my neck. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Charlie. You should know that. Whatever you’ve been involved in to get by is in the past. Whatever your parents may have done. You’re safe here and you can start fresh. Your slate is clean with me.”
I believe him. If only it truly were in the past.
He closes his mouth over mine in a devastating kiss, wrenching the breath right out of my lungs.
From somewhere behind us, far away from this euphoric cloud I’m sinking into quickly, I hear Ben’s voice suddenly boom. “When the f**k did that happen?”
“To my lovely husband-to-be.” Storm stands with glass of milk raised as sparklers dance over the cake on the table in front of me. “I’m so proud of you for chasing your dreams and for choosing a noble path catching scumbags, even when the path of luxury is easier and more appealing. Congratulations on becoming Special Agent Dan Ryder!”
Everyone lets out a cheer, including me, though I’m betting mine is the only one laced with gut-wrenching shame.
I wave away a slice of cake and quietly excuse myself to use the bathroom, grabbing my things on the way, in order to change. Nate and Ginger went ahead to open the bar but Cain held me back, so I’m basically at his mercy. Not that I’m complaining about that, though I’d rather be at his mercy elsewhere.
“Charlie?” Speak of the devil . . . I turn back to find Cain following me inside the house, his eyes on my ass before snapping back to my face. I don’t know if he’s just stealing those looks now or if he always was and made more of an effort to be covert about it. “What are you doing?”
“Just getting changed. Why?”
As he reaches me, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. One hand lifts to settle on my shoulder, his thumb rubbing over it soothingly. “You were playing with your fingertips.”
What? My face must say it all, because he smirks. “When you’re nervous, you play with your fingertips. Not dramatically, but . . . I’ve noticed.” A serious frown passes over his features. “What made you nervous?”
Damn perceptive man. “Nothing. I’m just not looking forward to a night of serving drinks.” Trying to play off his worry, I joke, “I’m tired. Someone kept me up all night.”