Tempt Me (24 page)

Bailey shook her head. “I'm cutting myself off.” If she had one more cup of the amazing brew, her stomach’s non-violent protest would escalate to something far more dire.

She’d blown off her appointment with Wyland yesterday. Like a coward, she'd texted him instead of calling, using Wyatt and his minions as an excuse. Wyland must have kept the information to himself, because neither Elliott nor Lukas had read her the riot act this morning.

After filling her cup, Sasha set it down on the table next to the pizza boxes, locked the fish house door, whisked back the bathroom curtain, stepped inside, and closed it. There were whishing and whooshing sounds as she lowered the one-piece garment enough to use the facilities. “Haven't seen much of you this week, roomie,” she called from behind the curtain as liquid tinkled into the bucket.

Bailey started setting out the things they’d need for lunch: paper plates, napkins, silverware, hamburger buns and condiments. Why did having a conversation with someone peeing behind a thin, fabric curtain feel so much more invasive than talking with the same person from a bathroom stall at work?

The tinkling stopped. Toilet paper rustled. “If you wanted to stay with Rafe instead of with us, all you had to do was say so.”

Had she hurt Sasha's feelings? “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.” Behind the curtain, elastic snapped. More rustling as Sasha pulled up whatever she was wearing under the snowmobile suit. A zipper fastened with a soft gnash of teeth. When Sasha whisked the curtain aside, she was rubbing her hands together. The scent of antibacterial cleanser stung her nostrils. “Let’s get these pizzas set up.”

Transcribing the scrawled hieroglyphics on the pizza boxes—sausage, bacon cheeseburger, Hawaiian, hot Italian sausage, and one veggie mix—they arranged the boxes on the table.

Someone pounded on the door. “You disappeared with the pizza.”

Rafe.

“I'm going to the bathroom!” Sasha hollered. Dropping her voice again, she continued speaking like Rafe hadn't said anything. “Will you be staying with Rafe, then?”

I have no idea.

“Sasha!” Antonia yelled. The doorknob rattled. “Unlock the door.”

Sasha didn't even blink, just continued to look at her with eyes that saw too much.

“I'm sorry. I should have called and let you know my plans had changed.” She looked away, fiddling with the napkins, arranging them in a decorative fan. “We’re kind of taking it day by day.”

More pounding. Sasha shot an annoyed look at the door. “No need to apologize, you dolt. I haven't seen Rafe this content, this relaxed, in ages. Whatever you're doing, keep on doing it.”

Her thoughts flashed to the red couch. To Rafe's bed. To his shower. Her cheeks flamed, hot as the grill outside.

“Sasha?” Elliott's voice. “The hamburgers are done.”

“Coming!” Her expression turned from teasing to serious. “You're good for each other, you know. Enjoy yourself.”

“While it lasts,” she said softly.

Sasha opened the door. “Everything come out okay?” Antonia said crabbily, elbowing past her sister on her way to the pizza boxes.

“Yes. Thank you very much for asking.”

Rafe entered, eyeing them cautiously, like an animal sensing odd vibrations before an earthquake.

“That veggie pizza smells fabulous,” Scarlett said. “I’m starving.”

Lukas urged her into a chair. “Sit. I’ll bring you a piece.”

Scarlett looked like she was about to protest, but she sat instead, letting Lukas serve them both. The look they exchanged was filled with secrets.

“Veggie pizza, right?” Rafe said, suddenly at her side. “We need to push some calories.”

“Um—”

He filled her plate with pizza, some green bean casserole, and a small pile of sliced apples drizzled with caramel sauce.

Everyone filled their plates, took them outside, and settled into the chairs placed around the bonfire. While she ate, Rafe watched her—too closely, and with eyes that stripped her naked.

***

A
fter finishing his meal, Rafe laid the grill’s removable grate in the snow and attacked it with a scrub brush. What was up with Bailey? Though she laughed and smiled, her laughter was brittle around the edges, and both Sasha and Jack were shooting him the side-eye. Jack’s accused him of being the source of Bailey’s stress, and Sasha’s urged him do something about it.

He hadn’t gotten a second alone with Sasha to ask what she'd said to upset Bailey during their private little fish house pow-wow.

There was still too much food left on her plate, though he'd watched her eat most of the green bean casserole, nibble at broccoli florets she picked off the pizza, and clean the caramel sauce off the apples with maddening swipes of her tongue. Now, gathered around the bonfire making s’mores for dessert, she seemed content to talk to everyone except him.

Sasha sidled up next to him. “We need to talk.”

“What did you say to her?” he hissed.

“I don't know!”

“Look at her.” Rafe jerked his head to where Bailey and Jack sat, unwrapping chocolate bars, their heads close as they talked. Prior to today, he hadn’t known what jealousy felt like. He knew better than to be jealous of Jack, but he
was
—jealous that she’d feel safer with the other man than with him. “She's as skittish as a vamp standing on the equator at sunrise.”

“I teased her about how we never see her, told her that if she wanted to stay with you instead of us, all she had to do was say so.”

Bailey was pretty much living with him, a state of affairs he should find odd and unsettling, but didn’t. After the first time they’d made love down in his studio, it was as if a switch had been flipped in their relationship. Her sexual confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. Watching her face light with wonder and discovery as she rode them both to oblivion made his chest puff with pride.

It also broke his heart. Her sanctimonious father had a lot to answer for. But she was part of
him
now, part of
his
family, whether she recognized it or not.

Whether he convinced her to stay with him forever or not.

And there it was. Removing his aviator sunglasses, he rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

He'd met his mate.

“Rafe?” Sasha rested her hand on his forearm.

Of course his sister knew exactly what he was feeling.

“I told her to enjoy herself, to enjoy you. You know how she answered?”

“Do I want to hear this?”

Sasha stared across the clearing to where Bailey and Jack were sitting. “She said, ‘While it lasts.’”

“What?”

“Your reputation precedes you. You have some work to do, Romeo.”

“You know what? I'm sick to death of hearing about my so-called reputation.” Rafe glared down at his sister. “Before she and I connected, I hadn't slept with anyone in over a year—and even
that
time was with
her
, the night of Scarlett’s show at Underbelly.”

Sasha’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, that explains a few things.”

“So, yeah,” he said defensively. “She’s moved some clothes over—”

“You gave up closet space? It must be love,” she teased.

“We cook together, we hang out, we shower together, sleep together, jostle for sink space as we brush our teeth together in the morning. We all but live together—as much as she lives anywhere, that is.” Her nomadic existence drove him nuts. He wanted her to have a home.

“Quite the little love nest you've got there.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” she reassured him. “Nothing, sweetie. But—” she gestured to the others “—does everybody else here know how serious this is? Does
she
know?”

“How can they not? They can smell it on me.” He’d tried, for her sake, to maintain a minimal sense of decorum today, to not gobble her up with anything but his eyes.

“Rafe.
We
can smell it on you, but Bailey can't.” She glanced at the two humans again, then quickly away. “Have you said anything, done anything, to show Bailey that this relationship is more than fun and games for you? Does she know that you love her?”

The sun was too bright, the sky too blue, the air too thin. Sound receded, and the only thing he could hear was his own thumping heart. By hoarding every minute of their time together for himself, had he made her feel like he was ashamed of their relationship? That she was his short-term little secret?

“Hell.” He handed his sunglasses to Sasha. “Hold these.” Taking a deep breath, he crossed over to where Bailey and Jack talked about somebody named Mel’s upcoming wedding. “Bailey, a minute?” He didn't wait for her to respond, He grabbed her uninjured hand and tugged her to her feet.

“What?” she asked, exasperated.

And then he kissed her like they were the only two people in the world, instead of standing in the thick of his cheering, clapping, obnoxious family.

***

G
laring at his computer screen, Wyatt assessed the guy coordinating the technical aspects of the Sebastiani Labs hack—what little of him he could see, at any rate. Though they'd worked together before, Wyatt still didn't know what the guy looked like. SkoolHaus focused his web cam on his chest, refused to meet in person, and took payment for services rendered using a numbered offshore account. The guy had been spouting excuses long enough that Wyatt could identify stains from three major food groups adorning the other man's signature Schoolhouse Rock T-shirt. “So, you're telling me you can’t fulfill the contract.”

“That's not what I'm saying at all.” SkoolHaus rattled off a litany of technical roadblocks they’d encountered, most of which flew right over Wyatt’s head, but the bottom line was that, despite a week of digital poking and prodding, of all-nighters and endless orders of expensed pizza, SkoolHaus and his crew still hadn't found an in to the SL network. Adding insult to injury, Bailey had pretty much moved in with Sebastiani. Last night, he’d watched them cook a cozy, romantic dinner together, brushing up against each other at every opportunity. If what he’d observed from the bedroom feed was any indication, the incubus was a very satisfied man. In the last decade, Bailey’s sexual repertoire had grown by leaps and bounds.

“Dude. Consider what we're doing here, who we’re going up against. She might be a white-hat corporate sellout, but she knows what the hell she’s doing.” There was more than a hint of admiration in his voice. “We need more time.”

Wyatt glared at the ceiling. More equipment? Sure. More money? Okay. But time was a commodity in extremely short supply. He could feel the rope of Buddha’s deadline tightening around his neck like a phantom noose.

There was a knock on SkoolHaus’s side, which the guy blithely ignored. “What do you want to do?” One thin shoulder rose in a half-shrug. “We can exploit their hiring process, get someone inside, but—” another shrug “—it’ll take some time.” There was another knock, louder this time. “Go away!” SkoolHaus hollered.

Wyatt heard a loud crash, the sound of wood splitting, cracking apart. Bodies swarmed into the room, filling the screen.

“Hey!” SkoolHaus yelped as someone yanked him out of his chair by the waistband of his saggy jeans.

A piece of folded paper dropped on the table. “Warrant.”

Shit shit shit.
Wyatt jabbed the power button, crashing his machine.

Shoving up out of his own chair, he stared in disbelief at the dark, taunting screen. How long would it take a forensics expert to track him back, to find out exactly who SkoolHaus had been talking to?

Not long at all.

Were the cops who’d served the warrant local, state, federal? International?

His cell phone rang, the soft, melodic chime sounding as loud as a bullhorn. He stared at it, not moving. Two rings. Three. As the fourth died down, he looked at the display. An unknown number, but he knew exactly who the call was from, damn it. Swallowing down the lump in this throat, he picked up the phone and answered. “Yes.”

“Mr. Cooper.” Buddha’s voice sounded especially cheerful. “How are you today?”

He didn't respond. The silence lingered for long seconds.

“Oh, Mr. Cooper, this is only a temporary setback.”

Who the hell did this guy work for? The fear constricting his throat was replaced by a seething rage. “Temporary? You just took out my lead developer—”

“It was a multi-jurisdictional effort,” Buddha said. “A piece of data here, an informant there...and just this morning, a financial analyst found an offshore account that tied everything together in a pretty little bow.”

His stomach clutched.

“Not one of your accounts—not yet, anyway,” Buddha chortled. “It'll take some time to unravel all the skeins, and once they do, they’ll have bigger fish to fry than you, my friend. But that's neither here nor there.”

Silence yawned on the line, except for the soft rustle of paper, pages being flipped. Probably looking at his file.

“I've got something in progress,” he blurted.

The pages stopped flipping. “Please. Enlighten me.”

With a mental apology to Cheyenne, he started talking.

––––––––

“T
his shouldn’t take more than a minute.” Bailey shot Rafe a guilty glance from the passenger seat as he pulled the Jeep into a reserved space in the Sebastiani Building’s underground parking lot. She’d managed to dodge Wyland’s calls since yesterday morning, but he’d just done an end run around her, calling Rafe, who'd handed her his phone without a second thought when Wyland asked to speak to her. “Wyland, I—”

“Don't care about your health? Don't care about wasting time and resources?” His voice gave her freezer burn. “I
will
have the hospital bill you for the missed appointment.”

The guilty feeling redoubled. “Fair enough. Sorry.”

Rafe put the Jeep in Park and turned off the ignition.

“Pick up your phone, look at your calendar, and give me a time. Now.”

“Wyland, it's Saturday night. No one is—” glancing furtively at Rafe, she chose her words with care “—taking appointments on a Saturday night.”