"Keep walking," he said and I... obeyed. Like I had any other choice.
"Why, Mister Carson! Is that a gun in your pocket-"
"No, I am just pleased to see you." His footsteps slowed as we turned the corner into the inner courtyard. "So... this is it, huh? This is where you come every day... so to speak..."
"Yes. It is. Now, if you'll...I mean, I should..."
"Get back to work?"
"Exactly what I was about to say." I nodded, more to convince myself I was being decisive, than to persuade him of my determination.
"Hmm..." He stroked his chin, looked around us, not just at the doors, but up, as if studying the higher floors of the buildings. I waited for him to tell me what he was thinking. He turned back to me, took one step closer then another, still with his hand to his jaw. "I wonder..."
"Leo." I backed away. Not scared. Merely curious. "You've got that look on your face again."
"What look?"
"You know what look."
"I don't see any CCTV cameras around here."
"Oh Christ."
He grinned, ran his forefinger along his lips as he did so, as if trying to stop the grin evolving into a laugh. "I'm really tempted to just..."
"Just what?" I blurted out, instantly realising my mistake. Leo Carson wasn't the type to tell me what he intended to do. Any question would be answered with action, not words. The brickwork, rough against my palms as I backed against the nearest wall, hands behind my back, scratched my skin but I didn't mind. I used the minor irritation as a way of keeping myself grounded. Self-aware.
"I'd have to..." His hand came to rest on my waist, lifted away, then touched me again, as if uncertain of whether to travel up or down. "I'd have to be really quick."
"Not like you at all." I smirked. Paused, before saying more seriously, "You can't seriously be thinking of..."
"Piper. I'm always thinking of that. Especially with you."
I wished I'd kept my hands in front of me. When he stood so close I had no room to maneuver. Pinned against the wall by his presence as I was, it would be a struggle to stop him doing whatever it was he was about to do.
His hand bunched up the fabric of my dress in the breath of space between us, then went for the slip of cotton separating his hand from my clit.
"Leo."
"What?" His breath on my forehead ruffled that strand of hair come loose from my ponytail and his lips, though not touching my skin, made me shiver.
"You can't..." Gulp. "Not here."
"Can't what?" His lips moved against my skin, not pursing to kiss me, just forming the words he spoke and happening to make contact now and again.
This acceptance of my skin against his mouth as if I had a right to be there sent a shiver up my spine. I fell into him so easily, he couldn't possibly feel the same. What were the chances of two people timing their union so well that they both—
"You don't know what I'm going to do yet." He worked one finger behind the sliver of cotton.
"I've got a fair id— oh."
His laughter as I reacted to his finger stroking my clit warmed my face. "That's what I was going to do."
"Leo. You can't."
"I just did."
"Not here."
"I just did."
"Leo. No, you—"
He jerked his hand further underneath me, slid one finger inside sharply, making me gasp, half in surprise, half in a mild sort of pain.
And out. But slowly. Increasing my fear of discovery. Taking his time and knowing exactly how he was making me feel.
"Are you worried?" he murmured, his voice almost a
groan. As if he got more pleasure from this than I did.
"Yes I'm worried. Someone could come—"
"That's kinda what I'm aiming for." He kissed the side of my mouth, his ragged breath distorting his words. "You don't know how many times I've made myself come thinking about making you come this way."
"Leo. Stop it."
"Make me."
I tried to wriggle away. Couldn't.
"I like to do things I shouldn't, in places I shouldn't be doing them." He circled the tip of his finger and despite my fear of someone walking in–-or rather out—on us, my body betrayed me by pushing back.
My breathing grew shallower as I swallowed back my concern, arousal, fear. It took all my strength to maintain the self-control needed to utter two simple words. "Leo. Don't."
His fingertip stopped circling and when he slid it out of me I gasped louder than I had when he had first touched me.
"If you insist," he murmured, his voice husky. But instead of moving away or helping me straighten my clothing, he lifted his finger to his mouth, ran the tip along his bottom lip and finally sucked it between his teeth and watched as I watched him. "God, I wish we had more time."
"I...yes." It hurt to breathe. It hurt to speak. It hurt to have him standing so close to me and yet somehow, so far away. If I push him, I can't accuse him of leaving. "Leo, I need to get back to work."
"Yes." He took one step back and I had breathing space.
Breathing space I didn't want. But I took the opportunity to pull the skirt of my dress down, smooth the hem, attempt to make myself look respectable. As if I hadn't just had his finger inside me. Outside my place of work. Mere steps away from a main road.
"Shit." The enormity of what he'd done—what he'd almost done—hit me. "You'd better go."
"I will." He frowned for a moment, then his features cleared into a mask of respectability. "I have work to do."
"So do I."
"Fine."
"Fine."
"Send me that text, then. About the computer."
"Right. I will."
"Tonight."
"Yeah." I gulped back the lump in my throat, blinked back tears. Didn't look at him. Piper, you fool. You don't want him to go but you're telling him to leave? Where is the logic in this behavior? "Bye then."
I expected him to reply in kind, be terribly, terribly polite about this state of affairs, but no.
He jerked forward, grabbed my elbow and planted a kiss on my lips, crushing them like a branding iron.
Said nothing.
And turned to leave.
Habit reminded me to key the security code into the number panel by the diner's back door but my fingers shook so much I needed a few seconds to steel myself. No doubt I'd receive a hearty rollicking for taking so long on my break and disappearing off the premises but that wasn't my primary concern.
My primary concern was the realization that, despite all the words exchanged, Leo hadn't gotten around to telling me why he'd called in to the diner in the first place.
Twenty
The bell above the door jangled when I stepped into the shop, unnerved. The place was quiet; no background music greeted me, no movie played on the huge wallmounted screen which Leo had informed me was sometimes used as a computer monitor and there were no other customers present. Straight ahead sat a glass fronted counter below which were shelved external hard drives and other peripherals. Behind that were hundreds of ink cartridges hanging on the wall on hooks, along with wires, cables, USB hubs, extension wires, phone jacks, all manner of computer gadgets. To my right was a computer desk, littered with pens, pencils, mouses (mice?), thumb drives, sweet papers and scrap bits of paper.
To my left was the 'workshop'—a bench ran around two walls, one of which supported the at least fifty inch LCD monitor/television. At the back of the room were shelves on which sat monitors, processing units, keyboards, printers and scanners.
There was an overwhelming air of masculinity in the shop, akin to garages and certain pubs. As if women had no right to be there.
And me? I knew little of computers so wouldn't be able to tell if I was being ripped off or not. I just wanted my laptop back and I'd been promised it would be ready by now.
The sound of footsteps reached me from the corridor at the back of the shop and I wondered if it was Darren, one of the two men I'd met when I'd dropped my laptop off.
"Ah." He—not Darren—smiled when he saw me, in a way that only showed his front teeth, as if the smile was either forced and he couldn't bring himself to reveal his full set or he longed to grin widely and this was his way of restraining himself.
It didn't make him look restrained. It made him look secretive. "Piper, isn't it?" His gaze flickered down over my dress and I fought the urge to pull my coat tighter, mentally kicked myself for not buttoning the three-quarter-length trench-coat and tying the belt.
I said nothing out of confusion over what to say and hoped he'd take this as a 'don't mess with me' silence.
It seemed Richard's brain had gone A.W.O.L. and he continued to stare, occasionally wringing his hands.
When I'd brought my computer in a few days before, his workmate had been present so I'd thought I'd been imagining the purpose behind the looks he'd shot my way and we hadn't been alone together, so it was fine. Maybe, I'd reasoned, he's just curious about this woman his business associate, Leo, has mentioned. Maybe that explains the searching looks and lingering glances.
"What can I do for you?" He swaggered over and I nearly laughed. I hadn't thought people really did swagger in real life, but he walked like he owned the place, which, sadly, he did, according to my informant Mister Carson.
Resisting the urge to back off, I said, "My computer?"
"Yes?"
Groan. "Have you fixed it?"
"Um..."
Inwardly I groaned again. "You said it would be ready this morning."
"Yours is the...Koehler-Knight laptop? The one-sixty gig?"
"Yes..." I drew the word out to as many syllables as possible.
"Um, let me go check."
Oh for goodness' sake. I rolled my eyes, swallowed back any complaints and waited as he turned, scanned the benches for my computer. When I'd brought the damn thing in and spoken to Darren, Richard had stepped in and volunteered to 'see to me', sniggering quietly. "Leo called, he told me you'd be coming in," he'd said. I'd wondered then, as now, exactly what Leo had told him about me to make
him look at me like that.
"So...you're a Koehler-Knight fan?" He opened it up, lifting the screen with both hands reverently. "Most women are a fan of the Taylor nights."
A random synapse of confusion fired in my brain and all I could think at first was "Huh?" before remembering Richard's surname was Taylor. Another connection fired and I told myself, No, he didn't really say that. Or if he did, he didn't mean it the way it sounded.
He glanced over his shoulder and winked, reading the confusion which must have shown on my face as encouragement. "Come on." He beckoned with a tilt of his head, not a strand of his close cropped dark hair moving. His face, though far from unattractive, was somehow bland, and this nothingness made him all the more unsettling. I couldn't read anything in his eyes. He studied me too hard to let me in, to reveal anything of himself. "I'll just boot it up and check it for you, then we're all set."
We, nothing. Automatically I took a step forward, caught the glance he shot at my foot and froze. Wanted to take a step back again, but knew that would look as if I was scared of him. "I don't have much time. I'm on my lunch break."
"Yeah, Leo said you worked in a diner somewhere. That dress doesn't look like the sort of thing most women would get away with wearing during the day unless..."
"It's a uniform." Don't engage him in conversation, Piper. Don't. Engage.
"Hot one, if you ask me."
"I didn't."
Another glance over his shoulder and his eyes widened. "What?" Feigning innocence, no doubt.
"Is this really necessary? You must know if you've fixed the laptop or not."
"Last minute check," he shot back. "We don't want you paying for it and then coming back saying it's not working properly. The customer has to be one hundred per cent satisfied."
My stomach roiled every time he looked at me, with that secretive smile on his lips, the lips he licked as he looked at my chest, and there was something avaricious in this gesture. Leo could do it and it'd look teasing, flirtatious and not at all threatening. Richard did it and I felt like a fly caught in a spider's web.
All my senses leapt to high alert, hyperaware of the quiet; the only thing I heard was the tinkle of my own computer booting up and a clock ticking somewhere.