Wicked All Night (10 page)

Back in the living room, Decker took a seat on the sofa and immediately began staring down Owen. She escaped to the kitchen and made coffee for all and tidied up, prolonging the moment she had to face her ex. A few minutes later, she brought out the steaming mugs, along with sugar and cream, and some homemade cookies she'd baked the other night out of boredom. They were still soft and fresh, and she didn't think she could face Owen without something in her stomach. Even if his attitude might make her want to throw it all back up.

After she set the tray of everything on the table, Decker wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back onto the sofa with him. Then he leaned in and made coffee for her.

“Sugar and cream?” he asked.

“Please.” She wondered how he'd guessed. “Do you still like yours with cream, Owen?”

He watched them stiffly. “Yes.”

When Rachel scooted forward to help Decker, he shook his head. “I've got it.”

Minutes later, he handed her a mug of morning goodness and an oatmeal raisin cookie. A moment later, Decker slid Owen's across the coffee table to him. She couldn't see his face, but his body language beside her was tense with a not-quite-friendly warning. Then he poured his own brew and drank it black, snatching up one of the cookies and groaning as he took a bite.

Decker was noisy and intrusive, and she had a feeling he intended Owen to be very aware of his presence. He was almost overly protective, and she probably ought to be annoyed, but she smiled a bit.

“So what brings you to Lafayette?” she asked her ex politely. “I assume you came here from Florida to see me for a specific reason.”

Owen sipped at his coffee, obviously savoring it. “You still make some of the best coffee. I need to remember to put some cinnamon in mine.” He set the cup on the saucer, then adjusted both to the little side table beside his chair. “Since you're . . . occupied, I'll make this brief.”

“Smart man,” Decker mumbled beside her.

Rachel elbowed him. “I'm listening. Go ahead.”

“As you might have heard, I'm dating someone now. Her name is Carly. She's an aide at the university. Very bright woman.”

“I did hear. That's wonderful. I hope you're happy.”

Owen hesitated. “I've come here for her.”

Rachel cocked her head and frowned. Owen thought visiting his ex-wife would somehow make his current girlfriend happy? “I don't understand.”

He sighed, rubbing his hands together and humming. Owen did that when he was uncomfortable. “Carly's brother lives here in Lafayette. She had plans to come see him, and I didn't want to spend these few days without her.”

What? Owen had never wanted to leave work. Missing her would have been the last reason he'd have torn himself away from everything he considered vital.

“We've been dating about eight months, you see. We started slowly at first. But we—” Owen slanted an annoyed stare at Decker. “Is it necessary to have this conversation with him in the room?”

“We've covered this. I'm not leaving.” Decker leaned into the sofa and threw an arm around her, sending him a tight smile. Technically, he didn't bare teeth, but he might as well have. “So if you want to talk to her, I'm staying.”

Rachel tossed Decker a questioning stare. Wasn't the morning after when the hot guy usually walked out and never returned the lonely girl's calls? Instead, he looked not just protective, but possessive—a bit like he wanted to stake a claim so her ex would understand.

Owen looked ready to launch into one of his logical tirades where she felt reduced to an inch tall, even though he never raised his voice. He just talked in hundred dollar words and used analogies only a physicist could understand to make her feel dumb.

“I'm not asking my guest to leave for you, Owen. You and I aren't together anymore, and I don't owe you anything. If you want to talk, I'm listening.”

“As you wish.” He didn't sound pleased as he glared at Decker. “I'd appreciate if you'd butt out.”

Decker held up his hands. “Hey, if this is about your love life, as long as it's got nothing to do with Rachel, you and I have no problems.”

“I've no idea how you can like this muscle-bound Neanderthal, but . . . Back to Carly. I see a future with her. I would like that very much. But . . . we've run into a snag. You know me, Rachel. I'm uncomfortable with feelings.”

The understatement of the millennium.
“Go on.”

“She's convinced that I need more closure with you before I'll be ready to move on. She is adamant that until I understand my part in what went wrong between us, I can't really embrace another relationship.”

Rachel sucked in a breath. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her past in front of her current squeeze, even though they had almost no likelihood of sharing a future. She'd love it if there were possibilities for her and Decker; last night had been incredible—everything she'd fantasized about and more. He was still something like a dream this morning. But real life wasn't a fairy tale, and she wasn't expecting happily ever after.

“Owen, I think we've said everything important between us.”

“No.” He swallowed. “Tell me . . . Was I truly insensitive to your feelings?”

What a catch-22.
If she said no, Owen would know she was lying. If she said yes, it would spark an unpleasant discussion. Good gravy, sometimes she hated her pathological need to do the right thing.

“Yes. We discussed this at the end, if you'll remember.”

“I didn't understand. Explain it again.”

Rachel heaved a sigh. “You were always very absorbed with your work, Owen. Before I even left the room, you were already pondering atomic particles or quantum entanglement or whatever the project of the moment was. When I entered a room, most of the time, I wasn't even sure you knew I was there.”

Owen inhaled stiffly. “Of course I knew. I'm sorry if you thought otherwise. Not everyone understands my work. But Carly does. She finds it as engrossing as I do.”

Then she ought to be a regular barrel of fun.
“Great. Maybe you two have more in common than we did and—”

“Let's cut to the chase,” Decker interrupted. “If Carly wants you to understand how you fucked up the first time, let me clue you in. You were self-absorbed, dumbass. Dude, it's not always about you.” Decker scowled across the room at Owen. “You didn't care if you gave Rachel pleasure or made her feel loved. You were more interested in your job than your wife, and that's never going to make any woman with a drop of passion in her blood or an ounce of love in her heart happy.”

Owen sputtered angrily, then gaped at her with his face full of betrayal. “You've spoken to him about us?”

“You've spoken to Carly about our marriage,” she pointed out.

Adjusting his shirt, Owen stiffened righteously. “Yes, but we've been dating for some time now. We're contemplating a future together. If I'm not mistaken, you can measure the time you've known this obnoxious lothario in hours. Rachel, I don't know what you're thinking, but he's using you for sex. Then he'll leave you. I thought you respected yourself more than to act like a . . . cheap floozy for someone like him.”

She reared back as if he'd slapped her in the face. In a way, he had. “I was thinking about experiencing all the orgasms I never got when I was married to you. And Decker might not have phrased it nicely, but he's absolutely right. I didn't feel valued, Owen. I don't think you ever truly loved me. If you came here for advice, I'll give it to you. Start by caring about something besides work. Romance is important. Sex is more than a bodily function. Don't make her feel like an interruption or your dirty necessity. You did that to me all the time, you . . . jerk.”

The enormity of what she'd just said hit her. She gasped. Had that really just spewed from her mouth? Her mama had taught her that if she didn't have anything nice to say, she shouldn't say anything at all. But if he'd come here for the truth, why not give it to him? Clearly Decker was rubbing off on her . . .

“What she said,” he added with a proud smile.

“I'm speechless,” Owen admitted, looking stupefied. “I didn't know you felt that strongly about frivolous things like flowers and intercourse. I married you because I thought you were far too sensible to care much for such inane things.”

“You didn't ask. And honestly, you wouldn't have cared how I felt, Owen. And I'll tell you the truth. Carly probably cares about those things, too, because she's a woman, not a robot. If you want to keep her, you need to figure out how to meet her halfway.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he offered.

Too little, too late.
Rachel sighed. “I know. It's water under the bridge. I just hope you're ready to be a better man and partner with Carly.”

Owen didn't answer. He simply sat there, looking disoriented and lost in thought. Rachel had never seen that expression on his face. He was actually worried about losing Carly. The woman mattered to him.

Amazing.
Maybe she should have been more honest with Owen while they were married. Instead, she'd done her best to be understanding. The minute he'd started taking her for granted, she should have said something. But the few times she'd tried, Owen hadn't understood or hadn't thought it important. His dismissive attitude, as if her feelings were nowhere nearly as important to him as subatomic particles traveling faster than the speed of light at CERN, had really hurt. In the grand scheme of the universe, of course his work was important. But at the time, she'd wondered why she hadn't mattered, too. He'd been far too interested in chasing what Einstein had never been able to prove.

In fact, when she'd said she wanted a divorce, his long sigh of irritation—with nary a word of protest—told her they were never meant to be. If she'd faced that sooner, she could have saved herself a few years and a lot of heartache.

“You've gotten what you came here for, pal. Thanks for stopping by.” Decker stood and rounded the coffee table to stand over Owen expectantly.

“I . . .” He looked at Rachel. “That's so much to contemplate. You're talking about changing the way I do everything, the way I approach life. Sex is actually important to women?”

“Yes, Owen. I know it's a lot, but—”

“Look, this girl is either important to you or she isn't,” Decker cut in. “If she is and you want to keep her, then use your head. There's a reason she sent you to talk to Rachel. Women don't usually want their man talking to an ex unless they're at the end of their rope. And when did you get the stupid-ass idea that sex wasn't important to women?”

Owen frowned, gaping. “I know it's important to most men, but . . . I assumed women were less interested in such things.”

“The amount of pleasure you give her is a direct statement about how important she is to you, ass-hat. If you can't make the effort to make her feel good when she's yielding her time and body to you, then how can she feel valued?” Decker shook his head. “Didn't you ever learn to kiss and sweet-talk girls in high school out of their bras and into their panties?”

A red flush swept up Owen's face. “No. I let beer in college do that for me.”

Which probably explained why he'd kept a few bottles of good wine in the house when they'd been married and given her a glass or two when he'd been “in the mood.”

“Well, now you know that females like conversation with their orgasms. They like to feel special.” Decker dragged Owen to his feet, and her ex stood as if in a daze. “Try that with Carly. Ask her what she likes and listen. Put a smile on her face. And fucking call next time you're thinking of dropping by to see Rachel.”

He managed to scoot her ex out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door without a protest from Owen. The way Decker had handled her ex had been nothing short of brilliant.

The second Decker shut the door behind Owen, he locked it and flashed her a sharkish grin.

“Decker?” She backed away.

“Beautiful . . .” He urged her against the foyer wall, kissing her absolutely breathless. A girl could get used to this . . .

Too bad he wouldn't be around.

Rachel broke the kiss. The thought that he would soon leave and she would probably never see him again bothered her way more than it should. It was a good idea to part ways soon, before she started losing her heart to Decker. Or maybe it was already too late?

“Do you want those pancakes now? I really do know how to make them. I don't want to send you off hungry.” She tried to wink and tease and not let on that his imminent departure was breaking her heart more than it probably should.

She expected him to agree, maybe share a casual breakfast with her. Then she supposed he'd smile, offer some thanks, along with a kiss or two, then climb on that gleaming motorcycle of his and leave. The last thing Rachel had ever imagined was for his face to thunder over, for his blue eyes to penetrate her bravado, and for him to press every inch of his hard body into her possessively.

“If you want pancakes, fine. If you don't want to send me away hungry, then let's skip the kitchen and go back to bed. I'm famished for you.”

DECKER HELD RACHEL, NAKED AND WARM, CLOSE TO HIM IN
postcoital bliss, and eyed Val meowing on the far side of the bed. No doubt, they were both hungry, but that wasn't his biggest problem.

Fighting down a mild panic, he dropped a kiss on Rachel's brow as she slept, then he covered her up. Away from the bed, he stepped into his jeans and tucked the gun into the small of his back before making his way to the kitchen. As he did, he jammed his hand in his pocket, searching for his phone. Val followed, and he kind of wanted to high-five the cat for hissing at Owen.

Rachel's diva pet turned cheetah and ran straight for the pantry. In the cheerful white kitchen, Decker flipped on the lights and opened the door. The cat purred and rubbed up against his bag of dry food, then looked at him with a plaintive wail.

No wonder Rachel was a sucker for Val. He'd nearly perfected crying like a baby to get his way.

With a faint grin, Decker scooped some dry food into Val's bowl. The feline immediately darted to his dish and dived in, dismissing him.

“Lucky thing.” Decker only wished he could solve his own problems that easily, but he was going to have to make a call to even start in that direction.

Peeking down the hall, glad that Rachel hadn't stirred from bed, he called Xander, who answered just before the fourth ring, sounding distinctly pissed off. “This better be good.”

Which meant that he'd caught his boss having a little nookie with London.

“Hang up!” Javier snarled on the other end, clearly near his brother.

Which meant they were both having a little nookie with London.

Talk about bad timing . . .

“Don't need me for a few days. I still can't figure out who's trying to off Rachel. She's not safe alone.” And he hated lying to her about why he'd picked her up at that dive bar, but the truth would scare the hell out of her. He would stay for a while, protect her, make this asshole go away . . . then decide what to do with his life. He'd have to come clean with her eventually, but what they had was too new. She might not understand or believe him. If he was still seeing forever with her after the danger had passed, then he'd sit her down, spew the truth, and they'd hash it all out.

“Got it. I won't call you unless the world is ending. If you promise from now on not to call on a Sunday morning,” Xander growled.

“No problem.”

Without another word, Xander ended the call. The man was almost as devoted to the operation of S.I. Industries, the family business he ran with Javier, as he was to London's pleasure. Almost, but not quite . . .

With that, Decker pocketed the phone, then helped himself to Rachel's laptop. In less than ten minutes, he figured out that Owen and Carly had flown into Lafayette on Saturday about noon, not necessarily enough time to have made it to the bar by two to solicit him to commit murder. That would explain why he might have hired a go-between. And provide Owen a great alibi if suspicion ever turned his way. They were scheduled to fly home tomorrow evening.

Another interesting tidbit jumped out at him. Owen and Carly had applied for a marriage license. They'd blown past the three-day waiting period. In fact, they hadn't married in the sixty days since applying. The license had expired. What was that about? Had Carly gotten cold feet? Had that been the bump in their relationship Owen had alluded to?

To compound Decker's problems, Rachel clearly expected him to leave anytime now. She'd probably wake up from their latest round of breath-stealing, eye-crossing sex, try to feed him, and assume he wanted to go. He had to put a stop to that shit now so he could fix everything else. Time was ticking, and whoever wanted Rachel dead was expecting a call to confirm completion of the job any minute now. What was he going to do once Monday morning rolled around and she wanted to go into work? Tie her to the bed?

The idea had delicious possibilities, but only with her consent. Somehow, he didn't think she'd agree to miss school for just about any reason.
Fuck.

His thoughts racing, he strode to the pantry. He was no Chef Ramsey but he got by. Pulling out a loaf of bread and retrieving some eggs from the refrigerator, Decker managed to scrape together something that looked like sustenance within ten minutes. By that time, Val was happily purring around his ankles and meowing his thanks.

Plating everything onto the first dish he found in the cabinet, he tossed on a banana from the counter, grabbed a couple of forks, and poured them each a glass of juice. As he made his way down the hall, he heard Rachel stirring. Val darted to his mistress, and by the time Decker entered the bedroom, she was cuddling with the little fur ball.

She looked up at Decker with sleepy dark eyes and rosy cheeks. A little smile played at her lips. Barely concealed by the sheet, Rachel looked a bit rumpled and a lot sated. She was probably the most beautiful woman he'd seen, not because she was perfect or belonged in a magazine. Because he had put that look on her face. Because she looked like his.

Oh fuck, he was in deep.

“Did you cook?”

“Just for you. I did my very best to make it edible, too.”

“You mean it won't taste like something the school cafeteria sells?”

He hesitated. “I can't promise that. It might be worse, since I don't really cook. But I get points for effort, right?”

“Sure.” She smiled at him, looking really happy. And what did it say that seeing that expression on her face gratified him?

“Good. I can trade those points in on . . . favors, can't I?”

“Like?” She flirted coyly from under her lashes.

He set the plate on her nightstand and bent to nuzzle her neck. “Hmm, suck your nipples like candy. Or spend lunch between your legs. Feeling your mouth all around my cock? I know, how about spending the afternoon inside you.”

“For that, I'll give you lots of points.” Then she shifted her gaze away. “I'd love for you to spend a little more time with me if you've got it. And you want to.”

Decker kissed her cheek and handed her the plate. Here's where he had to lie to Rachel again. And fuck all if he didn't hate that. Maybe he should tell her the truth. It was her life, after all. But he hated to take away her upbeat attitude about the world. He didn't want to be the one to make her afraid. His role was to protect her, shelter her. He might not be Mr. Happily-ever-after, but by damned, keeping her safe and unaware of the danger was a job he could do well.

“I'd love to, beautiful. In fact, I'd love to spend a lot more time with you today, especially since you probably have to return to work tomorrow.”

If he hadn't managed to solve this by tomorrow morning, no fucking way was she stepping foot outside this house without him. He'd think of something to keep her near him.

“Actually, I've got next week off for fall break. I've been looking forward to this time to finish unpacking my boxes and get my garden ready for the winter before the weather turns cold. I have a feeling this Florida girl might find the chillier winter here a bit of a shock.” She popped a bite of egg into her mouth and moaned. “I don't even know if this is good, but I'm so hungry, I'll say it's delicious. Aren't you going to eat?”

He plopped down beside her, relieved as hell. She was off for another week. With any luck, he'd have this wrapped up pronto. After that . . . well, he'd have to decide what came next. Somehow, he didn't picture wanting to walk away from her. Which meant that someday he was going to have to come clean about his lies and pray she didn't hate him.

Plucking the toast off the plate, he took a bite and washed it down with juice. The shit wasn't half bad. Nice to know he hadn't poisoned her with his lousy cooking.

He hoped his next lie went over half as well . . .

“Well, as soon as I move my stuff from the Santiagos's place into a motel, I'll come back and take you to dinner. How's that?”

“Sure.” She frowned. “Why aren't you going to stay with your friends?”

“They're newlyweds, and I'm in their way. I need to find a place of my own since it looks like they might put roots down here for a while. While I look, there's a motel down the road . . .” He rattled off the name of a flea-infested, rent-by-the-hour place he'd passed a few times.

Rachel looked appropriately horrified. “That's murder central. I haven't been in Lafayette that long, but it's mentioned all the time on the news. Lots of body bags.”

“Really?” He shrugged. “I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

“Why not somewhere else? There are much better places . . .”

“If there's a bed and a shower, that's all that matters to me. It's just for a few days, tops.”

Biting her lip, Rachel looked at him uncertainly. “Why don't you stay with me until then? No pressure,” she blurted. “I'll understand if you say no. You might feel awkward, but—”

“I'd like that. If you're going to be free, I want to be here with you. I like waking up next to you, beautiful.”

She'd taken the bait well. Now, he could settle in and investigate. If he had to wait out this fucker for a few days, he didn't have to let her out of his sight. It was perfect.

Rachel took his hand. “That settles it, then. Do you need to grab anything from the Santiagos's place?”

“Yeah. It won't take long. I'll take you to lunch . . . then we can see about working off all those brownie points.”

And somewhere in the middle of that, he was going to have to figure out a plan of attack. It wasn't acceptable that he didn't know who was trying to kill his woman. Decker meant to solve that fast.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER
, they'd finished their meager breakfast, showered, then straddled the back of his motorcycle. Rachel had been adorably anxious about riding one. Apparently, he'd be responsible for another first for her. That made Decker smile.

She'd relaxed quickly, learned to lean into the turns with him gently, and stay fluid the rest of the time. It felt right having her behind him with her arms wrapped around his middle and her cheek between his shoulder blades.

It didn't take too long to cross town on a lazy Sunday before noon. The new day was still in its golden infancy, shining through the branches of the green trees that Decker suspected would soon lose their leaves to the coming winter. Though the town's population was well over 100,000 people, it functioned a lot like a small town. It was both typically Southern and possessed an interesting, laid-back charm.

Rachel seemed at home here, too.

Wondering where the hell his head was when it should be on the fucker who wanted her dead, he focused, coming up with a rough plan as the bike ate up the couple of miles of road to his destination.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the sprawling house the Santiagos were renting until their own was built. He had a key for security purposes, and his stuff was in the guesthouse out back, but for this ruse to fly, he needed to put on a show. And he needed the guys to play along.

As he stepped off the bike, Rachel did the same, tugging off his helmet and trying to finger-comb her hair back into something less tangled. While that occupied her, he surreptitiously pulled his phone from his pocket and sent Xander a quick text.

Here. Play along. Got plan.

Then he headed for the door. Halfway up the stairs, Xander sent a reply text with his agreement. Then Decker was ringing the doorbell. To his surprise, it wasn't his longtime boss and friend who opened the door, but the wife he shared with his brother. London smiled and glowed, pale hair framing her angelic face, her plump cheeks rosy. She wore a loose-fitting blue cotton shirt that hid any baby bump she might have and matching polka-dotted pajama pants. He was pretty sure that was the most clothing London had worn in the house since their wedding.

“Morning, Decker. Come in,” she greeted warmly.

He hesitated in the doorway. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“That was earlier, when you called, asshole,” Xander quipped as he approached, wearing hastily donned jeans and a collared shirt inside out. Standing behind London, he planted a kiss on the back of her neck.

“Stop giving him a hard time and let him in,” Javier called, suddenly coming around the hall from the bedroom and stepping into view. The elder brother wore a gray bathrobe and probably not a damn stitch more. A morning shadow covered his lean cheeks and cleft chin, but no missing the relaxed mien full of lazy satiation. “He didn't actually come by while we were busy, so give him credit for that.”

Decker smiled. This couldn't be more perfect if he'd scripted it.

When London and Xander stepped back, Decker entered, holding Rachel's hand and bringing her with him into the airy, barrel-ceilinged foyer of the elaborate house.

As the door shut behind them, Decker grinned. “Thanks for getting out of bed for me. I'm going to get my things and vacate, like I promised.” He tugged on Rachel's arm and brought her to his side. “Gang, this is Rachel Linden.”

The Santiago brothers both said a polite hello and shook her hand. London stepped forward with a smile and wrapped her arms around Rachel. “I hope you don't mind. I'm a hugger.”

Sweet as always, Rachel hugged back. “Not at all. Me, too. It's great to meet you.”

“Likewise. Have you lived here long?”

“Just a few months.”

London gave a little squeal. “Same here. We should have lunch soon and talk about places to shop. I'm still making friends in town. I've only got a few, and I'd like to get out before I get too big with the baby . . .”

“You need others besides us, little one?” Javier murmured in her ear, teasing. “I'm hurt.”

“You're not very good at girl talk, Javi.” She tsked. “Xander is even worse.”

Javier looked displeased. “I don't know whether to be happy that you think I'm better than Xander at anything or annoyed that you find me a better representation of female companionship.”