Hot Secrets (Tall, Dark & Deadly #1)(23)

In several long strides, he closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around her waist, and pulling her close. “Because I’m not used to anyone worrying about me. I’m not leaving you tonight you do know that, right?”

“Promise?”

“Promise. I need to make some phone calls and talk to the doorman though. You do whatever you do at night, and I’ll finish up as soon as possible.”

***

An hour later, Royce sat at Lauren’s kitchen table, and ended a final call with Luke, having confirmed the phone booth was in Time Square, and had been swept for fingerprints. He pushed to his feet, more than eager to join Lauren in the living room where she’d snuggled under a blanket in a red silk robe to watch a True Crime show he’d tried to convince her to change to something else, but she’d refused.

Royce rounded the couch to find her fingers curled under her chin, her eyes shut, her breathing heavy. He smiled. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been so good at putting a woman to sleep. But the adrenaline rush from the fear, on top of limited sleep the night before, had clearly worked a number on her. And never before had he found himself just watching someone sleep, so lost in taking in every delicate line and curve of someone’s features. He shook himself and bent down to kiss her, stroking his hand over her fiery hair.

He flipped off the television, kicked off his boots, and slid onto the couch behind her. She sighed and snuggled that perfect round backside of hers to his front, and dug deeper into her pillow. Royce smiled into her hair and made a silent vow. If he was going to be forced to keep a secret from Lauren to keep her safe, then he damn sure was going to make whoever was messing with her feel the pain he was going to.

***

Dirt Diver sat with his booted feet kicked up on the wooden surface of a cookie-cutter hotel desktop, a smile on his lips. The monitor in front of him displayed an image of Royce Walker acting like a watchdog to Lauren Reynolds, camped out by her couch as she slept. He snorted. Royce Walker and the Walker brothers. Like they could stop him from getting to her. Like anyone could stop him from getting to her. He liked that the brothers were bad asses by most people’s standards, his included. He liked it a lot. That meant Lauren would feel protected, safe, secure. That meant that when he reached inside her world and sliced it to bloody hell, she’d feel as gutted as she’d made him feel. As she’d made so many people before him feel. That meant she would know just how lethal he was, just how ready he was, just how good he was. The bitch would know his name before this was over. Oh yeah, she’d know his name and she’d know why he’d come for her. No one, not even Royce Walker and his piece of shit brothers, were going to protect her.





Chapter Eight





Lauren woke to the phone ringing. Blinking, she eased up on her elbow, realizing she was still on the couch and the light streaming through her blinds said it was already Sunday morning. She glanced down to find the blanket from her bed on top of her. Any pleasure at knowing Royce had done something so thoughtful, so intimate, faded with the incessant ringing demanding her attention.

Behind her, she heard the phone lift, her home phone, and reality hit her. It was her caller again, her… stalker. She hated that word but that’s what this was starting to feel like. She sat up straight, her breath lodged in her throat. The next few seconds felt like eternity, as she waited to see what would happen, but there was only silence, until Royce hung up the receiver. Almost instantly, as if he’d already had someone on the line, he spoke into his cell phone, or so she assumed, “Yeah I know,” he said in a low voice. “Too short to trace. And yeah, whoever it is has to know I’m here since they knew she was with me last night. And yeah, I know what that means.” He ended the call without a goodbye. She sensed rather than heard him heading in her direction.

Lauren’s fingers curled into the blanket as she waited for him to join her. “I woke you up,” he said, rounding the couch to sit down next to her. “Sorry about that.”

“I heard the phone ring,” she said, turning to him, aware of him as a man despite her distress, aware of how their legs melded together, of his smell, spicy and male, both arousing and comforting. “And I heard you say that whoever the caller was knows that you’re here and ‘yeah you know what that means’. What does that mean?”

“I should have stepped into the hall,” he said. “You didn’t need to hear that.

“Yes, I did. I don’t want to be coddled, Royce. I want to know what I’m dealing with.”

He considered her a moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough. No coddling.” He reached up and brushed hair from her eyes. “The call was a taunt that was, in my professional opinion, and Luke’s as well, meant to tell us that whoever this is believes that he, or she, is untouchable. But you know from your job, as well as I know, that they all think that they’re different than the other guys. That they really aren’t untouchable. You know that.”

“You really don’t think this is just someone trying to scare me, do you?” she asked, knowing she’d pressed him about this before, but unable to stop herself from doing so again.

“You can ask me that same question framed every which way you can think of and it’s always going to be the same,” he said. “I think it’s better to be safe than sorry. And you have experience and good instincts or you wouldn’t be good at your job. No matter what I say, you know what you feel. Don’t ignore a gut feeling. I learned that the hard way a very long time ago. So I’ll ask you now and probably again, what do you feel?”