Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(85)

He removes his hands from my body and takes several intentional steps backward, until his back hits a nearby wall, as he attempts a discreet adjustment of himself. “You should get changed so we can get out of here. Now.”

And I smile. I know for a fact, by the gentle nudges and hugs, that Cain has been at least semi-hard since the pool. Maybe even since I walked into Dan’s den. Now, he’s struggling to control himself. I probably shouldn’t enjoy it as much as I do. But I am enjoying it. Immensely. It’s an instant adrenaline rush.

Maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie.

On playful impulse, I turn and swagger into the bathroom, making sure to sway my hips because I know Cain is watching. Sure enough, a glance over my shoulder confirms his eyes cast downward, his lips parted slightly.

He remains still, his body rigid, as I make my way into the open bathroom. “Did you need anything else?” I reach back to pull the strings, releasing my bikini top from my body. His eyes widen a second before I toss the material at his face. As he’s catching it, I make quick work of my bottoms, yanking the side ties. I manage to toss the bottoms at him and slam and lock the door, a split second before he reaches it.

“Dammit, Charlie,” I hear him growl from the other side. “Open the door. Now.”

“Not by the hair of my chinny-chin-chin,” I sing, pulling my sundress over my head. I purse my lips against the nervous giggle that demands to escape. After the afternoon we’ve had, I’m probably not in much better shape than he is, frustration-wise. I won’t let him know that, though. This new game is too much fun.

Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m having sex with Cain on DEA Dan’s bathroom counter and if I open the door, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

■ ■ ■

Cain lives in luxury. I mean, top-floor, double-story, panoramic-view-of-the-water luxury. The place is sleek and modern, sparse one may say, but the second I step into it, it feels like Cain.

“Come,” he beckons, reaching out to take my hand gently. Cain has calmed down since I took my time, refreshing my makeup and fixing my hair, before finally emerging from the bathroom at Storm and Dan’s.

He leads me through the kitchen, into a gorgeous living room. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and anticipation as we climb the stairs and he leads me into a plain all-white bedroom with a king-sized bed and a spectacular view through a complete wall of windows, the city offering enough of a glow within the room that there’s no need for additional light.

I watch as Cain shuts the door, as his fingers flip the lock.

He walks over to his dresser. Without a word, he calmly unfastens his watch and places it down on the dresser’s surface. Next come the contents of his pockets—his wallet, his keys, some loose change. He places rather than tosses each item. It’s quite methodical, as if he does it every night, and though there’s nothing particularly enticing about the steps, blood begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain do it.

Grasping the hem of his shirt, he slips it up over his head.

I’m not sure if he wants me watching him like this. Am I supposed to be doing the same? I glance at the large, neatly made bed and I wonder absently if Cain has had women standing in this very spot, watching him do this very same thing. I wonder how often.

And then I squeeze my eyes shut against the thoughts, scolding myself, knowing that it’s just my subconscious trying to sabotage my time with him. Or trying to protect me from falling any farther.

I’m beginning to believe that the depths to which a woman could fall for Cain are endless. To a deep, dark, infinite pit with no ladders to get away, no cushions to soften the impact.

No safety net.

No escape.

With a deep, calming breath, I open my eyes. Cain is standing in front of me.





chapter twenty-seven


■ ■ ■

CAIN

I’m not afraid of anything, yet I think I’m afraid of Charlie.

Not afraid of her.

Afraid of having her.

Of losing her.

To what, I don’t know yet because she won’t talk to me. But I can’t ignore the sick feeling in my gut that Charlie is deeply conflicted and that I may lose her because of it.

She’s hiding something. Herself, maybe. Some truth, most definitely. Hell, I’m not even sure I’m seeing the real Charlie half the time. Not many people surprise me anymore and Charlie keeps surprising me. In the past forty-eight hours, she has surprised me at least a dozen different times. One second she’s shyly tensing against my touch, the next she’s stroking my cock when there are five people at the other end of the pool. One second her lip is quivering as a silent, inexplicable battle goes on within her and the next, she’s whipping her bikini bottoms at me with a lascivious grin.

And now, here she is in my bedroom, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. And I sense her mood has shifted once again. It seems to shift with the snap of a finger.

Sometimes I feel myself getting past the superficial exterior to the person underneath, only to question whether it’s just another facade. Sometimes I wonder if I know anything about her at all. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows who she really is.

None of that scares me away. If anything, it’s just pulling me in deeper. No woman has ever thrown me off balance like this before, made me feel like I’m losing control.

She’s hiding something and I’m guessing it’s something painful. I know I told her I don’t care and I don’t, but, f*ck it, I want to know what it is. I’d rather just get it all out in the open and move on. She’s clearly still afraid. I mean, if there was ever a chance for her to admit to something, wouldn’t it have been last night, during my own purging? It should have been so easy for her to explain who Ronald Sullivan is to her, why he was ready to smash her face in. But she continues to pretend that it didn’t happen.