Four Seconds to Lose (Ten Tiny Breaths, #3)(88)

“I can tell,” I murmur dryly, letting my eyes roll over Cain’s arms, his chest, down his stomach—memories of what all those muscles looked like straining above me only twenty minutes ago firmly entrenched in my skull. With a glance up, I see him watching me with an amused smile, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking about. I quickly distract myself with a fake itch on my thigh, focusing intently on it.

He could make it easier on both of us by throwing on a shirt.

But he won’t.

I think he likes me gawking at him.

It’s not bad enough that Charlie Rourke is a drug trafficker and a retired stripper. Now I’ve turned her into a sex fiend.

With a chuckle, Cain states rather than asks, “You must be hungry. I’ve got . . .” He opens the fridge and peers inside. “. . . condiments . . . orange juice . . . bread.” He sighs. “Sorry, Karina—my housekeeper—comes in twice a week to clean and replenish staples. I’m rarely here to eat a meal. But I’ll get this stocked.” Throwing the door shut, he pulls a piece of paper and a pen out of a drawer and asks, “What do you like?”

Cain is making a grocery list. For me.

I hesitate for a second and then grin playfully at him. “Frosted Flakes?”

I get an arched brow in return. “Really?”

“Childhood vice.”

“Okay . . . children’s cereal. That will spark Karina’s curiosity, no doubt.” A slow smile touches his lips as he jots it down. His penmanship is exceptionally neat. “Ten pounds of coffee . . . your own damn toothbrush, so you don’t use mine again.”

I feel the sheepish grin touch my face. By the wink he throws me, I think he’s only kidding.

“Brass pole for my bedroom . . .”

“They have those at the local grocery store?”

His phone starts ringing as he adds while scribbling, “Ten economy boxes of condoms.”

“What?”

He answers his phone with a chuckle and I use that opportunity to snatch the paper out from under him. He actually wrote that down.

“Nate,” I hear him say as he dumps the rest of his coffee in the sink and places the cup in the dishwasher. “Yup . . . good.” His gaze flickers to me. Listening for a moment, his eyes absently settling on my bare legs, Cain’s face suddenly turns serious. He stands up straighter. “Seriously? Fuck . . . Why didn’t you call me? . . . Yeah. I’ll have to deal with her tonight.” Another pause as he listens, his hand scratching his chin. Finally, he heaves a sigh. “Yeah, I’ll be in by four. I’ve gotta take Charlie back to her place . . . Yeah.” I can hear Nate’s deep rumble on the other line but I can’t make out what he’s saying. “See you later.”

I sense the atmosphere in the kitchen shifting as Cain’s mood sours.

And I hate it.

“I should get you home, Charlie,” he mutters, now focused intently on the granite pattern. I can tell his thoughts are elsewhere, moving out the door to head back into his own reality. Everything about him—his body language, his facial expression, his tone—feels like it’s closing off. Shifting back to the Cain that I first met. It’s as though he’s pulling a door shut to leave me and whatever this is between us on the other side. Separated from that other part of his life.

Cain and I have a lot in common.

I dive for that doorway to wedge myself in. “What happened? I assume it involves Penny’s?”

After a pause, “Yeah.” He leans down onto the counter and I don’t hesitate to reach forward and begin rubbing the muscles in his back, knowing that his body is tense again. I’ve noticed that the longer he’s away from the club, the more he relaxes. “China and Kinsley were at it again last night, fighting over a customer like two alley cats.” He shakes his head. “China threw a drink at Kinsley that accidently hit a customer. Now the guy’s threatening to sue.”

“Shit,” I groan, silently piecing together the conversation. “What does that mean? You’re firing China?”

He scowls. “No . . . Kinsley.” His eyes drift off toward the window.

Wow. I don’t doubt that Kinsley is at least half-deserving, but . . . even with China physically abusing customers and putting his business at risk, he won’t fire her?

His bottom lip pulls into his teeth. “I’m really starting to hate that place.”

I lean in to press my lips against his shoulder, wishing I could help him somehow. “But you can’t walk away from it.”

“But I can’t walk away from it,” he repeats with a slow nod, more to himself. Breathing in deeply through his nostrils, he mutters, “I hate firing people.”

“Want me to do it?” I offer casually, letting one hand settle against his chest while I gently run my index finger of the other hand down his spine. “I can pretend to be a mean-ass bitch boss for you.”

I get a weak chuckle, but I’ll take it. After a pause, he turns to look down at me. “I was serious about that management job, when I offered it to you. You want it?”

“I don’t know, seeing as . . .” Should I be accepting this, given the situation? Or, the situations. Not only am I leading this secret life that will force me out of Miami eventually, now I’m having ridiculously hot sex with the owner of the club. A lot of it. And he clearly intends to have a lot more, based on the scandalous shopping list he’s preparing for what I picture is a sweet old lady.